Harper Quinn was not supposed to be in the attic.
Technically, no one was.
The "Official House Rules" were plastered on the fridge in her mother's perfect cursive handwriting, a permanent reminder that the attic was forbidden territory. Authorized personnel only, it said, as if some grand mission was being conducted up there instead of just gathering dust. But Harper had her own opinion about rules: they were suggestions. Optional ones. And in her experience, the best adventures usually started where the rules ended.
She wiped her hands on her jeans and eyed the splintery ladder bolted to the ceiling. It swayed slightly as if whispering a dare. Harper grinned. If the house thought it could scare her off with a few creaks and groans, it had seriously underestimated her.
Her sneakers hit the first rung with a soft thud. Step by step, she climbed, each creak of the ladder vibrating up her bones. The attic door loomed above, an old trapdoor that hadn't been opened in years. Harper shoved it with her shoulder. It resisted, then gave way with a reluctant groan, releasing a puff of stale, cold air that smelled of old wood, mothballs, and something else—something electric that prickled at her skin.
She pulled herself up, landing lightly on the dusty floorboards. Shafts of sunlight slashed through a cracked window, lighting up swirling clouds of dust like golden mist. The room was cluttered with memories: towers of old trunks, paintings leaning against the walls with forgotten eyes staring out, a cracked mirror throwing distorted reflections back at her. It should have felt abandoned. But Harper could feel it—some part of the attic was alive, watching.
She stood still for a long moment, letting the thrill of it sink into her blood. Then, smiling to herself, she plunged deeper into the maze of junk.
There was a rocking horse with half its paint peeled away, a wardrobe missing a door, boxes marked with names she didn't recognize. Somewhere a floorboard moaned under her weight, but Harper moved lightly, quick and curious, her heart drumming faster with every step. It was as if the attic were holding its breath, waiting for her to find something.
And then she saw it.
A clearing in the chaos, a small island of space where the dust lay thicker, undisturbed. In the middle sat a trunk—different from the others. Carved wood, heavy and dark, its surface etched with symbols of stars and spirals and creatures she didn't recognize. A sheet half-draped over it gave it the look of something hidden away, something forgotten on purpose.
Harper approached slowly, her fingertips itching. She yanked the sheet away with one swift motion, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Coughing, she dropped to her knees in front of the chest and examined it more closely. The latch was heavy, crusted with rust. It protested when she tried it, but Harper was persistent. With a loud snap, it broke free.
The lid creaked open.
Inside, treasures lay heaped like offerings: old maps inked with lines and circles she couldn't decipher, strange tools, a book bound in cracked leather and sealed shut with no visible lock, a dagger whose blade glinted dangerously even under layers of dust.
And tucked away in the folds of a faded velvet cloth, something shimmered.
Harper's breath caught.
It was a pendant. A star, sculpted from silver so pale it seemed to catch the light and swallow it. Tiny galaxies, delicate as spiderwebs, were etched across its surface, and it hung from a chain so fine it seemed woven from strands of moonlight itself.
Drawn to it without thinking, Harper reached out. The moment her fingertips brushed the pendant, a shock of cold raced up her arm, sharp and thrilling.
The attic blurred around her.
The floor disappeared.
She gasped, staggering backward, but the visions slammed into her before she could even find her breath. Skies ablaze with violet and gold, islands floating in seas of mist, crystal towers rising so high they vanished into endless clouds. Whispers in a language that tickled her brain with half-forgotten echoes. Figures cloaked in starlight, their faces hidden, their eyes burning with secrets.
And above it all, a voice—ancient and fierce—threaded through the chaos.
Harper Quinn... the gates of Avaloria await you...
The pendant pulsed against her skin, beating like a second heart.
She fell back onto a crate, panting, the attic reassembling itself around her in a dizzying whirl. The dust, the trunks, the rocking horse, the cracked mirror—all slid back into place, but they felt wrong now. Smaller. Quieter. Like the real world had shrunk after what she had just seen.
Harper stared down at the pendant still clutched in her hand.
It looked innocent enough. Harmless, even.
She laughed under her breath, a shaky, reckless sound. "Yeah, sure," she muttered. "Because magic jewelry is totally a thing that happens every day."
Downstairs, the dinner bell clanged. Her mom's way of saying get your butt down here before I come get it myself.
Still holding the pendant tight, Harper made her way down the ladder, the world still spinning faintly under her feet.
At dinner, everything felt too bright, too loud. Her dad droned on about insurance premiums; her mom was complaining about Mrs. Crandall's prize roses invading their yard. Harper pushed her potatoes around her plate, barely hearing a word. Her brain was still up in the attic, drifting between floating islands and towers of glass.
"Harper?" her mother snapped.
She blinked.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," her dad said with a chuckle. "Or finally realized math tests are a real thing."
Without thinking, Harper reached into her pocket and placed the pendant onto the table.
It landed with a clear, ringing sound.
Everything stopped.
Her parents froze, forks halfway to their mouths.
Jonathan Quinn, who had once outrun mercenaries in the jungles of Brazil and wrestled a crocodile for a bet, leaned closer, squinting like he was looking at an old friend he hadn't seen in years.
Eleanor Quinn's face, normally an unreadable wall, went pale. She didn't reach for the pendant. She didn't even blink.
"Where did you find that?" her mother asked, her voice low and dangerous.
Harper shrugged. "The attic," she said casually, trying to sound way cooler than she felt. "It, uh... might've talked to me."
Her dad let out a bark of laughter. "Talking jewelry! What's next, kid? Flying bicycles?"
But Eleanor didn't laugh. She sat back slowly, her mouth pressed into a tight line.
"You need to be very, very careful," her mother said quietly. "There are things in this world you don't understand yet, Harper. Things that don't play fair."
Harper's heart hammered against her ribs.
She glanced down at the pendant.
It looked small. Harmless.
But deep down, she knew the truth.
It was anything but harmless.
That night, long after the house fell asleep, Harper lay wide awake in her bed, staring at the pendant glowing softly on her nightstand. Every so often, it pulsed faintly, like it was breathing in time with the stars.
She rolled onto her side, the air around her heavy and thick with waiting.
She didn't know when it would happen.
But she knew—knew it in her bones—that something had been set into motion.
Something that couldn't be undone.
Somewhere out there, beyond the safe walls of her house, the gates of Avaloria were stirring.
And Harper Quinn, rule-breaker, dreamer, and finder of forbidden things, had just been chosen.
The stars called her name.
And this time, she would answer.