4338.207 · July 26, 2018 AD
You Are Home, Kain Jeffries
The river washes away the grit but not the questions. The walk back washes away nothing at all. And when Kain finally stands alone before the portal that swallowed his life, he does what anyone would do — he screams at it. The universe isn't supposed to answer. But this one does, and its voice is colder than the water, flatter than the dust, and completely indifferent to what he's lost.
Everyone keeps saying it'll make sense eventually. Kain is starting to wonder how many impossibilities a brain can hold before it just gives up trying.
The river washes away the grit but not the questions. The walk back to camp washes away nothing at all. Glenda offers hollow reassurances. Paul asks about Joel and gets three inadequate words in response. Then there's an errand — tent pegs at the Drop Zone — and Kain is grateful for the excuse to be alone.
He shouldn't have been.
The portal looms like something that has no business existing. Five metres of translucent nothing, anchored to dust by forces beyond comprehension. The door between Kain and everything he's lost — Brianne, the baby, his family, every ordinary thing he took for granted until it was ripped away.
The scream comes from somewhere deep. The universe isn't supposed to answer. But this one does, and its voice is colder than the water, flatter than the dust, and completely indifferent to what he's lost.
What follows isn't anger anymore. Just grief, finally allowed to surface. And when the tears run dry, Luke's voice comes from behind him — warm, casual, like none of this ever happened.
