A pteroserus hurried toward us, almost running.

  Very close.

  Jo-Jo, seeing her that near, instinctively stepped back, gripping Lia’s hand tightly.

  The pteroserus stopped and raised her palm — the gesture sharp, practiced.

  “Calm,” she said in a low, steady voice. “My name is Gunya.”

  She looked at all of us at once, but her gaze lingered on Lia and Jo-Jo.

  “You cannot be here. This is a restricted zone. Alexander—”

  “Oh no.”

  The voice came from the other side of the hall.

  I turned — and saw Alexander.

  He appeared from the direction of the waterfall and the elevator, as if surfacing out of space itself. He was moving fast, barely touching the floor.

  “How did you get here…” he breathed, reaching us.

  He turned sharply to Gunya.

  “I’ll handle this,” he said quickly. “You’re needed there.”

  Gunya nodded — no hesitation, no questions — and vanished with such speed that I only caught the flick of her long tail cutting through the air before she was gone.

  Alexander ran a hand over his face.

  “So…” he said more quietly. “I see. The dome let them in.”

  He looked around at the chaos of moving beings.

  “Something very rare is happening right now,” he continued. “Something has misaligned. Or…” He paused for a heartbeat. “Or we failed to account for something.”

  Then he turned abruptly to Lia and Jo-Jo.

  Jo-Jo was already holding Bridget in his arms. She clung to him.

  “Listen to me,” Alexander said evenly, firmly. “Don’t be afraid. Please.”

  He looked at me.

  “Stay close to Molly. And to me.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Then back to them.

  “There is no danger here. Trust me. I understand how this looks. But nothing here is going to harm you.”

  Lia swallowed hard.

  “This is—” she began, but her voice broke.

  “Later,” Alexander said gently, but with iron underneath. “We’ll sort all of this out later. We’ll have to use Serenitas. There’s no other way.”

  Jo-Jo stiffened.

  “Sereni… what?” he asked.

  Alexander didn’t answer.

  “No time,” he said. “We’re taking you with us. Move.”

  We moved quickly.

  Not running — but with the urgency of people who cannot afford to lose even a second.

  Jo-Jo pushed Lia’s wheelchair; the wheels whispered softly against the floor as if rolling over dense moss. Bridget no longer barked — she only sniffed the air, tense and alert.

  We passed the long table.

  Passed the waterfall.

  “This way,” Alexander said curtly.

  We headed for the elevator.

  It was transparent, tall, as if carved from a single block of glass. The cabin stood open, lit from within by a soft glow — no visible lamps, just something like twilight inside a greenhouse.

  “Inside,” Alexander said calmly, leaving no room for debate.

  We stepped in.

  The doors closed.

  The elevator moved.

  At first — upward.

  Smooth. Almost imperceptible.

  Then faster.

  Then suddenly sideways.

  Lia gasped. Jo-Jo gripped the wheelchair handles. I clutched the railing. The walls remained transparent, but outside, space began to misbehave.

  The greenhouse dropped away.

  The ceiling vanished.

  In its place — light stretching endlessly upward.

  The elevator jerked again — down, then sideways, then up — at such speed that my body lost all sense of direction.

  “Alexander—” I breathed.

  He stood perfectly still.

  Calm.

  Focused.

  Like a man traveling a familiar road — only this road was not meant for humans.

  We squeezed our eyes shut.

  The next instant the elevator shot upward.

  As if we had been hurled into the sky.

  Then a violent drop.

  We plunged.

  Into something dense. Viscous. Like jelly. Like thickened light.

  The elevator slowed, pushing through the substance. The walls darkened, sliding against something heavy and fluid.

  The sound disappeared.

  All that remained was pressure — soft, total, surrounding us.

  Then — a jolt.

  And suddenly everything became ordinary.

  The elevator emerged into a strict vertical shaft with smooth walls. The movement steadied. We descended straight down, calmly, almost routinely.

  As if nothing impossible had just happened.

  The elevator stopped.

  Silently.

  The doors opened.

  Alexander turned to us.

  “Everyone alright?” he asked evenly, though guilt flickered in his voice. “I’m sorry. There’s no other way to reach this level.”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I believed that. Jo-Jo had gone pale but held himself together. Lia clutched the armrests, knuckles white. Bridget whimpered softly.

  We stepped out.

  And immediately it was clear: nothing here was inanimate.

  The walls…

  They were not merely surrounding us.

  They were breathing.

  Slowly. Deeply.

  Like a vast organism we had entered.

  The ringing continued here.

  The same high, pure, unbearably beautiful tone.

  The walls were a soft orange.

  And inside them ran tubes.

  Hundreds. Thousands.

  They intertwined, separated, rejoined — like veins, like capillaries, like a living map. Inside them flowed a blue-cyan liquid, luminous.

  It didn’t simply move.

  It pulsed.

  In rhythm with the ringing.

  In rhythm with something larger.

  The air was thick, humid, and carried a scent… faintly like bananas.

  Strangely misplaced.

  Ahead — movement.

  At first only shadows.

  Wings.

  Silhouettes.

  Pteroseruses.

  There were many — far more than I had ever seen. They moved rapidly in and out of an opening in the wall that contracted and expanded like living flesh. Some carried trays. Some flasks. Some fabric.

  As we came closer, I saw a needle on one of the trays.

  Long.

  Thick.

  Completely soaked in blood.

  It was carried carefully by two pteroseruses, as though it were both fragile and lethal. Then another followed. Then blood-soaked cloth. Then transparent flasks filled with blue liquid.

  My breath caught.

  Alexander stepped forward and spoke to one of the pteroseruses — taller than the others, the feathers on his wings darkened, his eyes glowing with strained intensity.

  “He’s alive,” the pteroserus said quickly.

  His voice was hoarse. “He’s in severe pain. We’re working. For now… we don’t know.”

  He faltered on the last word.

  Alexander nodded.

  Slowly. Heavily.

  He placed his hand on the pteroserus’s shoulder — a brief gesture, but filled with such quiet support that it made my chest tighten.

  “Do everything,” Alexander said softly.

  The pteroserus nodded, lifted the tray, and disappeared.

  Cold spread through me.

  Lia and Jo-Jo stood frozen. Lia’s fingers were white against the armrests. Jo-Jo held Bridget but didn’t even stroke her — just clutched her, staring ahead with wide eyes and parted lips, like someone who had been shown too much in a single moment.

  “Oh God…” I whispered. “What’s happening in there?”

  I looked at Alexander.

  “Is it Phil? Is he in pain?”