"Hey, Paul!" My voice, a vibrant echo in the spacious living room, carried a tone of genuine excitement as Jamie ushered my brother inside. My gaze lingered on Paul, noting the familiar lines of his face that time had subtly altered. Jamie, with a practiced ease, shooed Henri and Duke away, the two dogs skittering across the tiled floor with playful protests, their tails wagging animatedly.
"Why didn't you come to the airport?” Paul's immediate inquiry pierced the bubble of warmth with a reminder of the expectations and norms I had sidestepped in favour of my preparations—or lack thereof. "I was preparing myself for your arrival," I explained, a light jest in my tone as I gestured towards the sweat sheen on my skin, a physical testament to the exertions of my day that had little to do with traditional forms of preparation.
"You don't look terribly prepared," Paul retorted, his laughter filling the room, eyes twinkling with the shared humour that had always been a part of our interactions.
"Aren't you cold?" Jamie interjected, his tone laced with concern and a hint of something else—something that made his gaze linger a moment too long on my exposed skin. His eyes, I noticed, widened ever so slightly, a subtle reaction that did not escape my attention.
"Meh," I replied nonchalantly, shrugging off the concern with an air of indifference, yet inside, I revelled in the attention. Despite the tension that had simmered between Jamie and me, the undeniable fact of his lingering attraction brought a sense of satisfaction. It was an affirmation of the complicated dynamics that existed between us, a mix of unresolved feelings and undeniable chemistry. Jamie's observation about the cold was valid, though. The Tasmanian breeze, usually a gentle caress, felt more like an icy slap today, sneaking in through the open door with a boldness that mirrored the winter's grip on Hobart. Yet, it wasn't just the physical labour of moving boxes that had kept the cold at bay but also the warmth that Clivilius, with its clear skies and radiant sun, had instilled in me
Paul's seamless transition into the role of a famished visitor, diving into the fridge with an urgency born of long travel, shifted the atmosphere. "So, what's the big emergency that couldn't wait another day?" His muffled voice emerged from the depths of the refrigerator, a mundane inquiry that belied the weight of the story I was yet to share. The question, simple on the surface, was a precipice overlooking the vast, uncharted territories of explanation and revelation that lay ahead.
"Emergency? What emergency?" Jamie's voice, laced with confusion and a hint of skepticism, cut through the air, throwing me a questioning glance that felt like a spotlight suddenly turned on in a dark room. His gaze then shifted back to Paul, who, with the grace of a performer in the spotlight, pulled his head out of the fridge, cheeks bulging with grapes. "Aren't you the one with the family crisis?"
"Me?" Paul's response came out almost comically, the grapes in his mouth not quite muffling the incredulity in his voice. He swallowed with an exaggerated gulp that seemed to echo in the suddenly tense kitchen, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement that would have been hilarious under different circumstances.
Two pairs of eyes then turned to me, their gazes sharp and inquiring, slicing through the air to pin me in place. I felt like a specimen under a microscope, my every thought and hesitation magnified. The beads of sweat that formed on my brow were no longer from physical exertion but from the intense scrutiny of their stares, which felt as if they could peel back the layers of my carefully constructed façade.
Are you sure you want to do this now? The question echoed in my mind, a whisper of doubt amidst the cacophony of my racing thoughts. I was standing at the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath my feet, the decision to jump fraught with unknown consequences. Once you do, there’s no turning back, the soft voice of Clivilius in my head reminded me, a solemn note of finality in its tone.
“Well? What's going on, Luke?" Jamie's demand shattered the tense silence that had enveloped us, his voice sharp, cutting through my indecision like a knife through butter. The moment of truth was upon me, and yet, the words stuck in my throat, heavy and unyielding.
"Well..." I began, my voice trailing off as I desperately scrambled for the right words, the right way to bridge the gap between our reality and the unbelievable truth that lurked just beyond the door of my study. How do you just tell someone that you have an inter-dimensional portal to another world in your study? The question had haunted me, circling in my mind like a relentless predator. They'll think I'm insane! Unless...
A plan, audacious and fraught with uncertainty, began to take shape in my mind, the pieces clicking into place with the precision of a well-oiled machine. A wide grin, unbidden and irrepressible, spread across my face, the expression of a man who, having weighed the odds, decides to leap into the unknown.
"I'm sorry, but there’s something that I really need to show you both," I said, my voice carrying a mixture of apology and excitement. I aimed to sound encouraging, hopeful that the promise of discovery would temper the frustration and confusion that had built up between us.
"Sounds ominous," Paul remarked, his tone laced with skepticism yet not devoid of curiosity. His reaction was a reminder of the fine line I was about to cross, where disbelief and wonder walked hand in hand.
"What is it?" Jamie snapped, the impatience in his voice now tinged with a sharp edge of curiosity. His patience, already stretched thin, seemed to fray further with each passing moment.
"Come with me," I found myself saying, the words carrying an air of mystery that seemed to echo down the hallway. With a casual wave of my hand, beckoning them to follow, I led the way towards the study, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder, a small smile playing on my lips as I saw Jamie and Paul, despite their evident confusion and lingering irritation, trailing behind me. Their steps, hesitant yet curious, reminded me of sheep following their shepherd into the unknown, trusting yet uncertain.
As we neared the threshold of the study, a room that had become more than just a place of work but a gateway to unimaginable wonders, I reached into my pocket, feeling the familiar contours of the Portal Key. Pulling it from my pocket, its weight, insignificant to the unknowing eye, was a talisman of the extraordinary secrets it held.
"Ha, I was right!" Jamie's voice shattered the thick anticipation, his tone a mix of triumph and suspicion. "It is something on the computer!"
"What?" I feigned confusion, turning to face them with an expression of innocence. The moment felt suspended in time, a delicate balance between revelation and disbelief.
"The USB stick," Jamie said, his finger pointing at the object in my hand, his gaze sharp and calculating.
"Oh, no, this isn't a USB stick," I replied, my grin widening, a playful arrogance infusing my voice. The moment was ripe with the promise of awe and wonder, a pivotal point that would forever alter their understanding of the world.
"Okay, so, what is it?" Paul's voice, now tinged with genuine curiosity, broke through his initial irritation. His question hung in the air, a silent plea for understanding in the face of the unknown.
With a sense of theatricality, I pressed the small button on the device, my pulse quickening as I anticipated their reactions. The room was charged with an electric anticipation as the small ball of energy burst forth, unfurling in a dazzling display of lights against the study wall. It was a spectacle I had witnessed multiple times, yet it never failed to stir a sense of wonder within me.
"What the...?" Jamie's voice was barely above a whisper, a mixture of awe and disbelief.
I couldn't suppress my smile, basking in the effect the unfolding scene had on Jamie and Paul. Their eyes, wide with astonishment, were fixed on the vibrant dance of colours that painted the wall, their expressions a canvas of wonder and confusion. The glowing swirls, alive with energy, collided and exploded in bursts of sparks, each collision a symphony of light that seemed to reach out into the room, inviting them into a world beyond their wildest imaginations.
In that moment, I stood at the precipice of the known and the unknown, the architect of their initiation into a reality far removed from the mundane confines of our everyday existence. The room, once familiar and ordinary, had transformed into a stage for the unveiling of mysteries that defied explanation, a threshold beyond which lay the infinite possibilities of the universe. And I, with a simple press of a button, had become the guide, leading them towards the threshold of discovery, eager to share the wonders that awaited just beyond the veil of reality.
"What is that?" Paul's voice reached me, tinged with a sense of wonder that seemed to stretch the distance between us, as if the marvel before us had cast a spell, rendering the mundane world around us distant and blurred.
"I'll show you," I responded, my voice steady, yet thrumming with an undercurrent of excitement. With each step closer to the Portal, I felt the pull of the unknown, a magnetic draw that seemed to resonate with the very core of my being.
"I can see," Paul murmured, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "It's stunning." His words, simple yet profound, echoed my own sentiments. The Portal, with its undulating colours and hypnotic dance, was more than a technological marvel; it was a gateway to the extraordinary, a bridge between worlds that defied the limitations of our understanding.
"Just follow me," I urged, stepping in front of the Portal, my heart racing as I prepared to cross the threshold. The vibrant swirls of colour that made up the Portal's surface seemed to beckon, inviting us to step into the unknown. "Follow you where?" Jamie's query, softer than his usual tone, carried a note of vulnerability, a hint of the apprehension and curiosity that battled within him.
Without further explanation, I stepped backward into the swirling colours, letting them envelop me in their embrace. The sensation was both exhilarating and disorienting, a momentary suspension between two worlds before I emerged on the other side, my feet settling into the soft, Clivilian dust.
I stood alone, the vast expanse of Clivilius stretching before me, the silence punctuated only by the gentle whisper of the wind. The wait, though it felt interminable, was a test of faith, a moment of uncertainty that gnawed at my resolve. Had the Portal denied them entry? Or, more likely, had they turned away, disbelief or fear guiding their decision, leaving me to face the consequences of my audacious gamble alone?
Why did I ever think this was a good idea? Despair crept in, wrapping its cold fingers around my heart. This was never going to work! The thought echoed in my mind, a chorus of doubt and regret. Even as the warmth of the relentless sun beat down on my bare skin, a chill of isolation sent shivers down my spine, the weight of solitude pressing heavily upon me.
Do not doubt me, Luke Smith, the voice of Clivilius whispered softly in my mind, a gentle rebuke that carried with it the warmth of reassurance. The voice, ethereal and comforting, seemed to wrap around me, a reminder that I was not alone in this venture. In that moment, the vastness of Clivilius felt less daunting, the alien landscape less forbidding. The voice, a presence that had become both guide and guardian, offered solace in the face of uncertainty, a beacon of hope that pierced the veil of my doubts.
Right on cue, as if propelled by the very force of my anticipation, Paul burst through the Portal with an exuberance that sent clouds of fine Clivilian dust billowing into the air. His arrival, marked by the thunderous echo of his steps, was a sight to behold, a testament to the raw energy and vitality he carried within him. Jamie, with a cautiousness that contrasted sharply with Paul's boldness, followed closely behind, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and uncertainty.
"Did you hear it?" The question tumbled out of me, my voice crackling with excitement. The silence that had enveloped them as they took in the sprawling landscape of Clivilius was begging to be broken. The curiosity gnawing at me was too intense; I needed to know if the voice of Clivilius had reached them as it had me, a shared experience that would irrevocably bind us to this land and to each other.
Their response, a simultaneous nod, was more than just an affirmation; it was a silent acknowledgment of the profound impact of what they had just experienced. The voice of Clivilius, a presence that had whispered promises of guidance and wisdom, had indeed spoken to them, weaving its way into the fabric of their reality just as it had mine. A wave of relief washed over me, dissipating the last remnants of doubt that lingered in my mind. The path that lay ahead was clear, and the realisation that I was not alone in this journey brought a newfound strength.
"This is where life will begin anew," I declared, my arms sweeping across the horizon, embracing the vastness of Clivilius. The words, heavy with meaning and promise, seemed to hang in the air, a proclamation of the dawn of a new era, of possibilities yet to be explored and destinies yet to be fulfilled.
Paul's reaction, however, was unexpected. Without uttering a word, he began to wave his arms through the air, his movements deliberate, as if trying to grasp something invisible, something just beyond reach. "What are you doing, Paul?" My question, laced with a mixture of amusement and confusion, broke the spell of silent wonder that had enveloped him.
"I'm trying to find the study walls," he responded, his voice a blend of curiosity and skepticism. The earnestness of his quest, juxtaposed with the surreal backdrop of Clivilius, was a moment of incongruous comedy.
"The study walls?" The repetition of his words, tinged with incredulity, underscored the absurdity of his actions.
"Yes. Isn't this just an advanced form of virtual reality? Or maybe like a hologram?" Paul's theories, a desperate attempt to anchor this experience to something within the realm of his understanding, betrayed the tumult of emotions roiling within him. His rational mind grappled with the reality of Clivilius, seeking explanations in the familiar, in the known.
"I assure you, Clivilius is very real," I affirmed, my voice steady and reassuring as I walked over to the textbook I had left in the desert overnight. The book, an ordinary object in our world, had become a symbol of the tangible reality of Clivilius, a bridge between the known and the unknown. Its presence, a testament to the physicality of this world, stood as a silent rebuke to the notion of illusions and holograms.
As I lifted the textbook, the grains of Clivilian dust that clung to its cover sparkled in the sunlight, a simple yet profound evidence of the reality we now found ourselves in. The weight of the book in my hands, the texture of its cover, and the fine dust that coated it were irrefutable proofs of the solidity of Clivilius. This was no virtual construct, no elaborate illusion, but a world as real and as tangible as the one we had left behind, a place where life, with all its mysteries and wonders, awaited us.
"I recognise this book," Jamie declared, his voice cutting through the air with a sharpness that matched the brisk movement as he snatched the book from my grip. His fingers wrapped around it with an intensity that seemed to speak volumes of his burgeoning frustration and disbelief. "This is one of your stupid uni books that you've had sitting untouched on the bookcase since we met, isn't it?"
"Indeed, it is," I responded, a flicker of irritation igniting within me as I reclaimed the book with a swift gesture. The physical tug-of-war over the textbook was a tangible manifestation of the clash of emotions and realities we were currently embroiled in.
"I don't understand," Paul interjected, his gaze locking with mine. The expression on his face was a tapestry woven with threads of confusion, fear, and a gleam of ecstatic excitement that seemed to dance in his eyes. "There's nothing here."
"Apart from a pile of large boxes," Jamie chimed in, his attention diverted momentarily as he pointed towards the assortment of tent boxes that lay assembled to our right. Crouching down, he inspected the pile with a curiosity that belied his earlier dismissal. "Why are all these boxes here?"
"It’s going to be the first shelter here in Clivilius," I explained, a sense of purpose steadying my voice. The mention of the shelter felt like a concrete step towards grounding the ethereal concept of Clivilius into something tangible, something real.
"What the hell does Clivilius need a shelter for?" Jamie's question snapped through the air, his tone sharp with incredulity.
"And what even is Clivilius?" Paul added, his question layered with a genuine quest for understanding amidst the surreal turn their lives had taken.
"This place is Clivilius," I announced, spreading my arms wide in a grand gesture, an attempt to encapsulate the vastness and the potential of the world around us. "And the shelter is for the start of our new civilisation." The words felt weighty, imbued with a vision that stretched far beyond the immediate horizon.
Paul and Jamie's blank stares served as a stark reminder of the chasm that lay between the vision I harboured and the reality they perceived. Their silence was a palpable entity, filling the space between us with a mix of skepticism and disbelief.
"It has to start somewhere," I offered with a shrug, trying to mask the sting of their lacklustre response. The magnitude of what I was proposing—a new beginning, a fresh start on an alien world—was monumental, yet their inability to see beyond the immediate physical discomforts was disheartening.
"What the hell do we need a new civilisation for?" Jamie's incredulity was a jarring note, his contentment with the world we had left behind clashing violently with the potential I saw in Clivilius. "I'm quite happy with the current one, thank you very much!"
"You'll see in time," I replied, my voice a calm counterpoint to his rising frustration. "It will all make sense." The conviction in my words was a lifeline I clung to, a belief in the unseen, in the potential that lay dormant within the dust of Clivilius.
"Fuck time," Jamie retorted, his voice escalating as his patience frayed. "I'm going home. This place is shit. It's just dust for God's sake! There's enough of that in the outback." His words, a vehement rejection of the vision I held so dear, felt like a physical blow. The dismissal of Clivilius as nothing more than an expanse of dust was a testament to the gulf between our perceptions.
I watched, a mixture of disappointment and resignation settling over me, as Jamie, propelled by frustration and disbelief, turned sharply and began his determined march back towards the swirling colours of the Portal. It was a march that seemed to encapsulate his rejection of Clivilius, a physical manifestation of his desire to retreat to the familiar comforts of our old world.
As Jamie neared the Portal, a palpable hesitation took hold of him. It was as if the very air around the Portal thickened, becoming a visible barrier to his progress. He moved closer, his body tensing, a mere arm's length away from his escape, yet it was clear that each step was becoming increasingly laborious. The sight of him struggling, his face twisted in a grimace of exertion, sweat beginning to outline his features, was both unsettling and revealing. It dawned on me then, the realisation that Clivilius might have its own designs, its own say in our fates.
"Well, off you go then," I said, my voice laced with bitterness. Jamie's negativity, his outright rejection of what I saw as a new dawn, was a weight I felt compelled to shed. In the grand vision of my new civilisation, there was no room for such dissent, no place for the seeds of doubt he so readily sowed.
"I'm trying," Jamie managed to say, his voice strained through clenched teeth, muscles visibly tensing as he extended his hand towards the Portal. The sight of him struggling against an unseen force, as if moving through an invisible morass, painted a vivid picture of conflict, of an invisible struggle between his will and the will of Clivilius.
"What do you mean you're trying?" Paul's voice broke through, tinged with panic, a stark contrast to the calm curiosity that had initially coloured his questions about our new surroundings.
"I mean I'm trying to leave, but the bloody thing won't let me!" Jamie's frustration erupted into the air as he made a desperate lunge for the Portal. The effort seemed Herculean, his arm thrusting forward with all the force he could muster, only to be met with a resistance that was both shocking and illuminating.
The moment his hand made contact with the neon swirls of the Portal, the air itself seemed to revolt. A loud crack, like the world itself splitting open, tore through the silence, followed by a blinding flash of light that cascaded sparks down upon us. Jamie's cry, a sound of pain and shock, cut sharply through the aftermath as he stumbled backward, a dance of retreat from the unseen assailant.
Clutching his hand to his chest, the smouldering remains of his sleeve a testament to the encounter, Jamie stood as a figure both defeated and bewildered. The smoke, curling lazily from the singed fabric, seemed to carry with it the undeniable truth of our situation: Clivilius was not merely a backdrop to our desires and whims, but a participant in its own right, with intentions and rules we were only beginning to comprehend.
"What the hell was that?" Paul's voice pierced the tense air, his panic escalating into a palpable wave of fear as he dashed to Jamie's side. My feet moved almost of their own accord, propelling me forward to join them, driven by a mix of concern and disbelief.
"Jamie! Jamie, are you okay?" The urgency in my question was mirrored by my actions as I reached for his hand, seeking to assess any injury. The sight that greeted me was paradoxical; despite the charred remnants of his shirt sleeve, Jamie's hand itself seemed miraculously unscathed. Yet, the unmistakable scent of burnt hair lingered, a silent testament to the encounter's intensity, underscored by the glaring absence of hair on Jamie's arm—a detail that seemed both bizarre and foreboding in the surreal calm that followed the storm.
"This fucking place is trying to kill me!" Jamie's voice broke through my observations, laden with anger and fear as he jerked away from me. His accusation stung, a sharp reminder of the responsibility I bore for bringing them here. "What the hell were you thinking bringing us here?!"
"I didn't know that was going to happen!" My defence was automatic, the words spilling out in a rush of desperation and guilt. The reality of our predicament was beginning to crystallise, the unforeseen danger of Clivilius casting a long shadow over my initial enthusiasm.
"Let me try," Paul announced, his determination cutting through the tension as he turned to confront the Portal.
"Are you insane? Didn't you see what just happened?" Jamie's incredulity was palpable, his recent ordeal lending weight to his words, a grave warning against repeating his actions.
"Maybe you did it wrong?" Paul's suggestion, though speculative, hinted at a possible misunderstanding of the Portal's workings—a sliver of hope that perhaps the problem was not insurmountable.
"Oh, fuck off, Paul." Jamie's retort was sharp, a mixture of pain and frustration fuelling his dismissal.
"Hey! Don't speak to him like that," I found myself intervening, the strain of the situation fraying my patience, unwilling to let the bonds between us deteriorate further.
"Fuck you all," Jamie growled, his anger flaring, the harshness in his voice a disappointing departure from the camaraderie that once defined our interactions. His eyes held a wildness, a primal defiance that spoke of deep-seated fear and betrayal, his posture defensive, yet unmistakably vulnerable.
"What the hell is wrong with this thing?" Paul's voice reached me from the Portal, his attempt to bridge the gap between us and our escape met with the same hostile resistance that had repelled Jamie. The air around him fizzed and crackled with an energy that seemed almost sentient in its defiance, an invisible barrier that halted his advance.
"There's nothing wrong with it," I declared with a resolve that belied the turmoil churning within me. As I strode past Paul, the determined set of my jaw and the purposeful glint in my eyes concealed the maelstrom of doubts and fears swirling in my heart. The Portal's swirling light enveloped me, a familiar yet always unsettling sensation, and in moments, I was back in the study, the abrupt shift from the alien landscape of Clivilius to the mundane familiarity of my own house disorienting.
Standing there, surrounded by the comfort of familiar walls, the contrast between the worlds couldn't have been starker. The silence of the study weighed heavily, each passing minute stretching into eternity as I waited for Paul or Jamie to appear. But the room remained empty, save for me. The realisation dawned—whatever had prevented their passage, it wasn't a malfunction of the Portal itself. My skin prickled with the eerie sensation of being watched, the air around me thick with unanswered questions.
Then, unbidden, the soft voice of Clivilius filled my thoughts, its presence as calming as it was unnerving. You should not be surprised, Luke Smith, it said, a statement that both chided and enlightened. I have shown you the answers, if only you would see them.
I was left wrestling with a mix of frustration and intrigue. What answers? What was I failing to see?
For a brief, unsettling moment, I questioned the wisdom of my decisions. The bizarre reality of my situation—conversing with an unseen entity, following its guidance without question—struck me with the force of a revelation. By any conventional standard, my actions bordered on madness. I had led my brother and partner into an unknown world, a decision that now seemed not only impulsive but recklessly irresponsible. Was this truly the foundation upon which a new civilisation should be built? The weight of my choices, the potential consequences of my actions, pressed down on me with a gravity I hadn't fully appreciated until now.
Yet, as I stood alone, the echo of Clivilius's voice still resonating in my mind, a sense of resolve began to crystallise. The path I had chosen, though fraught with uncertainty and danger, was driven by a vision of something greater, a new beginning. The doubts, the fears, the seemingly insurmountable obstacles—they were all part of the journey. Clivilius had shown me a way forward, however enigmatic and challenging it might be to understand and follow.
In that moment of solitude, a quiet acceptance settled over me. The journey ahead would undoubtedly be difficult, filled with trials and tests of faith, but the decision to embark on this path was made. Now, it was a matter of forging ahead, of turning the vision of a new civilisation into a reality, however daunting that task might seem. Clivilius, with its mysterious voice and inscrutable intentions, had become not just a destination but a partner in this endeavour. Together, we would have to navigate the uncharted waters of this new world, shaping its destiny with each step we took. The realisation was both a burden and a privilege, a call to leadership that I could neither ignore nor wish away. The future of this new civilisation, now rested in our hands, and whatever the challenges, we would face them head-on.
As I stepped back into Clivilius, the transition was anything but welcoming. The atmosphere, thick with tension and the weight of unspoken fears, seemed to press down on me, a stark contrast to the silent anticipation that had filled the study moments before.
Paul's gaze, when it met mine, was a mix of confusion and accusation, the kind that cuts deeper than anger. "Did you know?" His question, simple yet laden with implications, felt like a cold splash of reality. The sadness in his voice, that of a man who feels betrayed, pierced the veil of excitement I had wrapped around myself, reminding me of the permanency of his situation.
"Know what?" My response was automatic, a reflexive defence. I shrugged, trying to convey ignorance and innocence, even as my mind raced with the implications of his question. The truth was, I knew only as much as Clivilius chose to reveal, its cryptic guidance a double-edged sword that had led us to this moment.
"That we wouldn't be able to get back." The weight of his words hung between us.
"How would I have known?" I countered, my frustration mounting. "I've been the only one here until now and I've been able to come and go as I please." The defence sounded hollow even to my ears, a feeble attempt to deflect responsibility for a situation I had not fully understood myself.
"So, this is it then," Jamie interjected, his voice a raw edge of fury. "This is our fate. To die in this god-forsaken dust." His words, sharp and filled with despair, struck a chord within me, a painful reminder of the potential finality of his journey.
"Not fate. Destiny," I found myself saying, the words fuelled by a resurgence of my earlier conviction. My enthusiasm, undimmed by their skepticism, painted a vision of the future I believed was still within our grasp. In my mind's eye, Paul and Jamie were not merely unwilling participants but pioneers on the threshold of a new world. The notion of them as the first Clivilian immigrants ignited a spark of hope and excitement for the grand future that lay ahead, if only we could navigate the initial challenges.
Their blank stares, however, served as a sobering reminder of the chasm that lay between my vision and their acceptance of our new reality. "You're so full of shit sometimes," Paul's words cut through the silence, a blunt dismissal of my attempts to frame our predicament as an opportunity.
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension and the realisation of the enormity of what lay ahead. Jamie's usual tirades, while harsh, were expected, but hearing such blunt criticism from Paul was a jolt. It was uncharacteristic, a sign of the strain our situation was placing on us all. The accusation, so direct, felt like a personal failure, a rift that I feared might not be easily mended.
As Paul's question hung in the air, the starkness of his tone sliced through the lingering silence. "What about my children? Am I ever going to see them again?" The usual warmth that danced in his eyes had been extinguished, replaced by the cold, hard glint of a man teetering on the brink of despair. His voice, stripped of its usual vibrancy, echoed emptily in the expanse of Clivilius.
Without fully grasping the weight of my words, I blurted out a suggestion. "I can arrange to have them come here?" The words felt clumsy, tumbling out in a rush, as if propelled by a desperate need to offer some semblance of hope, however misguided.
Paul's response was swift, a mixture of incredulity and scorn colouring his tone. "Are you fucking kidding me? I know you don't have the first clue about parenting, Luke, but here's the number one, golden rule for how to be a dad. You ready? Don't, under any circumstances, bring your children through a one-way inter-dimensional Portal to an alien wasteland where there is literally nothing but dust and a tent."
Before I could muster any form of defence, Jamie's frustration burst forth, cutting through the tense atmosphere. "I can't believe you've gotten us stuck in this bloody place!" The accusation stung, a vivid reminder of the bizarre and perilous reality we now faced. "How long have you known about this?"
In a desperate attempt to salvage what remained of our bond, and perhaps to offer some semblance of rationale behind the unforeseen consequences of our journey, I found myself explaining the circumstances leading up to my arrival in Clivilius. The mention of the Portal Key, a device that now seemed as much a curse as it was a marvel, was met with skepticism and disbelief.
"Portal Key?" The skepticism in Paul's voice was unmistakable. "You're aware that you are not, in fact, living in a sci-fi novel, right?" His question, meant to be rhetorical, only served to underscore the absurdity of our situation.
"Well, that's what it is, isn't it? The key to open the Portal?" My reply was laced with sarcasm, a feeble attempt at levity that fell flat, only serving to fuel the frustration simmering among my fellow Clivilians.
"Yeah, but... Portal?" Paul repeated, the word dripping with disdain, as if the very concept was an affront to his understanding of reality.
"What else would you call it?" I found myself defending the indefensible, turning to face the mesmerising, ever-shifting wall of dancing colours that stood as a testament to our predicament.
"A piece of shit," Jamie interjected, his verdict delivered with a disheartening finality. "One giant piece of shit."
An unexpected snort of laughter broke through the heavy air, slipping past Paul's tightly pursed lips. It was such an unusual contrast to the bleakness of our situation that Jamie and I couldn't help but whip our heads towards him, our expressions a mix of bewilderment and relief. For a fleeting moment, the overwhelming tension that had been suffocating us seemed to dissolve, leaving room for something else, something lighter.
"Sorry," Paul managed to say, his hand clamped over his mouth as if to physically hold back the laughter threatening to spill forth. He pressed his fingers against his lips, so hard I could see the whites of his knuckles, a futile attempt to contain his mirth. But it was no use. Another snort, louder and more forceful than the first, cut through the silence of the Clivilian desert, resonating against the vast, empty expanse like a beacon of misplaced joy.
Seizing upon the brief respite his laughter had provided, I broached the subject that had been looming over us, unspoken but ever-present. "I guess I'd better start bringing you some supplies," I ventured, the words feeling both necessary and absurd in the context of our surreal predicament. Paul's response, or rather, his lack of one, didn't catch me off guard. I had known my brother long enough to recognise his unique brand of stress relief. It was as familiar to me as the back of my hand, yet witnessing it here, in this alien landscape, lent it a surreal quality.
I watched as Paul turned away from us, his body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. There was something almost eerie about it, his frame hunched over, his shoulders bobbing with each snort. The sound of his laughter, tinged with a hint of madness, reminded me of a deranged clown caught in a loop of his own twisted humour. It was unsettling, the way his mirth seemed to clash so starkly with our challenging reality.
This can't be a good sign, I found myself thinking, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of my stomach as I observed the bizarre spectacle. It was as if his uncontrollable fits of laughter were a prelude to the challenges we were yet to face, a harbinger of the real struggles lying in wait.
"Is there really no going back?" Jamie's voice pierced the heavy silence, pulling me back from the edge of my spiralling thoughts. His question, loaded with a mix of despair and faint hope, felt like a physical blow.
"I guess not," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. It took every ounce of courage I had to lift my eyes and meet his gaze, to face the raw anguish reflected back at me. "I'm sorry, Jamie." The words felt inadequate, a feeble attempt to mend the unbridgeable chasm I had opened between us.
Jamie's reaction was subtle yet profound. His eyes closed briefly, a silent testament to the depth of his pain. It was as if the very sight of me, the architect of our predicament, was more than he could bear. "Just go," he murmured, his voice laced with a resignation that cut deeper than anger ever could.
A boulder of guilt settled heavily in my stomach, its weight unbearable. With a heart heavy with regret, I turned my back on them. Stepping through the Portal, I didn't allow myself a second glance, afraid that the sight of their faces, etched with betrayal and sorrow, would shatter the last remnants of my resolve.
I found myself standing in the study, the once alluring colours of the Clivilian gateway casting their final dance across the room. The juxtaposition of the vibrant, otherworldly hues against the mundane reality of my study was jarring. With a heavy heart and a bowed head, I silently commanded the Portal to close. It felt like I was severing an umbilical cord, cutting off the only link to a world that, for all its dangers, had become a part of me.
In an instant, the colours vanished, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. The study wall stood impassive, an unyielding barrier between two worlds. Paul and Jamie, my brother and my partner, were now irrevocably cut off from the world they once knew, from the lives they had led. All because of me.
