The room was silent

  Darrel stood stunned, his eyes darting around the basement as if searching for a trick. "W-What the hell did you just do?" he stammered.

  Dorian began circling him, a playful, happy smile spreading across his face. "I teleported, of course," he replied casually. "It is one of, if not the easiest, magical skills to learn."

  "Magic is real!?" Darrel blurted out.

  "Yes," Dorian said, stopping in front of him. "It’s what holds this world together. Without it, we would be floating dust."

  Darrel couldn't wrap his mind around the possibility. It felt like a fever dream, yet he had seen it with his own eyes. A real man had simply vanished and reappeared. "How?" he asked, his voice breathless. "How did you do it? How does it work?"

  "Sit down, and I’ll tell you," Dorian said. He pulled up two stools, and they both sat. Dorian reached for an old, weathered notebook from a nearby desk and flipped it open.

  "The magical technique I just performed is known to you as 'Teleportation,'" Dorian explained. "And I guess that is what it’s called in simple terms, but..."

  Darrel, more curious than he’d ever been in his life, leaned forward. "But?"

  "But it’s truly called 'The Continuum Step,'" Dorian continued. "You control yourself. Your matter, you could say." He took out two beans and a slinky, laying the slinky on its side and placing a bean right in front of it to demonstrate.

  "When you recognize yourself as matter, and you feel yourself as such, you can effectively grab yourself and teleport to anywhere you can directly process mentally." explained So? If I do this, and imagine myself in Lumenhaven—or what’s left of it— I’ll just poof there?" Darrel asked.

  Dorian smiled, removing the first bean and placing the second one on the opposite side of the slinky. "Exactly! Mr. Roanshaw, exactly! You are not transferring your matter to the place you’re envisioning, you’re simply traveling through space itself and replacing the matter that was already there."

  "Wow," Darrel whispered. "I don’t know what to say. That’s amazing."

  Dorian clapped his hands and teleported again. Darrel turned around to find him a few feet away, calmly drinking a glass of water while scrolling through another book. He set the cup down gently, and suddenly, the room went quiet. It felt as if the atmosphere had been sucked out of the basement, the air itself hiccupping as the mood shifted.

  Dorian’s face was stern now. He looked at Darrel and asked a question that would change the course of his training forever. "Do you believe in gods, Mr. Roanshaw?"

  Darrel froze in pure confusion. "I—I’m sorry?"

  Dorian turned around quickly. "Do you believe in the divine? The holy? Beings that can do anything?"

  "No," Darrel replied flatly.

  "No? Why not?"

  "I’m an atheist," Darrel said. "I don’t believe in gods. I think the idea of a being powerful enough to create all of us would make our mortal lives seem pointless in comparison. Why would a god so powerful allow us to suffer?"

  Dorian smiled, seemingly pleased. "Good. Good answer, Darrel." Then, the smile vanished, replaced by that same cold sternness. "Want to see something?"

  Before Darrel could even think of a response, Dorian snapped his fingers. Darrel’s head jerked back. When he regained his balance, he wasn't in the basement anymore. He was in space.

  Dorian floated in front of him, looking intensely focused. He turned his palms to the side, and Darrel was flung through the void. He hurtled toward a planet, but before he could impact the surface, it vanished. Suddenly, he was falling through the inner cells of a rose. Shapes moved strangely around him; the colors were all wrong.

  He hit a floor and groaned, trying to stand. "H-Hello!?"

  He fell again, this time into a pool of water larger than Saturn. Unknown creatures circled him in the depths. Then, he was punched by a comically large boxing glove and sent flying into a world made entirely of mattresses.

  Dorian’s voice echoed all around him, though he was nowhere to be seen. "You are experiencing what I like to call 'Hip Hops' Mr. Roanshaw! Don't worry. Enjoy the ri—"

  Dorian's voice was cut off. The land of mattresses flickered in and out until it was gone. Darrel found himself alone, stuck in a black, empty void.

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  "Hello!? Dorian, are you there!" Darrel's voice echoed throughout the vast expanse of nothingness. He began walking, the ground beneath him rippling every time he took a step as if it were water. All he could hear was the constant dripping of droplets somewhere, everywhere.

  He walked and walked, calling out into the dark. "HEY! HEY DORIAN, THIS ISN'T FUNNY. GET ME OUT OF HERE! I DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS KIND OF MAGIC ANYMORE!"

  "It was your fault," a voice whispered.

  Darrel spun around and saw Gabriel. It was Gabriel's burning corpse, his dead body re-animated and charred.

  "G-Gabriel..." Darrel gasped.

  "ITS YOUR FAULT WE ARE DEAD, YOURS!" the thing screamed.

  "N-no I..."

  "You what? You kept your feelings penned in. You were too emotional and you GOT US KILLED."

  "I DIDN'T MEAN TO!" Darrel began crying.

  "No. No, I think deep down you wanted us to die," the corpse sneered.

  "WHAT!?"

  "You were getting sick of us, of our inability to fix your dead family."

  "THAT IS NOT TRUE! GABRIEL, PLEASE!"

  "Join us, Darrel." Gabriel's voice now spoke with three more behind it. Raphael, Uriel, Michael, and Gabriel all spoke at once. "Join us, Darrel."

  Gabriel's mouth opened to reveal layers upon layers of teeth. This was not Gabriel. "JOIN US!"

  Darrel turned and ran as fast as he could. He was screaming and crying as the monster chased after him, laughing with a clear intent to kill. As he ran, he heard the thing talk, not as his friends, but as something else entirely.

  "YOUR FEAR IS REFRESHING. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I'VE BEEN ALONE?"

  Darrel kept running until he tripped, hitting his face hard on the ground. When he scrambled to stand up, he was back in the basement. Dorian was leaning over him, screaming at him to wake up.

  "HEY! HEY— GOSH!"

  Darrel was breathing heavily, scratching at his head in a panic. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT! D- DID YOU DO THAT, YOU PSYCHO!"

  "Hey, hey, calm down," Dorian said. "You're here now." He made a hand puppet of a rabbit and placed it against Darrel's forehead. A sudden, unnatural calm washed over him. "What did you see?"

  Darrel tried to process the nightmare. "I was in this— this dark void. Nothing for miles. Then my dead friend showed up. The one the Governor killed. He blamed me, repeating every dark thought I have about myself. Then it opened its mouth. It had a thousand layers of teeth. It chased me, saying my fear was refreshing and that it was lonely. Then I fell and showed up here."

  Dorian took it all in. His expression changed, shifting into something Darrel hadn't seen before. He tried to hide it, but Dorian was visibly afraid.

  "What— what was it?" Darrel asked.

  "Nothing," Dorian said quickly. "Nothing that concerns you for now. I won't cause you to Hip-hop again. I'm truly sorry."

  Darrel stood up in a rage. "That’s it?! It doesn't concern me?! I want to know right no—"

  Darrel stopped mid-sentence. Dorian held his palm out, and blue magical strings pulsed from it, attaching to Darrel's forehead. Dorian pulled them away seconds later.

  "...right now! Wait. What was I just saying?"

  Dorian forced a smile. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I think that's enough information for one day, Mr. Roanshaw. I will take you to your room. Tomorrow morning, you have a training lesson with the Governor."

  "Oh, alright," Darrel said, his anger forgotten.

  They left the basement. It was morning now, and as Dorian pointed out, the sunrise was beautiful. They walked to an apartment building next to the tower, where Dorian showed Darrel to his room.

  "I'll wake you in six hours," Dorian said. "That is when the Governor is expecting you."

  "Sounds good," Darrel replied.

  He entered the room and shut the door. Laying down on the bed, he stared at the ceiling. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He had never been this alone in his entire life. He felt as if something were missing— a memory right on the edge of his mind that he couldn't quite catch. Exhaustion finally took over, and he fell into a deep sleep.

  (Two hours later, inside the Governor's office in the main tower, the Governor sat smoking a cigar.)

  "You wanted to see me, Blue?" the Governor asked.

  "I did," Dorian replied, sitting across from him. "Darrel... I was showing him magic. I started with a teleportation technique."

  "Pretty standard stuff. What's the problem?"

  Dorian adjusted his posture, looking unnerved. "Then I tried to step it up. I made him Hip-Hop. I wanted to see what his mind created. But then... I lost him."

  The Governor stopped smoking and sat up straight. "Did he see—"

  "Yes."

  A long, heavy silence filled the office.

  "We don't mention this," the Governor said finally. "Not to each other. Not to King. Not to the others."

  "Understood."

  "Now get out of here," the Governor dismissed him. "I need to continue my plans to find him. The last Outlaw."

  Dorian paused. "You found four more?"

  "Yes. We executed them on the spot."

  Dorian left the room, leaving the Governor alone with his thoughts. The Governor stared out at the city, whispering to the empty air.

  "Where are you, John?"