“Efficient, aren’t they?”

  The voice startled Luke. He turned. Thera Kallon sat in the next chair, watching him with those unsettlingly perceptive eyes – a shifting blend of sapphire and emerald. Even in the sterile, humming weirdness of the transition room, her presence was jarring, an almost ethereal beauty that seemed completely out of place. Her hair, like spun moonlight, framed a face with delicate features and skin pale as porcelain. Strangely, the invasive hum from Luke’s Bracer seemed to lessen slightly, the vibration softening just a bit near her.

  “Uh, you okay there?” she asked, a small, slightly nervous smile on her lips, an amused twinkle in her eyes.

  Luke flushed, realizing he’d been staring. His world was grime and hardship, where beauty was a forgotten luxury buried under soot. Thera seemed untouched by that, radiating not just health, but a refined grace suggesting a life far removed from his own struggle. “I, uh, yeah,” he stammered, gesturing vaguely. “Sorry. Just… processing. This is all… a lot.”

  “Tell me about it,” Thera agreed, her gaze flicking to the pulsing emerald Bracer on her own wrist. Her smile mixed genuine excitement with obvious nerves. “Exciting and terrifying don’t quite cover it, do they?” She offered a hand, her movements fluid. “Thera Kallon.”

  “Luke Rennoka,” he replied, taking her hand. Her grip was firm, surprisingly grounding. Her voice had a hint of determination under the pleasantries, suggesting a strength her delicate looks didn’t show. “Good to meet you, Thera.”

  “Likewise, Luke.” Her smile widened slightly. “Maybe I’ll see you on the other side? Not sure what the future holds, but it’s always brighter with friends, even potential ones. I’ll keep an eye out for you, okay?” Her optimism felt fragile here, but genuine.

  Luke, usually skeptical, found himself drawn in. He managed a small smile back. “Sure,” he said, the word tasting less doubtful than he expected. “Though Peter made it sound like we’ll be scattered everywhere.”

  “Maybe,” Thera conceded with a slight shrug. “But I’d rather step into this mystery world knowing there’s at least one friendly face I might run into.”

  “Fair enough,” Luke agreed, feeling an unexpected flicker of camaraderie with this puzzling woman. A potential ally? A comforting thought, however brief.

  Their exchange was cut short as a loudspeaker crackled overhead, Peter’s voice echoing again, slightly distorted. “Initiate seating protocols. Insert Bracer into the right hand console receptacle. Ensure it clicks into place.”

  Luke found the slot on the armrest, shaped for the Bracer. As he pushed his wrist forward, guiding it home, there was a sharp click. Instantly, metallic restraints, hidden before, snapped swiftly into place over his arms and legs, pinning him. The chair itself seemed to contract slightly, the organic like material molding tighter around him, pressing close. Suddenly, it felt less like furniture and more like something preparing to digest him. He pulled instinctively; they held firm. Beside him, Thera gasped, struggling uselessly. Panic flashed in her eyes.

  “Do not resist,” Peter’s voice droned, flat, impersonal. “The transition process is commencing. Resistance can cause… complications. Good luck, Forerunners. Today you begin the rest of your lives. May you find purchase in Rahu.” The loudspeaker clicked off, leaving a heavy silence broken only by the low hum and Luke’s frantic heartbeat.

  A countdown appeared, projected somehow onto the inside of his eyelids, stark red numbers against black:

  5…

  4…

  3…

  2…

  1…

  At zero, the chair didn’t just enclose him; it contracted. Metallic panels slid shut with unnerving speed, plunging him into absolute, suffocating darkness. The Bracer pulsed violently, a sickening, high frequency thrum vibrating through his whole skeleton. Blinding blue light erupted inside the capsule, thick and heavy, feeling both searingly cold and burning hot. It pressed through him, violating his body. Pain exploded behind his eyes, a physical spike driving into his skull. His muscles seized, convulsing against the restraints. He felt something vital being pulled from him, ripped away – not physical, but essential, leaving a faint, greasy psychic stain peeling off under the brutal light. A high pitched, metallic whine tore through his head, threatening to break him. In the last instant before blackness, he thought he heard, or felt, something vast and ancient recoil out there beyond the transition’s glare, a flicker of immense, disgusted awareness brushing against him.

  Then the light intensified beyond comprehension, swallowing thought, sensation, everything. Oblivion mercifully took him.

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

  The Cosmic Tribunal convened, not in a physical place, but a nexus of intersecting realities, their forms blazing with incomprehensible energies. Before them flowed the stream of transitioning souls, shimmering motes of consciousness pulled toward Rahu. But something was wrong. Faint, oily smudges clung to these souls, distorting their light, leaving greasy trails in the cosmic current. The taint. The mark of the Usurpers. The Fractured.

  Their collective fury churned, silent but immense, not aimed at the drifting souls – helpless debris in disaster’s current – but at the architects of this corruption.

  Fate stood foremost, woven from shimmering violet threads constantly shifting, forming and unraveling futures. Its many eyes narrowed. “Tainted,” the word resonated, sharp edged, cutting through the nexus hum. “Just like the others.”

  Void shifted beside Fate, a nexus of absolute blackness drinking the ambient energy. “Not their choice,” its voice rumbled, a vibration felt more than heard, heavy as collapsed stars. “The Usurpers’ mark lingers. This is… consequence. Collateral damage.”

  Blood, condensed crimson fire pulsing with destructive force, flared brighter. “Infection!” it snarled, like tearing metal. “It festers! Spreads! Excise it! Now! Before it roots in Rahu!” A blade of jagged red energy formed in its grasp, radiating heat that warped space. A demand, not a suggestion.

  “Hold,” Void commanded, stepping forward slightly, its darkness absorbing the worst of Blood’s rage. “Impulse serves little. We know not what they carry, only that they suffer the mark.”

  “And why should suffering grant sanctuary?” Blood shot back, the blade vibrating. “We’ve seen where that leads. Rot takes root. Consumes. What’s one more tragedy against the pyre of lost worlds?”

  Harmony interjected, its form radiating calming green light like sunlight through ancient trees. “Patience, Blood,” its voice was a layered chord, soothing yet firm. “Their story is unwritten here. Let us first understand.”

  Primordial, vast and slow as shifting continents, nodded silently, its deep blue energy pulsing steadily. “Let Eternity reveal,” it rumbled, like mountains grinding. “Judgment requires knowledge.”

  All awareness turned to Eternity, solid gold light containing flickering timelines, standing slightly apart. It tilted its multifaceted head, a complex hum acknowledging. Without a word, Eternity extended shimmering golden threads, delicate yet infinitely strong, into the tainted soul stream.

  As threads connected, the Tribunal fell silent, observing, experiencing. Memories erupted, not images, but raw sensations projected into their shared consciousness. Cities consumed by glitching fire, reality tearing. Skies cracking like obsidian, buildings dissolving to static. Families huddled in toxic twilight, faces etched with despair so deep it felt like a physical weight, their forms flickering with the same oily residue clinging to their souls. A child’s cry choked off by silence. The taste of ash and fear, the stench of decay.

  The weight hit like a physical blow. Harmony’s green light flickered, dimmed by sorrow. “So much loss…” Its voice broke, the melody fractured. “Displaced. Desperate. Unchosen victims.”

  “I feel their terror,” Soul whispered, its form pure white light, like liquid stars. Tears of light spilled down its face. “The screams… the hollowness… it echoes, a wound upon existence.”

  Blood shifted uncomfortably, crimson firebanks swirling, the blade wavering slightly. “Pain… does not grant purity,” it stated, clipped, but the conviction lacked its earlier edge.

  “And yet,” Void observed quietly, its darkness pressing closer, “you hesitate.”

  Blood shot a glare of pure heat towards Void but said nothing.

  Fate stepped closer to Eternity, violet threads weaving through the golden memories. “Their world was self immolating,” it stated, voice quieter, contemplative. “Failure, hubris, decay. Yet… they clung to hope. Fought for more, even as reality unraveled.”

  “Even knowing the futility,” Eternity added, golden light pulsing softly, withdrawing its threads. The raw memories receded, leaving heavy silence. “They reached. The primary fault lies not with them, but those who shattered their world. The Usurpers. These mortals are… victims.”

  “They are survivors,” Void corrected, voice calm but edged with finality. “And survivors adapt. Or perish.”

  Blood sighed, like cooling embers, aura dimming. “And if their adaptation mirrors the ruin they fled? If the taint spreads within Rahu?”

  “Then you shall have your answer, your justification,” Void replied evenly. “But grant them the crucible first. Let Rahu test them.”

  Fate turned back to the stream, violet threads weaving potential futures. “If they are to stand against the Maw,” it declared, voice gaining strength, “they must be reforged. Rahu will be their forge, their trial. Their strength, or failure, will arise from their own choices, colored by the echo of their broken home.”

  “And if they fail?” Blood asked again, the question heavy.

  “Then they fail,” Fate answered simply, the threads showing countless possibilities, flickering bright and bleak. “That is their prerogative. Their burden.”

  The Tribunal fell silent, awareness fixed on the tainted souls flowing toward Rahu.

  Finally, Blood stepped back, the crimson blade dissipating into heat motes with a soft hiss. “So be it,” it conceded, the word heavy. “But should they falter, should the infection take root…”

  “We understand,” Void interrupted, darkness seeming to nod. “They become yours to… cleanse.”

  Fate’s myriad eyes stayed on the stream as it whispered, the sound weaving into the nexus fabric, a prophecy at a new age’s dawn. “The Maw hungers. Rahu endures. Let these mortals rise or fall. Their choices now resonate.”

  And as the last echoes faded, the Old Gods stood in solemn agreement, forms glowing faintly, charged with the weight of what they’d witnessed, and the uncertain future they had sanctioned.