GOT: I Have A World Travel Gate In My House!

Himmel stood alone in his cramped, dimly lit apartment. The hum of the city outside barely reached him, muffled by the thin, cracked walls. In his hands, he clutched a set of hospital reports—brain CT scans and MRIs—all stamped with the same word: Normal.

The doctor, an older man with tired eyes and a detached demeanor, had waved off Himmel's concerns. The persistent voice echoing in his head was, apparently, just a side effect of stress, overwork, and too many sleepless nights. "Rest more," the doctor had said, "or you might burn out entirely. People your age drop dead all the time from exhaustion."

The warnings had left Himmel uneasy. At twenty-four, he was too young to die. Born to farmers in a backwater village, he'd worked tirelessly to scrape his way to a life in the capital. Two years of grinding through a thankless job as a salesman had left him with little to show for it—a tiny apartment, barely $5,000 saved, and no hope of ever owning a home or car.

Love? That was a luxury he couldn't afford. His quiet, introverted nature, coupled with a constant need to stay afloat financially, had left no room for relationships. Poverty, as he saw it, stripped a man of his confidence and his choices.

As he rode his battered motorbike through the congested streets, Himmel felt suffocated by the weight of his life. If he dropped dead tomorrow, would anyone even care? When he reached his apartment, he locked the door and let the outside world fade away.

Two days passed. He didn't leave the apartment, not even to get groceries. Takeout boxes piled up by the door. His boss, a bloated, arrogant man who reveled in his employees' misery, called repeatedly, threatening to fire him. For once, Himmel didn't care. Let him fire me, Himmel thought bitterly. There's nothing left for me at that job anyway.

Because something extraordinary had happened.

For the past forty-eight hours, Himmel had been consumed by the strange, glowing doorway that appeared in his mind. A voice, calm and authoritative, had explained its purpose: a gateway between his world and another. A world of knights, castles, and dragons. A world known as Westeros.

The voice called it the Gate of Worlds.

Himmel had hesitated at first, doubting his sanity. But curiosity had won out. Checking the time on his phone—10:19 AM—he took a deep breath, focused on the Gate, and whispered, "Enter."

The sensation was instant and disorienting. A rush of cold air, the scent of wild grass, and the chirping of distant birds replaced the stale confines of his apartment. Himmel found himself standing in a vast, open plain. The ground was dry and cracked, with patches of yellowed grass swaying in the breeze. The temperature had dropped sharply, and he shivered in his thin shirt and jeans.

Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. 10:21 AM. Two minutes had passed, and everything else seemed intact. Despite the chill, the air was intoxicating—clean and crisp, untouched by the pollution of modern industry.

Still, Himmel didn't linger. Focusing on the Gate once more, he willed himself to return. A moment later, he was back in his apartment, standing exactly where he'd been before. The clock on his phone confirmed it: time in both worlds moved in sync.

Testing the Gate became an obsession. Himmel began experimenting, first with small objects—a table, a chair. He discovered that physical contact was necessary to bring items through the portal. By touching the table, he could bring it with him, but only if it wasn't connected to something larger.

Eager to push the limits, Himmel tried transporting multiple objects at once. Placing a table on his bed, he found that the Gate treated them as a single unit. This discovery thrilled him; he could now move entire collections of items at once, provided they were properly arranged.

But the experiments raised more questions than answers. How much could he bring at once? Could he transport living beings? Himmel shuddered at the thought of testing it on another person. The Gate was his secret, and secrets were safest when kept alone.

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