Rey couldn't sleep.
Again.
Beans was curled beside him on the couch, a warm, quiet presence. The living room was dim, lit only by the faint blue glow of the streetlight slanting through the blinds. The orchard painting leaned silently against the wall, dry now, as if it had always been there. Familiar. Too familiar.
Then—Knock.
Rey sat up.
Not the door. Not the window.A knock that didn't sound like wood on wood.
Knock.
It echoed again—deeper, lower. Like it came from under the floorboards. Or the walls. Or the back of his own skull.
He stood, heartbeat already racing.
The sound repeated—closer, but impossible to place.Beans stirred, ears twitching, but didn't wake.
Rey moved toward the hallway. Everything felt off-kilter. The walls hummed. The air vibrated just a bit too much, like the moment before a thunderclap. A soft scent—sweet, sharp, citrusy—drifted past his nose. He stopped. The smell from his dream orchard.
Knock.
He turned into the studio.
The room wasn't dark anymore.
Every unfinished canvas was glowing.
Faintly, softly—but undeniably. Like moonlight trapped in fabric. Especially one at the far end. Propped against the wall. Covered in dust. One Rey didn't remember buying, let alone setting up.
It was blank.
He stepped closer.
And the blankness began to shift.
Color bled upward like ink in water, lines drawing themselves slowly, as if unseen hands were painting in reverse. A figure formed—himself—standing in a field of orchard trees under a navy sky. But in this version, he was holding something.
A silver key.
And in the far background, behind the trees, almost hidden—a door.
His breath caught. He blinked. The image solidified.
The room shimmered again.
And then—A voice.
Quiet. Close.
"You weren't supposed to see that yet."
Rey spun around.
The genie stood near the doorway—not dancing, not glowing, not floating. Just standing. For once, grounded. Still.
No crown. No LED shoes. No chaos.
"You... you did this?" Rey asked, throat dry.
The genie didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered on the glowing canvas. Thoughtful. "Sometimes the magic gets ahead of itself."
Rey looked back at the painting.
"What is that place? What's the key for? That door—"
"The first path," the genie interrupted softly. "That's what we call it. You're not the first."
"The first what?"
Still no answer.
Rey turned fully to face him, voice sharp now. "Tell me what's happening."
"You made a wish, Rey. Or... you're almost ready to. The house knows it. The teapot knows it. Your mind's been echoing it for weeks. That's what you're seeing."
Rey's fingers hovered near the canvas. The figure in the painting—him—was still standing in that orchard. Still holding the silver key.
He didn't remember ever painting it.
"Why do I feel like I have to follow it?" Rey whispered.
"Because part of you already did," the genie said.
And then—he vanished.
No puff of smoke. No sparkle. Just—gone.
The lights dimmed. The hum vanished. Only the glow of the mysterious painting remained.
Rey stepped forward. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and touched the canvas.
It was warm.
And for the briefest second—it pulsed.
Behind him, Beans finally woke up. She let out a soft mrrrp and padded in, eyes sharp and glowing faintly in the dark.
Rey didn't say a word.
He just stared at the painted door.