Dr. Parisa Shirazi stood in the biting wind, staring at the jagged ruin jutting out of the barren mountainside. The gray stones, weathered by centuries, bore intricate carvings—a language she didn’t recognize, yet somehow felt she had always known.

“It’s just a wall,” her assistant Navid muttered, kicking at a loose rock. “An old fort, maybe.”

Parisa shook her head, brushing dirt off one of the carvings with trembling hands. The swirling patterns were unmistakable. “This isn’t just a wall,” she whispered. “It’s the wall.”

Navid frowned. “You can’t mean—”

“Yes. Alexander’s Wall.” Her voice was reverent. “The barrier that held back Gog and Magog.”

The legend had been a fascination of hers since childhood: a gate forged by the Great Alexander to imprison ancient forces of chaos. It was dismissed as myth by scholars, but the unearthed carvings told a different story.

Parisa traced a line of script with her finger, her breath catching as the symbols seemed to glow faintly under her touch. She jerked her hand back, heart pounding.

“Did you see that?” she asked.

“See what?” Navid’s voice was wary.

“The light,” she said, but even as she spoke, doubt crept into her mind. Was it just the cold playing tricks on her?

She turned her attention to the base of the wall, where a partial arch emerged from the rubble. If this was truly Alexander’s Gate, the legend claimed it was sealed with unbreakable iron. Yet here it was, cracked and fractured, as though something had clawed its way out.

“Parisa…” Navid’s voice wavered.

She looked up and followed his gaze. The wind had picked up, carrying with it a low, guttural sound—like distant thunder, but alive.

“It’s just the wind,” she said, though her words lacked conviction.

The sound grew louder, a chorus of voices speaking in no language she’d ever heard. Parisa felt it vibrate in her bones.

Then came the shadow. It rippled across the ground like spilled ink, emerging from the archway. A figure stepped forward—twisted, humanoid, its limbs too long, its eyes too bright.

Parisa froze. She’d always wondered about the truth of the legend. Now, staring into the face of something that shouldn’t exist, she wished she hadn’t.

The creature tilted its head, as though studying her. Then it smiled—a terrible, jagged smile.

“You’ve opened the gate,” it said, its voice like steel scraping stone. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Parisa stumbled back, her mind racing. The script on the wall had to contain the answer. She dropped to her knees, frantically deciphering the carvings. The symbols spoke of sealing, of binding. But the final phrase chilled her: The gate will hold until the curious break it.

“Parisa, we need to run!” Navid shouted, his voice breaking.

The creature stepped closer, its shadow stretching like an eclipse over the barren land.

“No,” Parisa said, her voice steadier than she felt. “We need to fix it.”

Her fingers danced over the carvings, tracing the pattern backward. She could feel the stone grow warm under her touch, the faint hum of power stirring. The creature snarled, lunging toward her, but she didn’t stop.

With one final sweep of her hand, the carvings ignited in a blaze of light. The ground trembled, and the arch began to seal itself, stone grinding against stone.

The creature let out a deafening roar as it was dragged backward, its form dissolving into shadows. The gate snapped shut with a final burst of light, leaving nothing but silence.

Parisa collapsed, her chest heaving.

Navid pulled her to her feet, his face pale. “Let’s never come back here.”

Parisa nodded, but her gaze lingered on the wall. The legend of Alexander’s Gate wasn’t just a story—it was a warning. And now, she understood why.