As I made my way towards the front reception desk, still carrying the remnants of the emotional turmoil from earlier, Michelle silently handed me the next patient's file. The simple exchange felt grounding, a reminder of the routine that structured my days, even if today felt anything but routine. Glancing at the label, a wave of familiarity washed over me as I recognised the name. Luke Smith. His case was one I was well acquainted with, having seen him several times before for various minor ailments and check-ups.

The familiarity brought with it a semblance of normalcy, a brief respite from the storm of emotions still swirling within me. I took a moment to gather myself, to don the professional façade that was second nature, yet felt so fragile today.

Walking to the front of the room, I called out with a clear, steady voice, "Luke Smith." The name cut through the low murmur of the waiting room, reaching the young man seated at the back. He looked up, his expression a mix of apprehension and curiosity, a common look among patients awaiting their turn. "This way please," I said, my tone professional yet warm, a balance I had perfected over years of practice.

As Luke approached, I could see the slight hesitation in his steps, the unconscious bracing for whatever news awaited him. I ushered him into the examination room with a reassuring smile, closing the door behind us to afford us privacy and a sense of separation from the world outside.

Directing him to sit in the visitor's chair, I couldn't help but notice how the room seemed to shrink with the memory of Mr. Thompson's presence still lingering in the air. I tried hard to push the thought aside, to compartmentalise my concerns and focus on the patient in front of me. Luke took his seat, unaware of the chair's recent history, the weight of the decisions made in this very room.

As I prepared to engage with Luke, to delve into the reason for his visit, I found myself grappling with the duality of my role. On one hand, I was the compassionate caregiver, dedicated to healing and comfort. On the other, I was a soldier in a far more complex battle, one that extended beyond the confines of this examination room, beyond the simple ailments and worries of my patients.

But in this moment, with Luke sitting before me, I needed to be fully present, to leave the shadows at the door.

"What can I do for you this time, Mr. Smith?" I inquired, adopting the professional tone that had become second nature to me. His silence, however, was unexpected—a pause that stretched too long, filling the room with a tangible tension.

"Mr. Smith?" I prompted again, my curiosity piqued and a hint of concern threading through my voice. His response, or rather the lack of one, was not typical for our interactions. Then, suddenly, he leaned in close, his movement so swift it caught me off guard. His question, whispered with a gravity that belied the quietness of his voice, sent a shiver down my spine. "Tell me, Glenda, what do you know about 'The Testing'?"

My immediate reaction was a mixture of shock and instinctual caution. "Shh," I hushed, my hands moving of their own accord to cover both our mouths, a gesture aimed at preserving the secrecy of our conversation. "How do you know about that?" I whispered back, my mind racing with the implications of his knowledge.

Luke's response was to lean even closer, his breath barely audible as he whispered, "I can get you to a safe place." The promise in his words was like a beacon in the darkness, a flicker of hope. "Really?" I found myself whispering back, barely daring to believe. "Is there such a place?" The concept of a safe haven seemed almost mythical, a distant dream in the shadowy world we navigated.

Then, as if to answer my silent prayers, Luke opened his hand, revealing a small, rectangular, metallic device nestled in his palm. The sight of it was both intriguing and alarming. "Yes," he confirmed softly, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of secrets and possibilities.

"What is that?" I asked, my curiosity now fully alight. The device, so unassuming in appearance, held the promise of answers, of escape, perhaps even of salvation. My professional demeanour was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a keen interest in the mystery Luke presented. The room, with its clinical sterility and the remnants of previous conversations, suddenly felt like a cocoon, isolating us from the world outside and the dangers that lurked there.

"I'll show you," Luke's voice was steady, a contrast to the tumult of emotions swirling within me. His question, "Are you sure we're alone?" pierced the bubble of intrigue surrounding us.

"I can't be certain," I admitted, my mind racing through the possibilities. Bruce and the Commander were a constant shadow in the back of my mind, their presence an ever-present threat that loomed just beyond the physical confines of this room. The Testers, with their clinical efficiency and detached coldness, had left an indelible mark on my psyche. The possibility of their return, though seemingly slim, haunted the edges of my thoughts. Yet, the chance for something more, for a glimpse into the unknown, tethered me to the spot, curiosity and fear waging a silent war within.

The transformation of the room unfolded with a surreal, almost dreamlike quality. Luke moved with a purpose and precision that belied the extraordinary nature of his actions. He pushed the chairs aside with a gentle yet firm touch, each movement calculated to create a clear path to the back wall. It was as if he were an artist clearing his studio, preparing to reveal his masterpiece. The mundane clutter of the room, which had always been a backdrop to the daily grind of medical examinations and consultations, shifted, becoming the prelude to something extraordinary.

As Luke approached the wall, his demeanour changed; there was a palpable shift in the air, a sense of anticipation that made my heart race. With a motion that seemed both effortless and laden with significance, Luke activated the small device. The wall, once a solid barrier confining the space, shimmered and dissolved into a breathtaking display of bright, electrifying, swirling colours. It was as though a veil had been lifted, revealing a window to another dimension.

The colours themselves were alive, a vibrant tapestry that moved and breathed. Hues of azure clashed with streaks of gold, while emerald greens and deep purples intertwined in an ever-changing dance. It was a spectacle that defied explanation, a phenomenon that challenged the very laws of physics as I understood them. The light emitted from the portal cast the room in a surreal glow, highlighting Luke's features with an ethereal light as he stood before the mesmerising display.

I watched, captivated, as the colours pulsed and flowed, creating patterns that seemed to hint at the infinite. The portal beckoned with a promise of adventure and discovery, yet it also whispered of dangers unknown. It was both a promise of escape from the shadows that had begun to encroach upon my life and a challenge to step into a realm beyond my wildest imaginings.

"Shall we?" Luke's invitation was both a question and a challenge, his hand extended towards me, a bridge between the known and the unknown.

Rising from my chair, I was momentarily transfixed by the spectacle before me. The awe that washed over me was palpable, igniting a spark of hope that had lain dormant amidst the shadows of fear and uncertainty. My steps towards the portal were measured, a physical manifestation of the inner turmoil between the pull of discovery and the grip of caution.

"I have heard my father speak of a Portal before, but never seen it with my own eyes," I confessed, my voice a whisper of wonder. The stories that had once filled my imagination with vivid tales of other worlds and hidden truths were now a tangible reality before me. "It is more beautiful than I ever imagined."

"It is beautiful," Luke's agreement was a simple affirmation, yet it carried the weight of shared experience, of a connection forged in the briefest of moments yet bound by the surreal.

I stood on the threshold, the portal's swirling, colliding colours inviting, promising, yet I hesitated. The allure of the portal, with its mesmerising display of light and energy, was a siren call to my soul, yet the anchor of my reality, of my responsibilities and fears, held me fast.

"What's wrong?" Luke's voice cut through my hesitation, laced with panic.

"Pierre. What will happen to Pierre?" The question spilled from me, my voice a blend of hope and desperation. Pierre, my anchor in the tumultuous sea of uncertainties, the thought of leaving him behind was unbearable. Luke's assurance, "I'll bring Pierre for you and your parents," was meant to comfort, yet it opened a wound I had long tried to heal.

My response was instinctive, a reflex born of pain and memory. "I lost my father many years ago," I confessed, the mournfulness in my voice a testament to a loss that time had not dulled. The words felt heavy, each syllable laden with the weight of years passed and the shadow of grief that lingered.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Luke's sympathy was genuine, a balm to the raw edges of my heart.

Taking heart from his genuineness, I found myself asking, "When?" The urgency of our situation, the promise of escape to a place of safety, was a beacon of hope in the darkness. Luke's admission, "As soon as I can. I can't promise I'll be quick," was a tether to reality, a reminder of the challenges and dangers that lay ahead. Yet, it was a promise of effort, of commitment, that bolstered my resolve.

"Thank you," I said, my gratitude sincere, even as my gaze remained transfixed by the portal's spellbinding display. The step I took forward was more than physical movement; it was a step towards the unknown, towards a future that was as uncertain as it was necessary.

"I'll be right behind you, Glenda," Luke's words were a comfort, a promise that I would not face what lay ahead alone. His presence, both as a Guardian and as an ally, fortified my courage. The portal, with its vibrant hues and swirling energies, beckoned, a doorway to possibilities unknown.

In that moment, standing on the precipice of a decision that would alter the course of my life, I felt a strange peace. The fear and uncertainty that had gripped me were still there, but so too was a sense of purpose, of destiny unfolding. The journey through the portal was not just an escape; it was a leap into a future where hope and danger coexisted, where the fight for survival and freedom would continue.

The sudden vibration of my phone on the desk was like a jolt from another world, abruptly pulling me back from the brink of the unknown that the Portal represented. The vibrant allure of the technicolour swirl momentarily faded, replaced by the stark reality of my current life. With a sense of reluctance, I turned away from the portal's mesmerising display and walked over to the desk, the urgency of the vibration hinting at something urgent, something dire.

Pierre's message was a cold splash of fear: We've been compromised. Run! The words leapt from the screen, searing themselves into my consciousness. A gasp escaped me, unbidden, as my hand flew to my mouth, a physical attempt to stifle the surge of panic that threatened to overwhelm me. The world seemed to tilt, the ground beneath me suddenly unstable.

"What is it?" Luke's voice, laced with curiosity and concern, pierced the fog of my shock. Turning to face him, the phone felt like a lead weight in my hand—a link to the life I was about to leave behind, now a potential threat to my safety.

Locking the phone with a sense of finality, I approached Luke, extending the device towards him. "Luke, you must destroy this phone for me, please," I implored, my voice a mix of instruction and plea. The necessity of the act was clear; any ties to my former life, especially those that could be traced or exploited by our adversaries, had to be severed.

"I will," Luke promised, his voice steady, imbued with a resolve that offered a sliver of comfort in the chaos. "You have my word."

Compelled by a newfound urgency, I hurried back to the Portal, the vibrant gateway to safety that had moments ago been an object of awe and hesitation. I was so close, the colours beckoning, the promise of escape within reach. Yet, as I stood on the threshold, I stopped. Again.

"Oh, Luke. I nearly forgot," I blurted out, the urgency of the moment making my voice tremble slightly.

"What is it?" Luke's impatience was palpable.

"In my top drawer, you'll find my hospital ID and keys. I have a high enough security level that will get you into almost any part of the Royal. You may find them very useful later." The words spilled out in a hurried whisper, the significance of what I was entrusting to him not lost on me. The realisation that these mundane objects could become tools of survival in the right hands underscored the importance of the situation we found ourselves in.

"Indeed. I am sure I will," Luke's response carried a note of acknowledgment and understanding of the potential value of what I was offering. His encouragement to move forward, despite the whirlwind of emotions and last-minute preparations, was the nudge I needed to cross the threshold into the unknown.

Finally, with a deep breath that did little to calm my racing heart, I stepped into the wall of swirling colour, the portal that promised refuge but demanded a price—leaving behind everything familiar. Luke followed closely, a silent guardian in my leap into the unknown.

As my foot touched down, the sensation underfoot was unlike anything I had expected. Soft, brown dust that seemed to cushion my step, a stark contrast to the hard, clinical floors of the medical centre I had left behind. Then, without warning, a voice spoke to me. It wasn't a voice in the traditional sense; there was no sound, no audible tone. Yet, its message resonated within me with clarity and depth, "Welcome to Clivilius, Glenda De Bruyn.”

The greeting, though not heard with my ears, was felt throughout my being, a communication that transcended the need for sound. It was as if the very essence of this place, Clivilius, had reached out to me directly, acknowledging my arrival in a manner so personal and intimate that it momentarily took my breath away.