The wind outside had died.
It was three in the morning, and the world seemed empty.
No sound broke the stillness except for the faint hiss of air passing through a crack in the wall.
In the old basement where Elias hid, the air was thick heavy, electric.
Dust floated around him slowly, curling in the blue light that rose from the table.
At the center of the room stood the machine -
a creation of black metal, a ring three meters wide, etched with mathematical symbols and coded letters.
It looked like a fusion of a sacred relic and an apocalyptic engine.
The light within it pulsed rhythmically like a beating heart.
The air itself trembled.
Elias approached slowly.
He was barefoot; the cold floor burned his feet.
He wore her white lab coat Lian's coat
as if it might protect him, or perhaps bring him closer to her.
He placed his hand on the ring.
The metal quivered under his skin warmer than it should be.
He felt his heartbeat syncing with its vibration.
"If you can hear me…" he whispered,
"I'm ready."
He pressed the switch.
A dull thunder rolled through the basement.
The light flared bright blue, lines of energy flickering in the air like delicate lightning.
The rings began to spin slowly at first, then faster, and faster still.
Streams of silver light poured from the center and touched the walls.
Each time a wave passed, he felt his body pulled forward
as if space itself was bending around him.
The monitors beeped rapidly.
"Sustained human frequency detected… origin unknown."
"Stabilizing connection."
He almost smiled.
"Lian?" he said, voice trembling. "Are you here?"
The light at the center began to widen.
Within the swirling glow, a figure appeared first vague, soft like smoke.
It looked human slender, long hair floating in a gentle halo of light.
He recognized the features: the cheekbones, the small mouth, the wide eyes —
it was her.
"My God…" he whispered. "It's really you."
He stepped closer.
The radiation brushed against his skin, burned into his vision.
All he could hear was his own breathing and the hum of the machine.
Then, a voice spoke.
Not hers.
Deeper, rough, foreign but disturbingly familiar.
"Do… not… follow…"
He froze.
The figure began to change its outline softening, shifting, becoming more masculine.
The hair shimmered into silver. The shoulders widened.
And the eyes the same brown eyes he loved turned golden, sharp, alien.
"What… what is this?" he whispered.
"Who are you?"
"We are."
The light exploded around him.
Everything vanished.
Pain was the first thing he felt
a searing cold, like frozen water burning bare skin.
He tried to breathe the air was thick, bitter, metallic.
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw a world he didn't recognize.
Red skies stretched above him like a burning shroud.
They didn't look natural waves of fire drifted through them, silent but alive.
The ground was dark, almost black, like ash mixed with glass.
Where he had landed, the earth was scorched; cracks glowed faint red, as if molten lava pulsed beneath the surface.
In the distance stood trees but not trees as he knew them:
their trunks twisted from dark metal, their leaves glimmered like glass.
Every step he took echoed.
Even the echoes sounded strange as if something was whispering back.
He looked up. Two moons hung in the sky
one white, one violet both moving slowly,
casting the world below in a dreamlike, haunting glow.
"This… can't be real," he murmured.
He turned, searching for the Gate
but behind him there was only a massive crack in the air,
a silver fissure that flickered once and vanished.
"No… no!"
He ran forward, reaching out,
but the space where the Gate had stood was already sealed.
Only a faint streak of light remained, fading slowly into the cracks of the scorched ground.
A hot wind rose, carrying the scent of burnt iron.
Then footsteps.
Not one pair. Many.
They surrounded him.
From the shadows emerged humanoid figures.
Their skin was dark, their eyes glowing a faint green.
Spears in their hands. Clothes made of leather and bone.
They moved silently, almost ritualistically,
and from them came a low hum a repeating frequency, ancient and steady,
like a mantra.
"A son of the world…" murmured one, voice deep and resonant.
"He should not be here."
Before he could move, a sharp blow struck the back of his neck.
The world blurred.
Through the haze, just before darkness claimed him,
he saw a tall figure approaching
armored in gleaming black, silver hair cascading down, golden eyes piercing through the smoke.
The figure leaned close.
A low, calm, commanding voice spoke:
"Keep him alive. I want to know… why he crossed."
And the world disappeared.