Caelum Ashborne was mid-step when the world let go of him.
One moment, his boot was coming down on rain-dark stone, the familiar weight of gravity pulling him forward, the cold air sharp in his lungs. The next, there was no ground—no rain, no sound—only a sensation like the pause between heartbeats, stretched thin and endless.
He did not fall.
He *hung*.
Time did something strange there. Not slowing, not stopping—just loosening, as if reality itself had unclenched its grip. Caelum had the absurd thought that if he waved his hand, it might leave the rest of him behind.
Then the light came.
It wasn't bright. It wasn't blinding. It was layered—soft upon soft, like translucent veils stacked one over another. Colors without names shifted slowly overhead, illuminating a vast, open expanse.
Caelum's feet touched solid ground.
The impact was gentle, almost considerate.
He stood still for several seconds, breathing, waiting for the world to explain itself.
It didn't.
---
Not far away, Aarav Malhotra gasped as if he'd been punched in the chest.
One moment he'd been running—late, again—dodging pedestrians and curses alike, the city a blur of noise and motion. The next, the sound vanished. His momentum carried him forward into empty air, and instinctively, *desperately*, he reached out.
Something answered.
Invisible lines snapped taut around him, catching his body mid-fall like threads pulled from nowhere. The force wrenched through his arms and spine, sharp and burning, and he cried out as the lines released him, dropping him unceremoniously onto pale grass that bent but did not break.
Aarav rolled onto his back, heart hammering.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered.
His hands trembled.
---
Élise Moreau woke screaming.
The scream tore out of her chest before she knew she was afraid, echoing across the open plain before dissolving into the strange, muted air. She clapped a hand over her mouth, breath ragged, eyes wide.
She remembered warmth—sunlight through a café window, the clink of porcelain, the sound of her sister laughing.
Then nothing.
Now she knelt alone amid endless grass, the sky unfamiliar and wrong, the light too soft, too even. No shadows fell where they should have.
Her fingers brushed something solid at her collarbone.
A shard of translucent glass rested there, warm to the touch.
Élise stared at it, unease coiling tight in her chest.
---
Takahiro Mori landed in silence.
Years of discipline saved him from panic. He absorbed the shock with bent knees, breath steady, posture controlled, even as his surroundings screamed *impossible*.
This was not any training hall. Not any mountain. The air carried no scent he recognized, and the horizon curved subtly upward, as though the land itself were incomplete.
His hand drifted to where his sword *should* have been.
It was there.
Not the blade he owned—this one was longer, darker, its surface so still it seemed to drink the light around it. Takahiro frowned.
He had not drawn it.
He had not *chosen* it.
The sword hummed faintly, as if aware of his attention.
Takahiro exhaled slowly and stepped away from it.
The hum followed.
---
Li Xueyan did not cry out.
She did not gasp or freeze. The instant her surroundings changed, she moved—rolling, rising, scanning.
Flat terrain. Sparse ruins floating at irregular heights. No immediate threats.
Good.
Her reflection caught her eye in a fragment of polished stone. For a split second, she thought the image lagged behind her movement.
Then it corrected itself.
Li narrowed her eyes.
"Not hallucinating," she muttered. "Not dreaming."
Which meant this was worse.
---
They were not alone.
Figures dotted the plain—some standing, some kneeling, some sprawled in stunned silence. Voices began to rise, tentative at first, then sharper as fear took hold.
"Where are we?"
"Did anyone else see—"
"This has to be a prank. Some kind of experiment."
Caelum watched them without joining the noise. He turned slowly, taking in the landscape.
The ground was covered in pale, resilient grass that whispered softly when disturbed. Here and there, stone ruins jutted upward—broken walls, archways that led nowhere, staircases ending in open air. Far above, massive fragments of architecture floated serenely, casting faint, distorted shadows.
And in the distance—
Caelum's gaze fixed.
Something *loomed*.
It was difficult to judge scale at first. The structure was far away—impossibly far—yet it dominated the horizon. A colossal gate, cracked and uneven, half-sunken into the land as though the world itself had grown around it.
Even from here, it felt heavy.
Important.
Unavoidable.
A pressure settled in Caelum's chest, not fear exactly, but recognition. As if something deep within him had already accepted that he would walk toward it.
Around him, others noticed it too.
Conversation faltered. Arguments died half-formed.
Eyes turned, one by one, toward the distant Gate.
---
Jonah Whitlock cleared his throat.
It was a small sound, but it carried.
"Alright," he said, voice calm, measured. "Everyone take a breath. Panicking won't help."
A few heads turned his way.
Jonah stood with an easy confidence, hands visible, posture relaxed. He didn't shout or demand attention—he simply spoke as though being listened to was the most natural thing in the world.
"My name's Jonah," he continued. "I don't know where we are. I don't know how we got here. But we *are* here, and the worst thing we can do is scatter without thinking."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.
Caelum watched Jonah with mild curiosity. The man had the cadence of someone used to being obeyed—not through force, but expectation.
"Food, water, shelter," Jonah went on. "Let's take stock. If anyone's hurt, say so."
Aarav hesitated, then raised his hand slightly.
"I—uh. I'm fine. Mostly." He flexed his fingers, wincing when a tremor ran through them.
Élise hugged herself, eyes darting, but said nothing.
Li Xueyan took a step back from the forming cluster, her gaze flicking between individuals, noting reactions, weaknesses.
Takahiro remained still, eyes closed, breathing slow.
The ground shuddered.
It was subtle—a vibration more felt than heard—but everyone froze as the grass rippled outward in concentric waves.
Somewhere far away, stone groaned.
Caelum's heart skipped.
The distant Gate pulsed once, a deep, resonant thrum that echoed through the air and into their bones.
Then silence returned.
No voice followed. No instructions. No explanation.
Just the sense that something had *noticed* them.
---
"What was that?" someone whispered.
No one answered.
Caelum swallowed and took a step forward.
The grass bent beneath his boot, the world feeling—solid. Real.
He did not know why he was calm. He knew he *shouldn't* be. But panic slid off him, unable to find purchase.
Without quite meaning to, he moved closer to the Gate.
Others drifted with him, unconsciously matching his pace. The group didn't tighten or bunch—it flowed, movements aligning without discussion.
Aarav stumbled on a loose stone. Élise reached out, steadying him before she realized what she was doing.
Their eyes met, startled.
"Thanks," Aarav said softly.
She nodded, fingers lingering for half a second longer than necessary before pulling away.
Li Xueyan noticed.
Her gaze flicked to Caelum, then back to the group.
Interesting, she thought. Not strong. Not weak. Just… *there*.
The sky above shifted, layers sliding over one another like slow-moving clouds made of light.
Somewhere between one step and the next, a truth settled quietly into the world:
This place was not waiting to welcome them.
It was waiting to see what would break.
And far away, the Gate stood patient and unmoving, as it had for countless others before them.
The first path had already been chosen.
They simply hadn't realized it yet.