4338.205 · July 24, 2018 AD
The Wrong Side of Light
The portal doesn't just reject Jamie—it punishes him. Hair singed. Shirt melted. Body thrown backward like garbage. And through it all, Luke passes freely, coming and going while Jamie and Paul remain trapped in endless red dust. When a voice finally speaks—cold, vast, absolute—it delivers a sentence without trial: You will never leave Clivilius. What happens next isn't grief. It's something far uglier.
Jamie Greyson has always believed in looking before leaping. Turns out he should have asked whether the landing pad allows return flights.
Clivilius welcomes him by name—a disembodied voice depositing words directly into his consciousness with the flat certainty of a cosmic clerk filing paperwork. The landscape offers nothing: red dust to every horizon, an alien sun in an impossibly blue sky, silence so complete it feels like presence. Luke speaks of destiny and new civilisation. Jamie speaks of going home. The portal has other ideas.
When Jamie attempts to leave, the barrier doesn't just block him—it attacks. Colours explode into pain, fabric melts, hair incinerates. He's thrown backward into dust that doesn't care whether he lives or dies. And when the voice returns—Clive sees you, Jamie Greyson. You will never leave Clivilius—something inside him fractures beyond repair.
What follows isn't acceptance. It's violence turned outward because turning it inward would mean admitting defeat. Paul becomes a target. Luke becomes an enemy. And Jamie becomes someone he doesn't recognise—standing in alien dust, wondering if forgiveness is possible in a world that's already pronounced his sentence eternal.
