Arriving at the Tower Room

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The door to the tower room swung heavily open as the boy pushed it open. The key had resisted, as if it wanted to know who dared to turn it. The lock had creaked like an old knee that reluctantly bends. Now the room lay before him, round, tall, built of dark stone, as if it were made not for humans, but for thoughts too big to be spoken. The gray tabby cat glided past him, its tail brushing his ankle. It stopped, its ears twitching, as if it heard something hidden from him. The boy quietly closed the door behind him. It slammed shut with a sound that echoed in the silence like a final sentence in a book no one has finished reading. A narrow window was set high in the north wall, its murky glass glowing in the late light. Outside, the castle courtyard lay in long, drawn-out shadows. The well was overgrown, the gate closed. Nothing moved down there, and yet he had the feeling someone was following him—not with footsteps, but with memory. In the middle of the room stood a table with turned legs. On it lay weathered pages, some barely legible, as if rain had once soaked them. The cat jumped onto the table, poked its paw in a groove, and then—a soft click. A compartment opened, revealing a single sheet of paper. The boy carefully pulled it out. No text. No sender. Just a circle, drawn in dark ink, almost closed, but not quite—like a riddle that can only be solved if you know it is one. He examined the paper. His fingers grew cool. For a moment, he thought the circle was moving, ever so slightly, as if breathing. Then he stepped back, looked around. Above the fireplace hung a coat of arms, barely recognizable. Green and gray, with a silver crescent moon in the center, entwined by a branch. The boy approached. Something about it made him shiver. He had never consciously seen the symbol, but it tugged at his chest like something familiar that had been lost. The cat meowed softly. A fine crack ran along the wall. It could almost have been mistaken for a scar in the stone, but it glowed dimly. The boy leaned forward, placed his hand against it. A vibration, little more than a hunch. Then he turned. The cat had positioned itself in front of a seemingly solid wall, one ear turned, one paw raised. With a well-aimed push, it touched a small ledge—a stone shifted aside, revealing a dark passage. The boy hesitated. Cool air flowed from within, damp and old, with a hint of earth and metal. He looked at the paper in his hand. The circle now seemed like an eye, looking at him. Searching. He took a deep breath. Then he put the sheet away, brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, and stepped forward. The cat glided silently inside, and he followed. The passage was narrow, barely a meter wide, but high enough for him to stand. Behind him, the stone slid back into its socket—without a sound, without resistance. The crack in the wall flickered one last time. Then the tower room was silent again. Only the air remembered.