"Let's see what's behind it," Rowan said.
He didn't resist the pull of the gray fog. If he had chosen to fight it, the force wouldn't have been strong enough to move him. Instead, he allowed it to draw his consciousness inward.
The world dissolved.
When Rowan opened his eyes again, he stood inside a vast, silent hall.
Klein stared at him, visibly startled. "You… that's you?"
Rowan looked exactly as he should have. Not an infant. Not a distorted form. A young man.
Klein had clearly expected something else.
"This is the gray fog space," Klein said after a moment, steadying himself.
Rowan surveyed the surroundings.
A towering palace stretched around them, carved from nothing and suspended in endless mist. At the far end rose a high-backed throne. Below it stood a long bronze table, flanked by twenty seats, ten on each side.
"The first time I came here, it was just fog," Klein explained. "The palace is something I shaped myself. I can move freely inside it, but the space above…" He glanced upward. "I can't reach that. I assume I'm not strong enough yet."
Rowan followed his gaze.
Through the haze above the throne, he could just make out something concealed beyond layers of fog. A stairway, faint and obscured, leading toward the true center of this place.
"I'll try," Rowan said.
He took hold of Klein and lifted them both upward.
Outside, he had refrained from forcing entry. But now that he was already inside, the situation was different.
Rowan reached into the gray fog and pulled.
The mist resisted, dense and elastic.
"Open," he muttered.
With sheer force of will, he tore a gap through it.
They pushed upward together.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
At the sixth, the resistance thickened into something solid.
They were almost through.
Rowan tried again, straining against the final barrier. The fog refused to yield.
Behind him, Klein's voice trembled slightly. "Can't you break it?"
Hope and fear tangled in the question.
Whatever lay beyond might explain everything. Might lead home.
Rowan released his grip and exhaled.
"It's not a problem."
He hadn't used everything.
His current spiritual strength wasn't quite enough to force open the last layer. But he possessed another option.
Rowan reached beyond himself.
In an instant, he drew upon the power of another self, layering that soul-force over his own. His presence doubled in weight, in density, in pressure.
The fog reacted violently.
Rowan raised one hand and brought it down like a blade.
The final layer split.
The gray mist tore apart.
Beyond it lay something neither of them had expected.
A radiant gate hung in the void, its surface tinged faintly with blue-black corrosion. From above it descended countless thin black threads.
Each thread connected to a translucent cocoon.
Hundreds. Perhaps thousands.
Inside every cocoon floated a human soul.
Different skin tones. Different ages. Modern clothing. Some clutched smartphones. Some held wallets, backpacks, handheld consoles. All were asleep.
Suspended.
Preserved.
Three cocoons closest to the gate had ruptured. Their threads dangled loose.
Empty.
Klein went pale.
His breathing faltered.
"How… is this possible?"
His thoughts spiraled visibly across his face.
Rowan narrowed his eyes.
Fragments of history surfaced in his memory. Records hinting at a lost pre-cataclysm civilization before the First Epoch. An advanced culture erased from the world.
Modern civilization.
The implication formed quickly.
He had truly crossed worlds.
Klein likely had not.
These souls had been taken. Extracted from their original reality and stored here. Preserved for a purpose unknown.
Three had been released.
One was Klein.
One was Roselle.
The third… uncertain.
The master of this gray fog space had harvested them.
Why?
That remained unclear.
Rowan did not act immediately.
If this space belonged to a being capable of constructing something like this, that being would be at least on par with a god.
Rowan wasn't afraid of a confrontation. Even if he couldn't win outright, he could escape.
But exposure was another matter.
If he revealed too much strength, he might attract attention from forces far greater than he wanted.
Still… abandoning this place outright wasn't in his nature.
If he could absorb and integrate this space into his own domain, the gain would be immense. Comparable to consuming an entire minor world.
The risk was real.
So was the reward.
Perhaps the true owner was gone. Destroyed. Crippled. Forced to release these souls as part of some contingency.
If so, that changed everything.
Beside him, Klein's voice sounded hollow.
"Does this mean… we can't go back?"
He had reached the same conclusion, though with one key difference in interpretation. In his mind, the three broken cocoons were Roselle, himself… and Rowan.
Rowan glanced at him.
"Maybe," he said evenly. "Or maybe not."
Klein looked at him sharply.
"There are always variables. Even if this is what it appears to be, that doesn't mean the path home is gone."
Time itself was not absolute.
If one could reach the creator of this world… or master it outright… returning someone to their original era would not be impossible.
Rowan said none of that aloud.
But the possibility existed.
And for now, that was enough.