Neil stepped out from the Trial Grounds.
The threshold marked more than just the end of stone and silence; it was the edge of a forgotten world giving way to something alive. The air hit him like a revelation. Warm, but not oppressive. Cool enough to remind him he was no longer buried beneath ruin, yet infused with a gentle heat that clung to his skin like sunlight filtered through morning mist.
His first breath outside nearly made him stumble.
It was crisp. Not just clean, but alive. A wild vitality hummed in the air itself, like the world had exhaled something sacred into his lungs. His Core thrummed in response, subtly tuning itself to this strange purity.
"It shouldn't feel this good," Neil murmured.
He had expected bleakness. When he'd first arrived, the land surrounding the platform had been dust and desolation, lifeless to the horizon. But now, where ruin had once reigned, life unfurled in brilliant defiance.
Vibrant plants blanketed the landscape. Towering trees with twisting branches stretched skyward, their leaves gleaming like they were polished in sunlight. Flowers bloomed in unnatural geometries—spirals and fractals—their colors richer than any Earth palette. The ground was thick with layered mosses, glowing faintly with a soft inner hue, and even the wind carried hints of floral tang and mineral clarity.
He scanned the surroundings, Core Vision flickering as he looked for danger. But there were no creatures in sight. Just plant life. And peace.
A stark contrast to the broken halls behind him.
More than just color and form caught his eye: a faint aura surrounded the flora. Soft halos of color shimmered around the trees and larger plants—not visible in ordinary sight, but glowing under his altered perception.
"Energy," Neil whispered. "They're giving it off."
Not the dense, swirling dust-like motes he'd seen inside the ruins. That was concentrated essence, found in ritual chambers. Here, it was ambient. Diffuse. Barely visible unless he focused, but definitely present. It flowed around him like a tide too slow to notice, brushing over his skin with every passing breeze.
He tugged at the clasp of the cloak.
It slid off his shoulders and into his hands. He folded it neatly and slung it behind his neck. There was no point in covering himself if the energy in the air could be better absorbed through skin contact.
A moment later, he stilled and focused again.
Yes. It was faint, but his Core stirred more freely now. The essence in the air wasn't enough to fuel techniques or explosive movement, but it fed something more subtle. The background hum of being alive felt more vibrant here. Like everything around him wanted him to thrive.
He took a slow step forward.
Then another.
The sensation of movement, of walking under open sky, felt surreal. It struck him that this was the first time he'd seen sunlight in what must have been weeks. Maybe longer.
Neil looked upward.
A single, golden sun hung in the sky.
It looked almost exactly like Earth's—a yellow star casting familiar light, warm and dependable. But the sky itself felt bigger somehow. Crisper. As if painted in high definition.
There were no moons in sight. None of the three he'd glimpsed when he first arrived. Just the one sun, shining steadily. And blue. Deeper, richer than any Earth sky.
"How long was I down there?" he asked himself.
He didn't have an answer. He had no watch. His phone had died weeks ago. If he had to guess... it had felt like a month. Maybe more. Maybe less. But time underground, time inside the ruins, had been slippery. He hadn't slept at all, hadn't eaten at all. It was hard to say.
And now?
Now, everything had changed.
He walked for a while, soaking it all in.
The path wasn't clear—there was no trail, no road, no obvious exit. Just the land, stretching outward in gentle hills and scattered groves. A paradise in waiting.
Eventually, Neil stopped at a slight ridge and looked out across the horizon.
And then he saw them.
In the distance, near the horizon, a soft green light shimmered in the air like the reflection of emerald flame against water. It wasn't a beam or a burst, but a dome—or perhaps the edge of one. Semi-transparent, blending almost naturally with the terrain.
It tugged at something in his memory.
"The domes," he muttered.
When he'd first arrived on this world, twenty glowing orbs had streaked across the sky like comets. All different colors, racing in different directions. He remembered the green one crashing down in the distance. And there it was, or at least the residue of it. The dome shimmered faintly where the horizon began to curve.
A short distance to the right, he saw another light. Blue, soft and flickering, just over the land's edge.
That one wasn't visible directly—only the glow rising beyond the hills.
Two domes. Close, but not in the same direction.
His eyes narrowed.
Between them, distant mountain ranges stood sentinel. One ridge just to the right of the blue glow, large and jagged like a serrated blade. The other, gentler, rolling across the left side beyond the green shimmer.
Neil stared at the green dome, a thought solidifying.
The gods had created the domes as safe zones. Sanctuaries for the different species they had transplanted from their shattered worlds. Humans were only one among many. But if they had meant to place him anywhere, it would have been among his own kind.
And of all the domes he could see, the green one was closest.
"It has to be where they sent the others," he whispered. "It's the only one nearby."
A flicker of hope ignited within him. Maybe—just maybe—he wasn't the only human here. Maybe within that dome, others had found shelter. Maybe he wasn't alone.
Decision made, Neil adjusted his gear, took one last look at the trial grounds behind him—now half-hidden in moss and shadow—and set off.
Each step carried weight, but also a strange lightness. His boots crunched through soft layers of moss and fallen petals. Occasionally, bioluminescent insects buzzed past his vision—tiny flares of blue or red that blinked out the moment he turned to follow them.
The plants swayed gently, despite the lack of strong wind. As if reacting to his presence.
The farther he went, the more convinced he became that this place—whatever it was—was still watching. He could feel it. Not see it. But he knew it was there. A sense through the Core, maybe. Like static in the back of his thoughts.
He didn't speak again for a long while.
There was no need. Nobody to talk to.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was less. Time didn't move the same out here either. But the dome on the horizon didn't seem to be any closer at all. It felt like it was just as far away.
Neil paused again on a hillside to rest.
His Core was quiet but not strained. The ambient energy helped, even if he could only absorb it passively. It felt like his Core was supplementing him. Felt like, because of that, he didn't feel hunger or thirst.
He reached inward and focused.
Nothing nearby yet.
But the closer he moved to the dome, the stronger that subtle pull became. Like the world itself was nudging him forward.
He climbed another slope, a little steeper than the last, and crested it to find the land suddenly dropping into a lush valley. Trees taller than buildings lined the edges, their canopies like green cathedrals, and the wind carried the unmistakable scent of fresh water.
Somewhere down there was a lake. Maybe even the one he'd seen before.
And beyond that—the dome.
Much closer now. The shimmer of its border glowed faintly even through the veil of tree limbs. He couldn't see inside it yet, not from this angle. But it was no longer a distant mystery.
He took a final breath at the ridge, then started the descent.
Every step down carried new questions. Would the green dome truly hold the humans? Or would it be another mystery altogether? He still hadn't fully understood everything. Too much to process.
He didn't have answers.
But he had direction.
And that, for now, was enough.
Neil moved with quiet purpose, guided by the energy around him and the will that had carried him through broken ruins. Whatever waited inside that dome—or beyond it—he would face it.
Not as one of the Chosen.
But as someone who had endured, adapted, and emerged.
Unafraid.