A Portal is not a door that can be touched, nor can it be forced open by mere will. It is a veil between worlds—one that only music can part.

The right melody, shaped by intention, charged with emotion, and carried by voice or instrument, has the power to pierce that veil.

Portals have likely existed for as long as music itself. Some claim the Oracle of Delphi once sang a melody so pure it bent time. Others whisper of a violinist in 18th-century Venice who vanished mid-performance, his final note never ceasing, still reverberating faintly through the canals on certain moonlit nights.

The Messenger is not known to open a Portal—but does not need to. Orivian moves between worlds effortlessly, slipping through time and dimensions at will. And yet, many who have crossed through claim to have found Orivian waiting on the other side, reaching out to guide them into the dreamlands beyond.

Many have tried to uncover the formula for opening a Portal and master this power, but no two crossings are alike. What works for one singer may fail for another. What opens the veil one night may do nothing the next. The only certainty is this:

A Portal cannot be forced or controlled—it can only be felt into being.

For no melody can be invented to open a Portal. The melody must come to you—it must be taken down. That is the secret. That is the mystery. And that is what makes the crossing so elusive.

Where do these melodies originate? From The Messenger, or from the Otherworlds themselves, calling to be revealed? No one knows.

But once a Portal has opened, and you have stepped through, the world behind you may seem like a pale reflection—muted and distant.

Nothing will ever be the same.