The Ticket
The hum of distant machinery still echoed faintly in the back of my mind, a lingering resonance from the descent. But now, I stood in a different place—a train station that should not exist. The air smelled of rain-soaked pavement, mingled with faint traces of iron and smoke. Above, the fluorescent lights flickered, casting uneven shadows across the platform.
In my hand, I clutched a train ticket—thin, white, and warm against my skin. Printed across its surface were two impossible destinations: Niagara Park, Australia to Glasgow, Scotland. The journey was beyond logic, yet I knew it was the next step. The hum of an approaching train vibrated through the metal rails beneath my feet.
As I stepped toward the platform gates, my pulse quickened. I slid the ticket into the slot, but before the gate could open, a flash of movement caught my eye. A hand—thin, pale, and impossibly smooth—snatched the ticket away. My gaze snapped upward, locking onto the hollow black eyes of a greylien.
“No!” I shouted, lunging forward.
The creature darted away, weaving effortlessly through the crowd of oblivious passengers. My feet pounded against the tile floor as I gave chase, heart hammering against my ribs. The greylien moved with unnatural speed, but I would not let it escape.
Ahead, a blonde woman glanced back—her eyes sharp with cunning as she clutched the stolen ticket. Beside her, the greylien's elongated limbs flickered in and out of sight, as though phasing between dimensions.
“Michael! Help me!” I cried out.
To my right, a figure stepped from the shadows. Tall and broad-shouldered, his dark skin gleamed beneath the station lights. In his right hand, he held a sword that shimmered like liquid silver. His eyes met mine—ancient, unwavering—and without a word, he took off after the thieves.
We pursued them through corridors and stairwells that twisted and shifted like a labyrinth. The air grew hotter with every step, the faint scent of sulfur rising from cracks in the floor. Beneath my feet, I glimpsed flashes of molten fire far below.
At last, the chase ended in an open chamber deep beneath the station. The floor trembled as if the earth itself was breathing. The blonde woman and the greylien stood at the chamber’s edge, their silhouettes backlit by the fiery abyss beyond.
Surrounding them stood a circle of figures clad in crimson robes. Their faces were obscured, but their voices rose in haunting harmony—a chorus of ancient lamentations. At the center of the circle knelt a younger version of myself, dressed in pastel pink, tears streaming down her face.
The blonde woman raised the stolen ticket as if offering it to the abyss. Michael stepped forward, sword raised high, his presence radiating the unyielding authority of divine judgment.
“Choose,” whispered a voice that echoed from the depths. “Face what lies beyond, or remain bound to what was.”
I stepped forward, heart pounding, and the air around me crackled with unseen power. The choice was mine.
