The Door My Father Opened
The photograph shook in Cuco's hands.
It wasn't the tremor of his fingers—it was the weight of the image itself. Like it knew it shouldn't exist.
His father stood at the forest's edge, smiling faintly.
The mark glowed, just visible on his upturned palm.
Cuco's breath caught. "He never told me," he whispered. "Not once. Not about any of this."
Isabela's voice was soft, but edged with sorrow. "Because he couldn't. The Circle erased him. After he crossed through… they cut him from the records. Burned his name. Sealed the books."
The silver-eyed man stepped closer, his voice grave. "Your father was one of the first Dreamers this generation ever saw. And he chose to carry that alone. He thought he could seal the breach from the inside."
Cuco's voice broke. "Then why didn't he come back?"
Isabela looked away. "Because whatever he tried to stop… woke up first."
A silence settled—deep and thick.
Cuco stared back down at the photo.
And there—just beyond his father's shoulder, buried in the shadows of the trees—
A shape.
Too tall.
Too still.
Too wrong.
He reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the image.
His mark ignited.
Black and gold.
And the world shattered.
---
Not a vision.
A memory.
But not his.
Cuco stood in a forest soaked in humid night, the air heavy with pine, smoke, and something metallic. Crickets chirped—a sound too calm for what he felt.
He wasn't in control.
Couldn't speak.
Could only watch.
A figure crashed through the trees ahead.
His father.
Younger. Leaner. Desperate. Glancing back over his shoulder.
"Not yet," the man muttered. "Not until he's ready..."
In his arms—a book. Bound in bark. The cover pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
And behind him… shadows.
Not chasing.
Hunting.
Voices slithered through the trees, curling through the leaves like mist:
> "You're late, Arturo…"
"You said you'd keep it shut…"
"Now we'll open you."
Cuco's father stumbled into a clearing—an ancient tree standing in the center like a sentinel. He fell to his knees and dug, fast and frantic. Buried the book in the roots.
Then he rose.
Face still.
Breath steady.
He turned to face the dark.
And opened his arms wide.
The forest swallowed him whole.
---
Cuco gasped—lungs filling like he'd been drowning.
He was back.
On his knees in the Circle chamber, drenched in sweat.
Isabela gripped his shoulders. "You saw it."
Cuco nodded, eyes hollow, words like ash on his tongue.
"He buried it. The book. Just before he…"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
The silver-eyed man stepped forward, a strange urgency behind his calm.
"Then you have to find it. Whatever your father sealed—it's stirring now. It's calling you."
Cuco stood slowly, gaze locked on the candle flame flickering nearby.
He didn't feel fear anymore.
He felt something older. Sharper.
He didn't feel chosen by the Circle.
Or the light.
Only by what his father left behind—
A door still bleeding.
And a key that remembered.