Steins Gate Novels & Stories

Amy just smiles and smooths the collar for me. “You’re amazing,” she says firmly. “Anyone would be lucky to hire you.” I nod, wishing her confidence could transfer through touch. Two buses and forty minutes later, I’m standing at the base of a hill, staring up at an iron gate that looks more expensive than my entire childhood home. The metal gleams in the afternoon sun, heavy and imposing, topped with a crest that makes my stomach sink. STEELE. No. It can’t mean anything. Steele is a common name. The universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to do this to me.

It makes the fall harder. The iron gates of Brown-Forge Estate appear through the trees. The stones are a deep, dark crimson, cut from the mountain quarries nearby. They look like dried blood. Two guards stand at the checkpoint, their black tactical vests tight against their chests, their spears held loosely in their hands. I stop ten paces from the gate. The gravel beneath my feet is cold. The guard on the left blinks, his eyes widening as he recognizes my face. He drops the tip of his spear, a nasty, mocking sneer twisting his upper lip.

“Anything cheap. I’m not exactly thriving right now, hence the hunt. Shouldn’t we go now? You guys are in a hurry, right?” Jai nodded. “Yes. Let’s continue.” The three of them then left the trees and entered in the main road, then they walked to the gate. The gate itself was quite large, and looming over them. It was probably around fourteen meters upward but it was still visibly smaller than Aeronvein’s giant silver gate. This gate didn’t look like it was made from silver, but probably a lighter tone of high quality bronze. There was one wooden pillar on each side of the bronze gate that was painted red in color.

An ancient and tranquil presence filled with the scent of stone and wood replaced the eerie atmosphere around her. At last, the dense forest ahead began to thin. After walking a few more steps, Aria came to a stop at a towering gate. This was already her second time here. The gate, made of massive greenish stones, rose several feet high. Three robust, ancient characters were engraved on its lintel—Grayburn Sect. Time had etched its mark across the gate, each scar telling the story of countless battles. Despite being weathered and mottled, the two solemn stone beasts still stood proudly on either side of the gate.

The landscape shifts—paved streets turn into pristine asphalt, modest houses turn into sprawling gated estates behind thick stone walls. The Morozov private subdivision. My heart kicks against my ribs. Relief and absolute terror smash together in my gut. I stagger up the boulevard toward the massive wrought-iron perimeter gates. The heavy stone pillars are fitted with security cameras, motion sensors, and a polished guard booth. I lean my weight against the iron bars of the gate, breathless, sweat and dirt dried into my skin. The small glass window on the guard booth slides open. Two security guards step out onto the driveway.

The gates then came into view. They were not loud or dramatic, no sharp edges meant to scare. The clean, shiny, tall stone walls turned inward and were so far apart that they seemed to go on forever. The steel bars slid apart without a sound, smooth and practiced, as if they had opened this way a thousand times before. On both sides, men in dark suits stood evenly spread, with blank, calm faces. I also kept my face calm.

The house we hid within was on the main road, one leading straight ahead to a set of towering gates. Two pillars topped with a sun and moon sat on either side of the gates. The entire thing was made out of some kind of strange stone. There were veins of silver and gold embedded in the iridescent material. As the moonlight hit its surface, the colors within shifted and glowed. I’d never seen anything so beautiful, even if there were a handful of pale-eyed sentries pacing back and forth in front of it. “The sun rises in the east,” Azrael said, a wistful light sparkling within his eyes. “These gates were built to honor that, while the western ones honor the sunset. It’s been such a long time si

Jonah sent a single thumbs up emoji that made my chest ache. I should call them. I will. Just not right now. The car slows and I look up. There’s a gate ahead, tall and iron and imposing, the kind that makes it very clear you’re not supposed to be here unless someone specifically invites you. Stone pillars on either side with the name ‘Petrova’ carved into them in elegant letters. The gate starts to open before we even reach it, sliding apart smooth and silent like it knows we’re coming. We drive through and the road changes from asphalt to gravel, the sound of it crunching under the tires filling the quiet car.

Deborah's POV The car purred to a stop in front of the gates and my breath was caught in my throat. This wasn't a house. It was an emote carved into stone and steel. Towering walls stood like sentinels, sleek security cameras followed every movement and the gate itself looked as though it could withstand a tank. And then the doors opened.

Goma Island. It loomed out of the mist, a jagged silhouette of black rock and ancient forest. As we drew closer, the massive Southern Gate became visible. It was a marvel of engineering—a towering wall of reinforced composite alloy that had stood shut for nearly a decade. Seeing it now, with its two halves parted like a giant's wound, felt wrong. It felt like a trap waiting to be sprung. "All units, stay sharp," I said into my comms, my voice steady despite the roar of blood in my ears. "We don't know who or what opened that gate. Do not engage unless fired upon, but keep your fingers on the triggers."