The crowd's fear lingered like smoke after a fire—thick, choking, impossible to wave away. Thousands of eyes darted downward to the blackness beneath their feet, the same void that had opened without warning and claimed the angry ones whole. No one spoke of it aloud, but the silence buzzed with the same question: What if it happens to me next?
Tiffsili watched them, lotus-colored eyes steady, wings folded in quiet patience. When the murmurs threatened to swell again, the small being raised both hands—small, deliberate—and spoke.
"You all seem afraid because of what happened to those who came before," it said, voice gentle now, almost soothing. "But I assure you: the darkness will not swallow you as long as you remain calm and in control of yourselves."
The words settled slowly. Breaths evened out. Shoulders loosened fraction by fraction. One by one, faces turned back toward the guide, trusting—if only for the moment—that obedience might be the only shield they had.
When the hush felt complete, Tiffsili continued.
"As I said before, you will be tried. Forced to grow. Each of you will enter a secluded space—alone—for years. Time there will not match the world you left."
The brave woman, the one whose voice had first broken the silence, spoke again. Her tone was measured, but the edge of dread remained.
"For how long, exactly?"
"Until you are strong enough… or until you die." Tiffsili's reply was matter-of-fact, without cruelty. "Every ten years, those judged worthy will be released from their space and returned to your world. That is the rhythm."
"So we have a default of ten years each," she said, almost to herself.
"Yes."
Tiffsili brought both hands together as if preparing to clap, but paused. The gesture hung, deliberate.
"I have spoken to you enough," it said. "Now it is time to be selected by your trials."
"Selected?" The word rippled through the crowd—whispers, questions, confusion.
"The trials will choose who enters their world," Tiffsili explained. "The deeper the trial world, the more intelligent the beasts you will find there."
Joel felt the question rise before he could stop it. His voice carried clear across the void.
"Then doesn't that mean the deepest one would be the hardest?"
"No." Tiffsili turned its gaze to him, calm and unyielding. "All trials are made to test and build you. You will each grow on different worlds, but the difficulty is the same. None stands above or below another. You will have to adapt. You will have to live. That is all."
The being's wings shifted once, a subtle signal.
"Be prepared. The simultaneous selection begins now."
Space itself answered.
Cracks appeared—not loud, not violent at first, but sudden. Thin fractures spiderwebbed through the darkness like glass under pressure. Light bled from the other side—different hues, different temperatures. Doorways. Worlds calling.
People screamed. Some begged. Others clawed at the air, trying to hold position, but the pull was absolute. Invisible hands gripped ankles, waists, shoulders—gentle at first, then insistent, then merciless.
One by one, bodies were yanked forward. A young man wept openly as he vanished through a crimson slit. An older woman reached for someone—anyone—but the crack swallowed her mid-cry. No blood. No struggle that lasted. Only motion. Only selection.
Joel felt it begin in his chest—a slow lift, then acceleration. His body rose, weightless yet dragged, faster than any car, any plane, any jet he had ever known. The speed pressed against him like wind, though no wind existed here. The void blurred past in streaks of black and faint color.
He did not fight.
In the rush, one thought anchored him: Ten years. If what Tiffsili said is true, in ten years I could see them again. Mum. Dad. Osaru.
The realization steadied him, even as fear coiled tighter.
Because he was still moving—still hurtling—and the speed told its own truth. Whatever waited on the other side would demand everything. Survival would not be given. It would be earned.
The crack ahead yawned wider, light spilling out like spilled water. A world. His world.
It pulled.
And Joel went.