The Flicker and the Glare

“Clivilius doesn’t welcome you. It exposes you—like a spotlight in a silent theatre, waiting to see if you’ll forget your lines.”

Stepping into Clivilius, the abrupt transition from the dimly lit room to the searing brilliance of the outdoors was jarring, like being thrust onto an alien stage mid-performance. My pupils contracted violently in protest, and my hand shot up instinctively, shielding my eyes from the unrelenting blaze of the sun overhead. The light didn’t just shine—it interrogated, forcing every shadow to retreat, every flaw to stand trial beneath its scrutiny.

The sand, bone-dry and blistering beneath my soles, offered no comfort. It shifted uneasily with each step, grains grinding audibly against the edges of my shoes, which squelched in protest, still damp from Earth’s more forgiving climate. The sudden shift in texture and temperature left a prickle of unease climbing up my spine, as though even the ground beneath me sensed the disquiet I carried.

I moved quickly, with purpose. My eyes locked onto the translucent screen before me, its surface a soft flicker of light and motion. Image after image cycled across it—until I found it. Luke’s house. The visual stilled, anchoring itself as if acknowledging the gravity of what lay ahead.

It was becoming familiar now, this moment—scanning for a destination, willing the mind to memorise its contours—but routine didn’t soften the jolt of it, nor the undercurrent of dread that pulsed like static beneath my skin.

"Hey, Beatrix!"

The voice hit me like a stone to the temple—sudden, sharp, and wholly unwelcome. My concentration shattered, the delicate balance I’d been fighting to maintain thrown off-course. My head snapped around, lips already curling in irritation before I could temper them.

Kain Jeffries. Jamie’s nephew.

Propped against a sloping dune like he’d been sunbaked into the scenery, Kain looked maddeningly relaxed. Legs stretched out before him, one hand lazily shading his eyes from the glare, he looked as if he had not a care in the world. His posture suggested leisure, but his eyes—quick and alert beneath the casual veneer—betrayed a curiosity that set my teeth on edge.

Of course he recognised me. Thanks to the enduring friendship of Jamie and Gladys, our paths had crossed, albeit infrequently. Suddenly, I remembered that he had also been present at the campfire gathering earlier this morning. There was no hiding here. Not from people. Not from consequences.

Internally, I groaned. I didn’t have the time or emotional bandwidth for whatever Kain had planned—idle chitchat, speculation, questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. His raised hand, beckoning with infuriating casualness, promised conversation. My only desire was to vanish.

I raised my own hand in response, crafting a wave that was all manners and no intent. Polite, but hollow. I hoped it said everything I couldn’t—not now, not ever, move along.

Turning away from him with a silent exhale, I redirected my attention to the screen. Luke’s house still floated before me, its form crystallising as I focused. It wasn’t just a destination—it was a thread in the unravelled mess of the last twenty-four hours, and I needed to follow it. Now.

The screen pulsed once more, shifting from clarity to colour, from structure to swirling chaos. My stomach clenched, that now-familiar surge of Portal energy rippling through me as the air thickened around the image.

With one last breath, I committed the location to memory, my mind locking onto it like a lifeline. The screen dissolved into spirals of light and kinetic power, and I stepped forward—into the swirl, into the unknown, into the story still writing itself with every breath I took.