The old man found the symbols in the attic of his late grandfather’s house. The room had been locked for decades, its wooden door sealed with rusted hinges and a thick layer of dust. He had always been told not to go there, but curiosity had always been a stronger force than fear. When he finally pried the door open, the air inside was colder than the rest of the house, as if time itself had been trapped within. Inside, the attic was filled with forgotten relics—old trunks, broken furniture, and yellowed newspapers. But it was the wall behind a stack of crates that caught his eye. Etched into the plaster were strange markings, glowing faintly under the dim light from the single bulb overhead. They weren’t just random shapes; they formed patterns that seemed to shift when he looked away. The symbols were ancient, yet their design felt oddly modern, like they had been carved by someone who knew both the past and the future. He took out his phone to take a photo, but the screen flickered and went black. The moment he touched the wall, a cold shiver ran down his spine. The symbols pulsed once, then faded. He stepped back, unsure whether he had imagined it. Over the next few days, the old man began to notice small changes. His dreams became vivid, filled with images of places he had never seen—vast deserts, towering cities, and forests that stretched endlessly. Each night, the symbols appeared again, this time more clearly, as if they were trying to tell him something. He started keeping a journal, sketching the patterns and writing down what he thought they might mean. One evening, while researching online, he stumbled upon an obscure reference to a lost civilization known as the "Veilborn." According to the text, they were a people who could see beyond the veil of reality, communicating through symbols that only the worthy could decipher. The article suggested that the Veilborn had vanished centuries ago, leaving behind only fragments of their knowledge. The old man couldn’t shake the feeling that he had found one of those fragments. As the days passed, the symbols began to appear in unexpected places. They showed up on his coffee cup, on the pages of his books, even on the side of a tree outside his window. Each time, they seemed to glow just slightly, as if reacting to his presence. He started to feel watched, though no one was there. The sensation was not frightening, but it was unsettling, like being followed by something unseen. One night, he dreamt of a vast chamber beneath the earth, lit by an eerie blue light. In the center stood a stone tablet covered in the same symbols. A voice whispered in his mind, not in words, but in meaning. It spoke of a choice—between knowing and forgetting, between truth and illusion. He awoke with a start, his heart pounding, the symbols still burning in his mind. The next morning, he returned to the attic, determined to find more. This time, the symbols were brighter, pulsing in rhythm with his own heartbeat. He traced them with his fingers, and suddenly, the room around him shifted. The walls melted away, revealing a vast underground hall. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and something older, something unnameable. At the far end of the hall, the same stone tablet stood, glowing with the same blue light. He approached slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. As he reached out, the symbols flared, and a flood of memories—not his own, but of others—rushed through his mind. He saw the Veilborn standing in this very place, their eyes wide with understanding, their hands raised in silent prayer. He saw the moment they chose to vanish, sealing themselves away from the world above. Then, everything went dark. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the attic, the symbols now gone, the air once again still and cold. He sat on the floor, his breath shallow, his mind reeling. Had it all been a dream? Or had he truly crossed the threshold? The old man never spoke of what he had seen. He kept the journal, but never shared it with anyone. He would often sit in silence, staring at the wall where the symbols had once been, wondering if they had ever really existed at all. And sometimes, when the wind blew just right, he swore he could hear the whisper of the Veilborn, calling him back.