The faint horizon bent inward, urging movement. Not physically pushing—but making standing still feel wrong. Unnatural. As if the entire place expected Cain to walk.
His brother's voice cracked. "This isn't a request. It's a directive."
Cain's eyes hardened.
"Then let's get it over with," he muttered.
He took a step toward the shadows.
The monolith circle opened like a gate.
Cain stepped through.
His brother followed, terrified but unwilling to leave him alone.
Every step across the black glass felt heavier—even though the ground made no sound. The silhouettes grew clearer with distance.
Some were human-sized.
Some were giant.
Some were twisted.
Some had too many limbs.
Cain's breath caught.
The nearest silhouette leaned forward—not as movement, but as if time shifted around it—and revealed a distorted mask-like face with hollow, elongated eyes stretching from one cheek to the other.
It wasn't alive.
But it wasn't dead.
It was a possibility.
A version.
