The Obsidian Gate

The first time I saw them, I was five, sitting on the cracked linoleum floor of my grandmother’s trailer. The TV was static, and the wind rattled the tin roof. I felt a cold draft wrap around my ankles, and when I looked down, I saw two shapes—one tall and thin like a burnt matchstick, the other broad and solid like a slab of granite. They didn’t speak, but I knew their names: Vex and Oren. My grandmother used to say that the dead whisper through the floorboards, but these two were not dead. They were something else.

At twelve, I started feeling them outside of sleep. I’d be walking home from school, and the air would thicken, and I’d know they were there, pacing just beyond my peripheral vision. Oren would stand at the corner of my eye, a weight that grounded me. Vex would hover closer, his presence like the prickle before a storm. By fourteen, I could see them clearly—Oren with his black coat that seemed to absorb light, Vex with his skin like cracked obsidian and eyes like twin voids. They were not human, but they were not monstrous either. They were just… other.

I never told anyone about them. What was I supposed to say? ‘There are two beings that follow me, and one of them feeds on my fear’? My therapist would have had a field day. So I kept them hidden, like a secret language only I could speak. But the hardest part was learning to live with Vex. He was the one who thrived on my anxiety. When I had a panic attack, he would sit beside me, his cold breath on my neck, whispering words that made my heart race faster. Oren would stand guard at the door, his shadow stretching like a buffer, keeping Vex at bay. But even Oren couldn’t stop Vex entirely.

I started talking to them out loud when I was sixteen. It was a coping mechanism, I told myself. Pretending they were real made the silence easier. But they answered. Vex’s voice was a low rumble that vibrated in my bones; Oren’s was a soft hum, like a distant motor. They told me things—about the threads of fate, about the cracks in reality, about the Obsidian Gate that lay beneath the city, where the forgotten things crawled. I didn’t want to know, but they told me anyway.

Now, at twenty-eight, I still see them. They follow me to work, to the grocery store, to my apartment. I’ve made my peace with them, mostly. But there are nights when I wake up and Vex is standing over my bed, his face inches from mine, and I can feel his hunger. He wants me to be afraid. He needs it. And I have to fight every instinct to give it to him. Instead, I breathe, and I count the cracks in the ceiling, and I whisper, ‘You don’t control me.’ He hisses, and he fades, but I know he’s still there, waiting.

One night, something changed. I was walking through the old warehouse district, where the rusted signs moan in the wind. I saw a door—a door I had never noticed before. It was black, seamless, set into a brick wall. A faint hum came from behind it. Oren appeared beside me, his hand on my shoulder. ‘Do not open it,’ he said. But Vex materialized on my other side, his voice a seductive hiss. ‘Open it,’ he said. ‘See what’s on the other side.’

My heart pounded. I knew that door was the Obsidian Gate. I knew that opening it would release something. But the curiosity was overwhelming. What was behind it? My own reflection? A void? The truth about my companions? I reached out, my fingers inches from the cold surface. Oren’s grip tightened. ‘You can’t unsee what’s behind that door,’ he warned. Vex laughed, a sound like breaking glass. ‘Coward,’ he spat.

I pulled back. I turned away. I walked home with Oren by my side and Vex trailing behind, his presence a weight of disappointment. That night, I lay in bed, and I realized something: I had never asked them what they were. I had been so afraid of the answer that I had never voiced the question. But now, with the memory of the Obsidian Gate burning in my mind, I gathered my courage. ‘Oren,’ I said into the darkness. ‘What are you? And what is Vex?’

There was a long silence. Then Oren spoke, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. ‘We are the keepers of the Gate. I am its guardian. Vex is its warden. We were bound to you because you carry the key—a key you never asked for, but one you cannot give back.’ I sat up, my heart pounding. ‘What key?’ I asked. Oren didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his head toward the door of my bedroom, and I saw it: a thin line of black, like a crack in the air. The Obsidian Gate was not in the warehouse district. It was here, in my room, waiting for me.

And for the first time, I was afraid not of Vex, but of the truth. I had been living with monsters all my life, and I had thought I understood them. But I had never asked what they were guarding, why they had chosen me. Now, as the crack began to widen, I knew I had to decide: open the gate and face the unknown, or keep it closed and live with my ignorance. Vex was whispering in my ear, ‘Fear is the key,’ he said. ‘You’ve always known that.’ I looked at Oren, and I saw tears in his eyes—if he could cry. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Don’t.’

But I was tired of living in fear. I took a deep breath, and I placed my hand on the crack. The cold seeped into my palm, and I felt a pull, like the entire room was shifting. I closed my eyes, and I stepped forward.

What I saw on the other side will stay with me forever. It was not a void, but a world of mirrors. I saw myself, reflected a thousand times, and behind each reflection, I saw a different Vex and a different Oren. I realized that they were not unique to me—they were the manifestations of every human’s fear and protection, woven into the fabric of reality. And I had been chosen to bridge the gap between the two, to be the one who opens the door for others. But as I stood there, I felt Vex’s cold hand on my back, pushing me deeper. ‘Welcome home,’ he whispered.

I wanted to run, but I was paralyzed. Oren appeared in front of me, his hand extended. ‘You can still choose,’ he said. ‘You can close the gate and forget.’ But I knew I couldn’t forget. I had seen too much. I had to decide what to become: a guardian like Oren, or a warden like Vex.

I closed my eyes, and I remembered the fear I had carried my whole life. I remembered the panic attacks, the sleepless nights, the constant dread. And I realized that fear had defined me. But it didn’t have to. I opened my eyes, and I looked at Vex. ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ I said. His eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something else—uncertainty. I turned to Oren, and I said, ‘I will guard the gate. But I will not feed it. I will not open it for fear.’

Oren smiled—a grim, weary smile. ‘Then you are ready.’ The mirrors shattered. I found myself back in my room, the crack sealed. Vex and Oren were still there, but they seemed different. Oren was brighter, more solid. Vex was smaller, his shape flickering. I understood then: I had taken my power back. They were still bound to me, but I was no longer a puppet. I was the guardian now.

And so, I live with the gate in my mind. I still dream of the two creatures, but now I speak to them as equals. I ask them about the threads, about the cracks, about the things that crawl in the dark. They answer, but they no longer control me. I have a purpose. And when I walk down the street, and I see a flicker of Vex in someone else’s shadow, I nod. I know they have their own battle to fight. I am one of many now, but I am no longer a victim.

That is the story of how I became the keeper of the Obsidian Gate. It is not a happy story, but it is mine. And I will write it in the language of the living, not the language of the dead. Because I am alive, and I have faced the void and come back with my soul intact. And that is more than most can say.