The moment we pulled into the driveway, a wave of relief washed over me. The journey home had been uneventful, but the anticipation of returning to the familiar confines of my own space was comforting. As I popped the boot to help Paul with his luggage—a gesture of courtesy that felt somewhat automatic—I caught myself scanning the front of the house for any sign of Luke. Surprisingly, he didn't appear, an omission that struck me as odd given his usual enthusiasm for greetings.

The task of corralling Duke and Henri away from the door, ensuring they didn't dart outside in their excitement, was a familiar dance. It was one of those small, domestic challenges that brought a sense of normalcy to the otherwise tense atmosphere. Letting Paul in first, I couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between his cautious entry and the exuberant welcome I had half-expected from Luke.

Luke's voice, booming with cheerfulness from inside, momentarily lifted the tension. "Hey, Paul!" he called out, his tone infused with warmth. Yet, as I stepped into the living room, trailing behind Paul, a surge of irritation swiftly overshadowed that momentary lift. The sight that greeted me sparked a silent tirade of questions and disbelief. What the fuck has Luke been doing while I've been battling rush hour traffic to collect his brother from the airport?

Luke, standing there in the kitchen in nothing but his bright blue drawstring boardshorts, seemed oblivious to the incongruity of his attire—or lack thereof—with the situation. The boardshorts, while a favourite for their comfort, were hardly appropriate for the occasion. It wasn't just the choice of clothing that nettled me; it was what it represented. Despite the delay, despite the time Paul's flight had afforded him, Luke hadn't managed to prepare himself—or the house—for the visit in any meaningful way.

The look of contempt I felt creeping across my face was uncontrollable, a visceral reaction to the scenario unfolding before me. It was a culmination of the morning’s frustrations, the irritation at the airport, the tension of the drive, and now this—Luke's apparent disregard for the effort I had put into accommodating his brother's visit. It wasn't just about the clothes; it was about what they signified in the broader context of our day, of our relationship, and of the ongoing dynamics with Paul. It was a moment that encapsulated a myriad of emotions, from annoyance to disappointment, all converging in the heart of our home.

Paul's question cut through the already tense atmosphere of the living room, a simple inquiry that seemed to echo my own frustrations about the day. "Why didn't you come to the airport?" he asked, his tone curious yet tinged with disappointment as he moved further into the open-plan living space.

"I was preparing myself for your arrival," Luke said, a statement so at odds with his current state of undress that it bordered on absurd.

The urge to roll my eyes was irresistible, a silent retort to Luke's apparent idea of 'preparation.' Paul's reaction, a mix of amusement and disbelief, mirrored my own. "You don't look terribly prepared," he quipped, his chuckle doing little to mask the underlying critique of Luke's lack of effort.

My own comment to Luke, veiled as a concern for his comfort, was more a pointed critique than genuine inquiry. "Aren't you cold?" The suggestion was clear, a plea for him to dress more appropriately, yet met with nothing more than a nonchalant shrug. Luke's indifference to my thinly veiled irritation was maddening, his casual "Meh" a clear dismissal of my concerns.

As Paul diverted his attention to the contents of the fridge, the parallels between the brothers became glaringly obvious. Their shared disregard for the situation, each lost in their own world, left me feeling like the odd one out in my own home. Duke's insistent jumping at my leg offered a welcome distraction, a reminder of the uncomplicated affection and loyalty of our pets in contrast to the complex dynamics unfolding among the humans.

"So, what's the big emergency that couldn't wait another day?" Paul inquired, his curiosity palpable in the air that had already been thick with unspoken tensions.

The word 'emergency' bounced around the room, landing heavily between us. "Emergency? What emergency?" I echoed, my confusion mounting. I glanced at Luke, searching for some clarification, some hint of understanding, but found none. My gaze shifted back to Paul, who, with an air of nonchalance that seemed at odds with the situation, had taken to pilfering grapes from the fridge.

The absurdity of the moment wasn't lost on me. "Aren't you the one with the... family crisis?" I pressed, trying to piece together the fragmented narrative that had led to this point. Paul's reaction, a mix of surprise and indignation, only added layers to the mystery. "Me?" he retorted, clearly taken aback by the suggestion that he was the origin of the supposed crisis.

My frustration with the situation was becoming harder to mask. My features betrayed my growing irritation, a visible manifestation of the confusion and suspicion swirling within me. I turned my attention back to Luke, seeking answers, accountability, something to make sense of the morning’s events. His silence was a void, offering no explanations, no reassurances.

"Well?" I pushed, my patience wearing thin. "What's going on, Luke?" The demand for clarity was tinged with a sense of betrayal. The realisation that I might have been manipulated into this scenario, under false pretences or misunderstood urgencies, was galling. I detested feeling like a pawn in someone else's scheme, yet the evidence was mounting that this was exactly the case.

Luke's hesitant start, followed by an apology that seemed anything but sincere, given the wide grin he couldn't contain, only served to amplify my confusion and growing irritation. The sight of his amusement in what I considered a serious situation made my stomach tighten, a mixture of anger and sudden apprehension knotting together. What the hell is Luke on about? The question echoed in my mind, a tumultuous blend of emotions making it hard to focus on anything else.

"But there is something that I really need to show both of you," Luke's statement, vague and enigmatic, did nothing to ease the tension. Paul's reaction, labelling the situation as ominous, mirrored my own feelings, albeit with a hint of his usual detachment.

"What is it?" My response came out sharper than I intended, the annoyance palpable in my voice. The uncertainty of the moment, coupled with Luke's cryptic behaviour, was pulling me in different directions—irritation at being kept in the dark, curiosity about what Luke deemed so important, and a lingering unease about the potential implications of his announcement.

"Come with me," said Luke. His gesture, an encouraging wave followed by him turning to walk up the hallway, felt like a summons I couldn't ignore. Despite the frustration boiling within me, there was also a reluctant intrigue. The shift from annoyance to a cautious curiosity was almost palpable, my emotions swinging like a pendulum as I followed him, with Paul trailing behind.

As we made our way up the hallway, the anticipation built with each step. Luke's earlier amusement, now mingled with my own trepidation and curiosity, created a complex tapestry of expectations. The hallway, a space so familiar and usually comforting, now felt like the lead-up to a revelation that could alter the dynamics of our day—and perhaps beyond—in ways I couldn't yet fathom.

As I trailed behind Luke into the study, a room usually reserved for quiet evenings of work or leisurely internet browsing, my skepticism trailed with me. The familiar sight of the study, unchanged and as orderly as ever, did little to prepare me for whatever revelation Luke deemed so critical. The logical conclusion that it must involve the computer did little to ease my growing impatience or curiosity. But what on earth would possibly warrant dragging his brother all the way down here from Broken Hill? Surely Luke could have done this online. The thought nagged at me, a persistent reminder of the day's inconveniences and the mystery that now loomed large in our usually tranquil home.

My gaze, heavy with a mix of boredom and exasperation, was fixed on Luke. The dramatic buildup to whatever announcement he was about to make felt unnecessarily theatrical, a stark contrast to the straightforward communication I preferred. The anticipation, once tinged with irritation, was now morphing into a begrudging curiosity as Luke finally made a move, reaching into his pocket.

The moment he pulled out a small, rectangular device, a flash of unexpected vindication shot through me. "Ha, I was right! It is something on the computer." The words tumbled out before I could temper them with the realisation that my silent musings had remained just that—silent. Neither Luke nor Paul could have known the suspicions swirling in my head, making my exclamation seem both abrupt and a tad presumptuous.

"What?" Luke asked, his confusion clear as he looked at me, the small device still clutched in his hand.

"The USB stick," I clarified hastily, pointing towards the object of our attention, certain I had unraveled the mystery of his dramatic buildup. Yet, Luke's ensuing grin, broad and filled with mischief, immediately told me I had jumped to the wrong conclusion. "Oh, no, this isn't for the computer," he countered, his voice laced with a cockiness that piqued my curiosity further.

The twist in Luke's revelation took me by surprise, rendering me speechless and leaving the floor open for Paul to voice the question that now hung palpably in the air. "Okay. So, what is it?" Paul inquired, his tone mirroring the curiosity that had gripped me.

Luke's next actions were calculated for maximum effect, his gaze sweeping over us to ensure he had our undivided attention before he pressed a small button atop the device. The anticipation in the room crescendoed into a moment of sheer astonishment as a tight ball of energy erupted from the device, transforming into a buzzing, electrical field against the wall.

My initial shock rendered me momentarily speechless. "What the..." I managed, my voice trailing off as I watched, captivated by the dance of vibrant colours before us. The display was mesmerising—a spectacle of light and energy that defied my understanding of what was possible. The colours swirled and twisted on the wall, occasionally colliding in bursts that sent waves of colour spilling into the room.

The scientific part of my brain scrambled to make sense of the phenomenon, while another part of me surrendered to the sheer wonder of the moment. Luke's ability to surprise, to bring the extraordinary into our everyday lives, was part of what I loved about him, even if it sometimes came wrapped in layers of frustration and mystery.

Paul's question echoed my own bewilderment, both of us transfixed by the spectacle before us. "What is that?" he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and astonishment at the display Luke had conjured.

"I'll show you," Luke replied, a hint of excitement lacing his words as he positioned himself directly in front of the mesmerising display. The confidence in his stance, the eagerness in his voice, contrasted sharply with the apprehension knotting in my stomach.

Paul, still caught up in the visual wonder, remarked, "I can see. It's stunning." His appreciation for the beauty of the phenomenon was evident, a sentiment I shared despite the growing unease within me.

"Just follow me," Luke beckoned, his hand motioning towards the vibrant display as if inviting us into an unknown world. The casualness of his invitation belied the extraordinary nature of what he was asking.

My heart thundered in my chest, a cacophony of excitement, fear, and disbelief. "Follow you where?" I gasped out, my voice a cocktail of emotions. The question barely had time to hang in the air before Luke took that final, decisive step into the swirling colours—and disappeared from sight.

"What the hell!" Paul's exclamation mirrored my own shock, a verbal manifestation of the disbelief that gripped us both.

"What the hell indeed," I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. My gaze was fixed on the spot where Luke had been just moments before, now empty save for the captivating dance of colours. The reality of what had just occurred was difficult to grasp, challenging everything I thought I knew about the world around me.

As the initial shock began to subside, replaced by a mixture of awe and a desperate curiosity, I found myself at a crossroads of decision. The part of me that yearned for the safety of the known world was at odds with the part that was captivated by the mystery and potential of what lay beyond that colourful portal. Luke's disappearance, rather than serving as a warning, seemed instead to be an invitation—an invitation to step beyond the boundaries of the familiar and into the realm of the extraordinary.

The silence that followed was a testament to the profound impact of the moment, a silence filled with the weight of possibilities and the unspoken question of what to do next. As I stood there, with Paul beside me, the realisation that the decision of whether to follow Luke into the unknown rested squarely on our shoulders was both exhilarating and terrifying. The study, once a place of comfort and routine, had transformed into the threshold of an adventure that defied explanation, beckoning us forward with the promise of discovering the unimaginable.

Paul was the first to break the silence, "You go first," he said slowly, motioning to the wall of bright colours.

"Fuck off!" The words leapt from my mouth before I could temper them, a raw expression of my shock and fear. The idea of stepping into something so utterly beyond comprehension, something that had just swallowed Luke whole, was not something I could entertain lightly. "I'm not touching that shit. We don't know what it is." My protest was as much about self-preservation as it was about the incredulity of the situation. The rational part of my brain screamed for caution, for a retreat from the edge of this unknowable void.

Yet, Paul, perhaps driven by a mixture of curiosity and a desire not to seem cowardly, declared his readiness to go first. His approach to the vibrant anomaly, his pause as if bracing himself for the leap into the unknown, and then his decisive action mirrored Luke's so closely it was as if he were following a script. Watching him vanish with a bold step forward, my heart skipped a beat. The reality of what had just happened—watching two people step into and then disappear within this... this thing—was hard to digest.

An elaborate illusion? The thought crossed my mind as a desperate attempt to rationalise what I had just witnessed. Surely, this had to be some trick, a sophisticated projection or a hidden doorway cleverly disguised by the lights and colours. I expected, no, I hoped, for Luke and Paul to reappear at any moment, unable to contain their laughter at having fooled me so completely. I stared intently at the swirling colours, half expecting them to dissipate and reveal Luke and Paul standing there, doubled over in laughter at my expense.

But the return I was hoping for didn't happen. The minutes stretched on, the vibrant display continued its dance unabated, and the silence in the room grew heavier. The absence of their laughter, the lack of any sign of their return, slowly began to erode my skepticism. The possibility that this was no trick, that the portal—or whatever it was—was real, and that Luke and Paul had indeed stepped through to something or somewhere else, became increasingly difficult to ignore.

The decision to step forward, to follow Luke and Paul into the unknown, felt like a leap of faith—a moment where curiosity overcame fear, propelling me into action. "I may as well," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. The words were a whisper of resolve, a concession to the part of me that needed to know, to see, to understand. With each tentative step towards the wall of colour, my heart raced, a symphony of apprehension and anticipation.

Then, in an instant, I crossed the threshold. The transition was disorienting, the vibrant colours melting away to reveal a blinding, warm light that enveloped me completely. It was a sensation unlike anything I'd ever experienced, as if I had stepped out of one reality and into another. The voice that greeted me, resonating not through the air but directly within my mind, was both startling and strangely comforting. "Welcome to Clivilius, Jamie Greyson." The words, though unheard in any conventional sense, were clear, imbued with a presence that felt both ancient and immeasurable.

As my eyes adjusted to the brilliance, the first thing that struck me was the sky—a vast expanse of unblemished blue, stretching infinitely above. The overwhelming vastness of it, the purity of the colour, was breathtaking, yet it was the utter silence and emptiness that enveloped us that left me truly speechless. Standing there, beside Paul and Luke, we formed a trio of bewildered explorers in a landscape that defied expectation.

The world of Clivilius that lay before us was a stark, desolate beauty—rolling hills of brown and orange dust, uninterrupted and seemingly endless. The absence of any familiar signs of life—no houses, no trees, no birds in the sky, not even the distant sound of human activity—was unsettling. This was a place untouched, unmarked by civilisation as we knew it, an umber wilderness that stretched beyond the limits of sight.

The realisation that we were not just somewhere unknown, but somewhere altogether different, was overwhelming. The sense of isolation was palpable, a profound solitude that made the familiar world we had left behind seem like a distant memory.

Luke's question snapped me out of my daze, his excitement piercing the heavy silence that had enveloped us upon our arrival in Clivilius. "Did you hear it?" he asked, eyes alight with a fervour that spoke volumes of his belief in the moment's significance. Paul and I exchanged a glance, our mutual nod an acknowledgment of the mysterious voice that had welcomed us to this desolate, yet somehow captivating, landscape.

"This is where life will begin anew," Luke proclaimed, his words hanging in the air, heavy with implication and the promise of untold possibilities. The statement, grandiose as it was, seemed to deepen the silence that followed, each of us lost in our thoughts about the implications of his declaration.

The stillness was broken by Paul's sudden movement, his arms flailing about as if he were trying to grasp something unseen. "What are you doing, Paul?" Luke's inquiry, laced with a hint of amusement and confusion, mirrored my own curiosity.

"I'm trying to find the study walls," Paul responded, his actions now making a peculiar sort of sense. He was seeking the familiar, tangible boundaries of the room we had left behind, or so he thought.

"The study walls?" Luke echoed, his tone a mix of incredulity and amusement.

"Yes. Isn't this just an advanced form of virtual reality? Or like a hologram?" Paul's questions revealed his skepticism, his attempt to rationalise our experience within the confines of the known and understandable.

"I assure you, Clivilius is very real," Luke countered, his conviction underscored by the action of picking up a book from the soft, dust-covered ground. The book, an object so mundane and yet so out of place in this alien landscape, seemed to serve as proof of Clivilius's reality.

"I recognise this book," I interjected, the sight of the familiar tome igniting a spark of recognition. Taking it from Luke, I felt a surge of surreal familiarity. "This is one of your uni books that you've had sitting in the bookcase untouched since we met, isn't it?" The question was rhetorical, the book in my hands a tangible link to the life we knew, a life that suddenly seemed as distant as the sky above.

"Indeed, it is," Luke confirmed, his admission adding layers to the mystery of Clivilius. The presence of the book here, in this vast expanse of dust and silence, was a conundrum that defied logical explanation. It was a moment that blurred the lines between the possible and the impossible, challenging our understanding of reality and prompting a reevaluation of everything we thought we knew.

Paul's confusion echoed my own, a sentiment that seemed to hang heavily between us. "I don't understand," he said, his gaze fixed on Luke, searching for clarity in a situation that felt increasingly like a descent into the unknown. “There’s nothing here.”

As my eyes landed on the pile of large boxes, a seemingly incongruous addition to the barren landscape, my curiosity piqued. "Apart from a pile of large boxes," I corrected, my words drawing attention to the only sign of human intention in this vast expanse. Approaching the boxes, I voiced the question that seemed to loom larger with each passing moment. "Why are all these here?"

Luke's response, infused with an unshakeable belief in the vision he was unfolding before us, sent a ripple of skepticism through me. "It's going to be the first shelter here in Clivilius," he proclaimed, his voice carrying a fervour that seemed almost out of place in the vast, empty landscape that stretched out around us.

My confusion couldn't be contained. "What the hell does Clivilius need a shelter for?" The question was out before I could temper it, my incredulity at the notion of building anything in this desolate space overwhelming my usual restraint.

Paul's voice joined the fray, his question layering on top of mine, seeking the foundation of Luke's grand plan. "And what even is Clivilius?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and doubt.

Luke's answer did little to ground his ambitious ideas in any reality we could comprehend. "This place is Clivilius," he stated, his arms sweeping wide as if to embrace the barren expanse before us. "And the shelter is for the start of our new civilisation."

The magnitude of what Luke was suggesting left Paul and me momentarily speechless, our expressions blank as we tried to wrap our heads around the concept of beginning anew in a place that, until moments ago, was beyond our wildest imaginings.

"It has to start somewhere," Luke added, a simple shrug accompanying his monumental statement. The casualness with which he spoke of beginning anew, of erecting a civilisation from the dust of Clivilius, struck me as both absurd and unnervingly sincere.

"What the hell do we need a new civilisation for?" I found myself protesting, the frustration and disbelief mounting within me. "I'm quite happy with the current one, thank you very much!" My words were a desperate attempt to anchor this conversation in some semblance of reality, to remind us of the world we knew, the world we had inexplicably left behind.

Luke's serene assurance that "You'll see in time. It will all make sense," did nothing to quell the storm of emotions raging within me. His calm in the face of our skepticism only served to heighten my desire for the familiar, for the comfort of home.

"Fuck time," I retorted, my patience frayed to its breaking point. "I'm going home. This place is shit. It's just dust for god's sake! There's enough of that in the outback." The words spilled out, a vehement rejection of Luke's vision, of this Clivilius and its promise of a new beginning. The very notion of abandoning our lives for a nebulous dream in a world of dust and emptiness was unfathomable.

The swirling wall of colours, once an intriguing spectacle, now felt like a barrier—an imposing, inscrutable force field between the known and the unfathomable. My earlier resolve to return, to step back through this mesmerising portal to the familiarity of our study, was met with an unexpected resistance. The realisation that my attempt to leave Clivilius was being thwarted by some unseen force was both startling and deeply unsettling.

"Well, off you go then," Luke's voice, light and encouraging, seemed to mock my predicament. His casual dismissal of my struggle only added to the growing sense of unease.

"I'm trying," I responded, frustration edging my voice as I faced the reality of my situation. The simple act of leaving, of returning to our world, suddenly seemed insurmountable.

"What do you mean you're trying?" Paul's confusion was evident, his question a mirror of my own disbelief at the impossibility of the task.

"I mean I'm trying to leave, but the bloody thing won't let me," I explained, my voice tinged with exasperation. The sensation of being physically repelled by the colourful vortex before me was beyond comprehension. It was as if the very fabric of this place, Clivilius, had decided to keep us within its grasp, defying our attempts to understand or escape it.

My heart raced as I faced the stark reality of our situation. The swirling colours, once a doorway to this alien landscape, now felt like a prison. The thought that Luke might have led us into a situation from which there was no return sent waves of panic through me. What the hell has Luke done? The question echoed in my mind, a mix of fear, betrayal, and desperation for answers.

Regrouping from the initial shock of being repelled by the Portal, my resolve hardened. There was something about the impossibility of the situation that ignited a stubbornness within me, a refusal to be intimidated by the unknown. With every fibre of my being pulsing with determination, I decided on a more drastic approach.

Channeling every action hero I could think of, I positioned myself with a sense of dramatic resolve I never knew I had. Then, emulating a Superman dive, I thrust one arm forward, my fist clenched in defiance, and launched myself at the Portal. The vibrant colours, which had initially captivated us with their beauty, now exploded into violent bursts, a kaleidoscope of incandescent sparks erupting before my eyes. The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced; it was as if each burst of colour carried with it a wave of intense, searing pain that scorched through my mind, transcending physical boundaries.

The heat was so intense, so all-consuming, that for a fleeting moment, I entertained the notion that I might indeed become the first irrefutable case of spontaneous human combustion. The absurdity of the thought was overshadowed only by the very real sensation of my shirt beginning to melt, the fabric disintegrating under the assault of the mini-eruptions of energy.

But just as quickly as the assault had begun, it ended. In the next instant, I found myself being hurled backward with a force that defied my understanding of physics. The world spun wildly as I was thrown away from the malevolent swirl of colours that guarded the Portal, my body crashing to the ground with a jarring impact.

Lying there, gasping for breath, the pain slowly receding from my mind, I was overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. The shock of the violent rejection, the relief of surviving the encounter unscathed, and a growing realisation of our predicament washed over me. The Portal, our apparent lifeline back to our world, was not just a passive gateway but an active, seemingly sentient barrier that resisted my attempts to breach it.

The implications of this revelation were chilling. If the Portal could not be persuaded, coerced, or forced to allow our passage, what hope did we have of returning home?

Paul's alarm was palpable as he dashed to my aid, his voice echoing my own shock and confusion. "What the hell was that?" he shouted, his words slicing through the aftermath of my failed attempt to breach the Portal.

Luke, too, was quick to my side, his concern etched in every line of his face. "Jamie! Jamie, are you ok?" he asked, his voice laced with panic as he took my hand, examining it for signs of injury. The surreal experience of watching my shirt disintegrate, coupled with the realisation that my arm, the very limb that had dared to challenge the Portal, was miraculously unscathed, was disorienting. Yet, the unmistakable smell of singed hair filled my nostrils, a pungent reminder of the encounter's intensity. The realisation that my arm, now noticeably bereft of hair, had borne the brunt of the Portal's wrath was both alarming and absurdly comical.

"This fucking place is trying to kill me!" The words burst from me in a torrent of fear and anger as I pulled away from Luke's comforting grip. The frustration, the fear, the sheer incredulity of the situation poured out of me in a vehement outcry. "What the hell were you thinking bringing us here?!" I demanded, my voice a raw edge of accusation and disbelief.

Luke's response was fraught with desperation. "I didn't know that was going to happen!" he protested, his voice tinged with a rising panic that mirrored my own. His words, while meant to be reassuring, did little to quell the storm of emotions that raged within me. The realisation that we were navigating uncharted territory, that Luke's visions of a new beginning in Clivilius were fraught with unseen dangers, was a bitter pill to swallow.

As Paul positioned himself to make an attempt at crossing the Portal, my disbelief and frustration reached new heights. "Are you insane? Didn't you see what just happened?" The incredulity in my voice was palpable, a reflection of the pain and shock still coursing through me from my own thwarted effort.

"Maybe you did it wrong?” Paul's response, perhaps meant to be encouraging or analytical, came off as dismissive, igniting my irritation further. "Oh, fuck off, Paul,” I retorted sharply, the strain of the situation eroding my patience.

Luke's immediate defence of Paul, "Hey! Don't speak to him like that," only served to fan the flames of my anger. In that moment, surrounded by the desolate landscape of Clivilius and facing the unknown dangers it presented, the solidarity I sought from them felt fractured. "Fuck you all," I growled, the words escaping me in a raw expression of my turmoil, as I cradled my arm, a tangible reminder of the risk we were all facing.

Paul's persistence, despite my warnings, led to his own series of failed attempts to breach the Portal. Each effort was met with the same invisible barrier that had repelled me, his frustration mounting with every try. "What the hell is wrong with this thing?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with desperation. The futility of his actions underscored the reality of our predicament: the Portal, our presumed gateway back to the familiar, was denying us passage, its purpose and mechanisms as alien as the landscape that surrounded us.

"There's nothing wrong with it," Luke said, his assertion deepened the mystery and my frustration.

Watching him confidently step into the swirling colours and vanish without a trace was a stark reminder of our predicament. Driven by a mix of desperation and a fleeting hope that maybe, just maybe, it would work for me too, I lunged towards the mesmerising wall. The familiar voice that greeted me only added to the surreal nature of the experience. "Welcome to Clivilius, Jamie Greyson," it intoned, devoid of warmth or comfort, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within me.

My efforts were futile, the rejection by the Portal as jarring as the first. "Fuck!" The expletive burst from me, a raw expression of my anger and helplessness. The reality of our situation was becoming increasingly clear—we were trapped, with no discernible way out.

Paul's despair was palpable as he collapsed, his plea echoing the confusion and fear that gripped us both. "I don't understand. Why can't we leave?" His question, voiced in a moment of vulnerability, was one that haunted me too. The sight of him, defeated and kneeling in the dust, was a visual manifestation of our collective despair.

Unable to contain my frustration, I lashed out, my foot sending a cloud of red dust into the air, a physical manifestation of my anger. "Fuck!" The word tore from me again, dragged out in a scream that seemed to embody the depth of our frustration and fear. The haunting silence that followed, broken only by the settling dust, was a stark reminder of our isolation in this alien world.

The realisation that our attempts to leave Clivilius were being actively thwarted by some unknown force was both terrifying and infuriating. The rules of this world, its logic and mechanisms, were a mystery—one that we were far from unravelling. The voice that had so emotionlessly welcomed me offered no guidance, no explanation for our imprisonment within this strange land.

As I stood there, enveloped in the silence of Clivilius, the weight of our situation settled heavily upon me. The prospect of finding a way back home, of understanding the forces that held us here, seemed an insurmountable challenge. Yet, the alternative—acceptance of our fate in this desolate place—was not something I was ready to contemplate. The struggle to return, to break free from the grasp of Clivilius, was one that I knew I could not abandon, no matter how daunting it appeared.