Every morning, the old man would walk the same path through the forest, his cane tapping against the moss-covered stones. He never spoke to anyone, and no one knew where he came from or where he went when he vanished into the trees. The townspeople whispered about him, calling him "The Keeper of the Symbols." They said he left strange markings on trees, stones, and even the walls of abandoned houses. But no one dared to ask what they meant. One day, a young woman named Elara, who had recently moved to the town for a quiet life, decided to follow the old man. She watched him as he wandered through the woods, pausing often to trace symbols in the dirt with his fingers. The symbols were intricate, like ancient runes but unfamiliar. Some looked like spirals, others like tangled vines. Each one seemed to pulse faintly under the sunlight, as if alive. Curiosity got the better of her. She waited until he was out of sight, then followed him deeper into the woods. The air grew cooler, and the sounds of the town faded behind her. The trees stood taller, their trunks twisted and gnarled, as if whispering secrets to each other. She found a clearing where the old man was standing, his back to her, tracing a symbol into the earth with a small knife. The ground beneath it glowed faintly, like it had been touched by moonlight. Elara stepped forward, but the moment she did, the symbol flared with light, and the air around her thickened. The old man turned, his eyes glowing faintly. "You should not be here," he said, his voice low and rasping. "These symbols are not for the unready." She tried to speak, but her words caught in her throat. The old man gestured toward the symbol. "This is a door," he said. "Not of wood or stone, but of memory. It leads to places that are not real, but feel more real than this world." Elara felt a strange pull in her chest, as if the symbol was calling to her. "What happens if you go through it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The old man smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "That depends on what you bring with you," he said. "Some find peace. Others find themselves lost in echoes of what once was." Before she could ask more, he turned away and walked back into the trees, leaving the symbol behind. Elara stood there, heart pounding, unsure whether she had imagined the whole thing. But when she looked down, the symbol was still there, glowing faintly in the dim light. Over the next few days, Elara returned to the clearing, always alone. She traced the symbols with her fingers, feeling a strange energy beneath them. She began to notice other symbols scattered throughout the forest—on rocks, in the bark of trees, even carved into the wooden beams of an old cabin she had never seen before. Each one was different, but all carried the same weight, as if they held memories too heavy for the world to remember. One night, she dreamed of a place that wasn’t real. A city of glass towers and endless corridors, where people moved like shadows. She saw herself walking through it, guided by the symbols. When she woke, her hands were covered in ink, and the symbols on her skin glowed faintly in the dark. The old man appeared again, watching her from a distance. "You're beginning to see," he said. "But seeing is not the same as knowing." Elara asked him what the symbols truly were. He only shook his head. "They are not mine to give. They belong to the ones who came before, and to those who will come after. You are merely a thread in the pattern." She didn’t understand, but something in his words made her feel both small and important. The symbols were not just markings—they were messages, warnings, invitations. And she was starting to wonder if she had been chosen, or if she had simply stumbled upon something that had been waiting for her all along. As the days passed, the symbols became more frequent, more vivid. Sometimes, she would find them in places she had never been. Other times, they would appear in her dreams, leading her somewhere new. The line between reality and illusion blurred, and she began to question which world was the true one. One evening, she found a symbol unlike any she had seen before. It was larger, more complex, and at its center was a single word written in a language she did not recognize. But as she stared at it, the word formed in her mind, clear and undeniable: *Remember.* And then, the forest fell silent. The wind stopped. The leaves stopped trembling. Even the birds ceased their songs. Elara stood frozen, the weight of the symbol pressing against her chest. She had the feeling that something was watching her. Not from the trees, not from the shadows, but from the symbols themselves. From the past, the present, and the future. She had opened a door, and now, the question remained: was she ready for what lay beyond?