"Karen!" Chris's voice was a mixture of panic and relief, slicing through the disorienting calm that had enveloped me moments before. As he grasped my arm, pulling me back from the precipice of the unknown, a rush of emotions flooded through me. I spun around instinctively, letting him draw me into a protective embrace, a harbour in the tumultuous sea of confusion and awe that surrounded us.

"I thought I'd lost you somehow,” he confessed, his voice strained with a torrent of emotions, the fear of having witnessed my disappearance etching deep lines of concern across his face. "When I saw you disappear like that.” The words hung between us, a stark reminder of the surreal journey we had unwittingly embarked upon.

Gently, I pulled away from his grip, needing to affirm the reality of our surroundings with my own eyes. The landscape that greeted us was a stark contrast to anything I had ever seen or imagined. Oranges, browns, and reds painted a barren, sandy terrain that stretched endlessly into the horizon, a tapestry of colours that spoke of an alien beauty and desolation.

"What the hell just happened?" Chris's voice, thick with confusion and fear, echoed my own inner turmoil. "And what the hell is Clivilius?" His questions, laden with the weight of our sudden displacement, mirrored the swirling vortex of thoughts and fears in my mind.

"I think this place is,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, the realisation of our situation settling like a heavy cloak around my shoulders. The reality of our presence in this strange world called Clivilius was slowly dawning on me, a truth as undeniable as it was incomprehensible.

Chris gasped, his eyes widening as he took in the surreal environment for the first time. His reaction, a mirror to my own disbelief, was a silent testament to the sheer incredulity of our circumstances. The familiarity of our world, the comfort of our home, had been replaced by this vast, uncharted wilderness that lay before us, a realm that defied explanation and challenged the very fabric of our understanding.

I reached out, my hand hesitantly making contact with the large, translucent screen that seemed to be the source of our bewildering transportation. To my surprise, it was solid and cold under my fingertips, a stark contrast to the warm, vibrant kaleidoscope of colours that had previously engulfed us. "Luke!" I called out, my voice tinged with a desperate hope, clinging to the belief that he could somehow guide us in this moment of uncertainty. "Luke, where are you?" The words felt heavy in the silent expanse, each syllable a drop in the vast emptiness that surrounded us.

But there was no answer, only the haunting silence that seemed to stretch endlessly, a void where even the echo of our voices seemed to disappear. It was a silence that weighed heavily, amplifying the surreal sense of isolation and confusion.

"Help me,” I urged Chris, nudging him with my elbow, a silent plea for solidarity in the face of the unknown. We needed to find Luke, to grasp some understanding of the situation, to anchor ourselves in the swirling maelstrom of this strange world.

Confused but compliant, Chris joined in the search for our missing friend. "Luke!" he shouted, his voice echoing against the clear, unyielding wall that stood as a barrier between us and the answers we sought. His call, filled with concern and confusion, merged with my own efforts to pierce the silence.

"Luke!" I screamed again, my frustration and fear manifesting in the pounding of my fists against the barrier, the solid, cold surface a jarring reminder of our predicament. A growing sense of desperation took hold, a fear that we were truly lost in this unknown land.

Suddenly, the unemotional voice that had greeted me upon our arrival cut through the tense air, its authoritative demand for calm a sharp contrast to the tumult of emotions raging within me. Karen Owen. Calm yourself! it demanded, its tone brooking no argument. Remember the things that Luke has told you. The instruction, reminiscent of the cryptic conversations I had shared with Luke, sparked a flicker of recognition, a glimmer of understanding amidst the chaos. You know how to ask, it instructed, a directive that hinted at a way forward, a method to navigate the bewildering landscape that had become our reality.

The voice, devoid of emotion yet carrying a weight of authority, served as a beacon in the fog of confusion, a reminder that we were not entirely without guidance. The mention of Luke's dreams, the cryptic hints he had dropped in our conversations, suddenly took on a new significance. It was a puzzle piece, a clue to unlocking the mysteries of this place and possibly finding a way back home, or at least understanding why we were brought to Clivilius. The realisation that there might be a method to this madness, a way to ask, to communicate, or to navigate this alien world, ignited a spark of hope, a determination to grasp the threads of knowledge Luke had left me and weave them into a lifeline.

Chris, fuelled by desperation, slammed his fists against the wall, his voice breaking with emotion. "Help us, please!" The rawness in his plea, the stark fear and hope mingling in his voice, echoed painfully in the barren landscape that surrounded us. But deep down, a quiet resignation had begun to settle within me, a stark contrast to Chris's fervent outbursts.

But I knew it was futile. Sinking into the fine dust that carpeted the alien terrain beneath us, I pressed my back against the cold screen, the solid, unyielding surface offering no comfort, only a chilling reminder of our predicament. "He'll come back for us. Won't he?" Chris's voice, filled with uncertainty and a hint of desperation, broke the heavy silence that had fallen between us.

I sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of our situation. "I don't think it matters anymore.” My voice, though quiet, was laden with a resignation that felt as vast as the landscape stretching before us. The realisation that our hopes and fears might be inconsequential in the face of this unfathomable reality was a bitter pill to swallow.

Chris sat beside me, confusion and disbelief etching his features. "What do you mean, it doesn't matter anymore?" he asked, his voice laced with a disbelief that mirrored the turmoil swirling within him. His inability to grasp the full magnitude of our situation was palpable, an uneasy reminder of the chasm that uncertainty and fear was carving between us.

"We're not going back,” I stated, the realisation heavy in my heart, a declaration that felt as final as it was sudden. The words, once spoken, seemed to hang in the air between us, a somber acknowledgment of the journey that had brought us to this moment and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

"We're not? But what about work? And the house? And the animals?" Chris's questions tumbled out, each one a poignant reminder of the life we had left behind. His voice, tinged with panic and disbelief, was a mirror to the internal chaos that the thought of never returning home wrought within us. Each question was a thread in the fabric of our former lives, pulling at the edges of the new reality we found ourselves ensnared in.

Suddenly, a distant sound broke the stillness—a muffled woman's voice, echoing across the barren landscape. It was a beacon of hope in the overwhelming silence, a sign that we were not alone.

"Someone's coming,” Chris whispered, his voice laced with panic as he pushed me lower to the ground, a protective instinct kicking in.

I brushed his arm away, annoyed by his fear. "Don't be such a fool,” I scolded him, my irritation at his immediate leap to fear overruling the shared apprehension of our predicament. Pulling myself to my feet with a newfound resolve, I stood defiantly against the unknown. "Hey! Over here!" I called out, waving my arms towards the source of the voice. This was no time for fear; we needed answers, and perhaps this stranger, whoever she was, could provide them.

Chris's hand gripped my jeans, his fear palpable, a tangible weight that sought to pull me back down to his level of caution. "What are you doing? She could be dangerous!" he cautioned, his voice trembling with the terror of the unknown, his imagination conjuring myriad threats that the stranger might pose.

I looked down at him, a mix of frustration and determination in my gaze. "Get up,” I commanded, my voice firm, refusing to let fear dictate our actions. In this unknown world, hesitation and fear would not serve us; they were luxuries we could ill afford. The need for answers, for understanding, outweighed the instinct to hide.

The tall, slender woman gradually slowed her jog as she approached us, her gait smooth and controlled, despite the evident exertion. “Hello," she called out, her voice tinged with a hint of curiosity, her presence a stark contrast to the desolate landscape that surrounded us. Her approach, cautious yet open, suggested a willingness to communicate, to bridge the gap between strangers in a strange land.

Chris, still visibly shaken, hesitantly rose to his feet, his eyes locked onto the approaching stranger, his body tense with the anticipation of the unknown. The moment hung between us, charged with the potential for both danger and discovery, a delicate balance that could tip with a word, a gesture, a misunderstanding.

Yet, there was something in the woman’s demeanour, a calm assurance that suggested she was not a threat, that she too was navigating the uncertainties of this world.

"I'm Glenda,” she introduced herself, catching her breath from the exertion of her approach. Extending her hand towards me, her gesture was friendly, yet measured, a balance of openness and caution that mirrored my own feelings in this encounter. The sun, casting long shadows across the sandy terrain, seemed to pause, highlighting this moment of human connection amidst the unfamiliar landscape.

"Now is that a good wi—" Chris began, his tone laced with suspicion, the words trailing off as if he were about to question Glenda's intentions or perhaps the wisdom of trusting her so readily.

"Oh stop it!" I scolded him, delivering a quick, admonishing whack across the back of his head. It was neither the time nor the place for his usual skepticism, not when we were faced with the potential for understanding and alliance in this bewildering world. My frustration with his instinctive wariness bubbled to the surface, a sharp contrast to the curiosity and cautious optimism that Glenda's presence inspired in me.

"I'm Karen,” I said, shaking Glenda's hand firmly, the contact a tangible affirmation of our mutual desire to connect, to bridge the gap between the known and the unknown. "And this is my husband, Chris,” I added, gesturing towards Chris, who stood somewhat awkwardly beside me. His stature, noticeably shorter than mine, did nothing to diminish the strength of his presence, though at that moment, he seemed to shrink further under the weight of the situation.

Glenda then turned to Chris, offering her hand with the same warm openness she had extended to me. "Nice to meet you, Chris,” she said, her accent distinctly Swiss, a melodic lilt that spoke of her origins, adding yet another layer of intrigue to her character. Her acknowledgment of Chris, despite his initial suspicion, was a gesture of goodwill, an olive branch extended in the hope of mutual understanding and cooperation.

"Where is Luke?" Glenda inquired, her eyes searching mine for an answer, her sense of urgency a clear reflection of the gravity she placed on his absence. The question hung heavily in the air between us, a tangible reminder of our shared concern for Luke.

I shrugged, the motion conveying the confusion and anxiety swirling within me. Words seemed insufficient to encapsulate the whirlwind of emotions I was experiencing, the uncertainty of our predicament casting a shadow over any semblance of comprehension.

"I don't think he's coming,” Chris chimed in, his voice carrying a mix of resignation and frustration. It was a statement that seemed to echo the bleakness of our current situation, a verbal manifestation of the despair that had begun to take root.

"He didn't arrive with you?" Glenda pressed, her surprise evident in the arch of her eyebrow.

“No,” I responded, the word heavy on my tongue. "I don't think this is how he meant for things to happen.” The words felt inadequate, a feeble attempt to rationalise the chaos that had enveloped us. My mind was still reeling, trying to piece together the bizarre sequence of events that had catapulted us into this unfamiliar world.

"It was an accident?" Glenda asked, her voice seeking clarification, a lifeline in the form of understanding, however partial it might be.

I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to marshal my thoughts into coherence. "I don't really understand it, but Luke made the most beautiful colours appear on the back of the living room door. I wanted to touch it, but he told me not to.” My recounting felt surreal, as if I were describing a scene from a dream rather than an event that had irrevocably changed the course of our lives.

"He did?" Chris interjected, his tone a mix of surprise and a hint of accusation, as if the revelation shed new light on the events, casting them in a different, more personal light.

“Yes. And then you came bursting through the door and then, well, here we are,” I explained, my voice flat, the words spilling out in a torrent of resigned acceptance. The absurdity of our situation, the sheer unpredictability of it, seemed to defy logic.

Chris's eyes widened in disbelief, a visual echo of his inner turmoil. "You're blaming me for this?" he asked, his confusion palpable. The question, laden with incredulity, underscored the complexity of our situation, the intertwining of actions and consequences that had led to our current predicament.

"Well if you had just come through the kitchen like you usually do, this wouldn't..." I began, my voice trailing off, my frustration at the unforeseen impact of our seemingly innocuous actions evident in my tone. The realisation that our ordinary, everyday decisions could have such extraordinary repercussions was a bitter pill to swallow, a harsh lesson in the unpredictability of fate and the fragile nature of reality as we knew it.

"Guys. Guys!" Glenda interjected firmly, her voice like a beacon of reason piercing through the fog of our escalating argument. Her intervention was a necessary jolt, pulling us back from the brink of a blame game that served no purpose. "I don't think this is really anybody's fault,” she said, her words attempting to diffuse the tension that had wound itself tightly around us.

"Of course it is!" Chris exclaimed, unable to contain his agitation. His frustration, usually simmering just beneath the surface, now boiled over. "It's Luke's fault!" The accusation hung heavily in the air, a tangible manifestation of his need to assign blame, to find some reason in the unreasonable.

Glenda and I fell into a momentary silence, absorbing the weight of Chris's accusation.

"Accident or not,” Chris continued, his voice laden with a mix of anger and desperation, "It was ultimately Luke's carelessness that got us in this situation.”

“Hmm," I muttered, my mind churning over Chris's point. The reality was that Luke indeed had a lot to answer for, his actions, however unintentional, having catapulted us into this alien world. Yet, laying blame felt like grasping at straws in a storm, a futile attempt to regain control over something far beyond our understanding.

"When can we go back home?" Chris asked Glenda, hope flickering in his eyes like a fragile flame in the darkness.

"We're not,” I said sharply, the words slicing through the hopeful tension like a knife. My interruption preempted Glenda's response, laying bare the harsh truth that had slowly been dawning on me.

Glenda looked at me, her expression a complex tapestry of surprise and confusion, as if my declaration had shifted the ground beneath her feet.

"This is our home now,” I declared, imbuing my voice with a sense of finality that I barely felt. It was a declaration not of acceptance but of resignation, a stark acknowledgment of the reality that confronted us.

"It is?" Chris and Glenda echoed, their voices overlapping in a chorus of disbelief. Their reactions, so perfectly mirrored, were a poignant reminder of the shared disorientation and uncertainty that this strange new world had thrust upon us. The very notion of calling this alien place 'home' seemed absurd, yet in the absence of a clear path back to our world, the concept of home had become as fluid and elusive as the sands beneath our feet.

My brow furrowed in contemplation, a storm of thoughts swirling within me as I tried to piece together the fragments of past conversations, searching for a thread that might connect to our current, bewildering predicament. Then, a memory surfaced, a flicker of insight amidst the confusion. "Do you remember the times we sat in bed at night, and I used to joke to you about those crazy dreams Luke would tell Jane and I about on the bus?" I asked Chris, my voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and urgency. I was seeking a connection, a clue that might explain the inexplicable, linking Luke's fanciful tales to the surreal reality we now found ourselves in.

“Yeah,” Chris replied, his expression shifting from confusion to one of dawning realisation, as if my question had turned a key within him, unlocking a door to understanding that he hadn't realised was there.

I bent down, the action deliberate, and scooped up a handful of the dust that blanketed the ground beneath us. Its texture was unfamiliar, yet it held within it the key to understanding our situation, a tangible piece of the puzzle that Luke had unknowingly provided us. "Hold your hands out,” I instructed Chris, my tone firm yet filled with a burgeoning sense of awe. "I think it may actually all be real,” I said, the words heavy with the weight of our newfound reality, as I let the dust cascade gently into his open palms, each grain a testament to the truth of our situation.

“Shit," he gasped softly, the expletive a whisper of acknowledgment, a quiet surrender to the vast, incomprehensible truth that enveloped us. The reality of our situation, once the subject of disbelief and speculation, began to sink in, settling into the marrow of our bones with the undeniable weight of truth. The dust in his hands, a physical manifestation of our presence in this world, was a silent, eloquent confirmation of the unimaginable journey we had embarked upon, spurred by the dreams of a friend who had always seemed just a bit out of step with the world as we knew it.

Excitement flickered in my eyes, the thrill of the unknown propelling me forward as I bombarded Glenda with questions. "How many people are there? Are we close to the capital? And what of the facility?" I asked, my words tumbling out in a rapid stream, a reflection of the whirlwind of thoughts and theories spinning through my mind. Each question was a desperate grasp at understanding the scope and structure of this alien world, a world that had, until now, existed only in the realm of Luke's dreams and our unimaginable reality.

Glenda's expression morphed into one of confusion, a mirror to the complexity and strangeness of our situation. "Capital? Facility?" she echoed, her voice laced with perplexity. "What facility?" Her questions, simple yet profound, punctured the bubble of excitement that had enveloped me, a sharp reminder of the vast differences in our understanding and experiences.

"You know, the breeding facility,” I clarified, my voice carrying an assumption of shared knowledge, believing that Luke's vivid dreams, which I had once dismissed as mere fantasies, would have some basis in the reality of this world.

Glenda stared at me blankly, her lack of recognition a cold splash of reality on my fervent hopes. The disconnect in our conversation was evident, a chasm of understanding that neither of us knew how to bridge.

"I don't think Glenda knows what you're talking about,” Chris pointed out, his voice tinged with disappointment. His observation, though gentle, felt like a confirmation of our isolation, a stark reminder of the distance between our past lives and our current reality.

Glenda's expression turned sombre, her next words carrying the weight of our new reality. "There's only a few of us. We're just a tiny settlement,” she admitted, her admission dampening the initial thrill of discovery. Her words painted a picture of a world far removed from the bustling civilisation I had envisioned, a stark, lonely outpost on the fringe of the unknown.

“Take us,” I said, the mixture of excitement and doubt in my voice betraying the tumult of emotions within me. Despite the uncertainty and the growing realisation that my preconceptions might not align with the reality of Clivilius, the desire to understand, to see and experience this world firsthand, remained undiminished.

“Sure,” Glenda nodded in agreement, her willingness to guide us a sliver of light in the murky waters of our situation.