As I approached the location of the Portal, a large, clear screen materialised before me, rising seamlessly from the ground. Its dimensions, though only roughly estimated, seemed to stretch about three meters in length and five meters in height. The screen's transparency, interspersed with moments of swirling colours when active, lent it an ethereal quality, making it seem less like a piece of technology and more like something out of a dream. Standing before it, I was struck by the realisation that seeing the Portal with my own eyes was a vastly different experience from hearing about it through my father's descriptions. Despite this, a part of me acknowledged, almost reluctantly, that his accounts had been remarkably accurate.
The knowledge that the Portal's activation was restricted to a Guardian—someone genetically bound to a Portal Key—cast a shadow of resignation over me. The understanding that this marvellous piece of technology was beyond my reach, that it would remain dormant without its designated Guardian, brought a mix of emotions. It served as a stark reminder of our isolation, of the chasm that lay between us and the possibility of return to Earth.
With a heavy heart, I forced myself to divert my attention away from the screen. Dwelling on the dwindling possibilities of returning to Earth, on the what-ifs and might-have-beens, would not aid our survival here and now. The Portal, a symbol of hope for a way back, also represented the vast divide between our current existence and the life we left behind.
Wandering closer to the Portal, my attention was caught by the meticulous stacks of pebbles that had been arranged to encircle a large area nearby. The careful placement of these small stone markers, seemingly methodical and deliberate, struck me as both charming and somewhat curious. It is cute, I mused internally, appreciating the effort that had gone into this rudimentary form of boundary marking. Though it appeared somewhat unnecessary at this juncture, given our limited presence and activities in Clivilius, I couldn't help but acknowledge the practicality it suggested for future endeavours. I resolved to inquire about the intent behind these pebble perimeters later, curious about the planning that was already unfolding in the minds of my companions.
Drifting through the designated area, my focus shifted to the assortment of supplies that had been organised within the bounds set by the pebble stacks. The presence of equipment designated for pouring concrete caught my eye, a tangible sign of the ambitious plans taking shape. As I tallied the materials, it became evident that there were enough resources to construct at least six large, corrugated iron sheds—an impressive undertaking that spoke volumes about the foresight and determination driving our efforts to establish a more permanent settlement.
Additionally, nestled among the larger construction supplies, were boxes containing the components for at least one, possibly two, additional tents. The discovery sparked an immediate consideration in my mind: if there were no objections from the others, I would take the initiative to set up one of these tents as a fully functional medical facility. The necessity of such a space was already clear, underscored by Jamie's recent encounter and recovery. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to frequent it, I thought, an optimistic wish tempered by the pragmatic understanding of our situation. The reality, as we had all begun to accept, was that the unpredictable nature of Clivilius, coupled with the physical demands of establishing our presence here, made the need for a dedicated medical space not just a precaution, but a requirement.
The sudden eruption of colours on the Portal's screen, a spectacle of vibrant, gyrating hues spreading across its translucent surface, immediately drew my gaze. It was a sight both mesmerising and unexpected, a stark departure from the Portal's usual dormant state. My initial awe quickly gave way to surprise as a young man, seemingly disoriented, stumbled through the kaleidoscope of colours and into our world.
As he regained his footing, the confusion was evident in his stance and the bewildered look on his face. "Clivilius," he uttered, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and realisation. "What the hell is Clivilius?" His question, though directed at no one in particular, felt like a direct challenge to the reality I had been navigating since my arrival.
In that moment, a flurry of questions raced through my mind. Who is he? The sudden appearance of a stranger was alarming. Is he dangerous? The uncertainty of his intentions, coupled with our vulnerable position heightened my sense of caution. Is this Luke's doing? The thought that Luke might have orchestrated this arrival without warning us was both perplexing and concerning.
"Where the hell am I?" His desperation became palpable as he spun around, taking in his surroundings with a wild, searching gaze. The sight of him, so clearly out of his element and possibly afraid, tugged at my sense of empathy, despite the underlying fear and suspicion his sudden appearance had sparked.
Approaching the young man, I was cautious, acutely aware of the unpredictability of the situation. My eyes quickly assessed him—no more than five foot five, yet his physique, marked by well-defined calves and biceps, indicated a strength that belied his stature. Despite my own height advantage, I couldn't help but acknowledge the potential physical mismatch should the situation escalate. You know well how heightened emotions make people do unpredictable and uncharacteristic things, I silently reminded myself, a mantra born of experience and a reminder of the need for diplomacy over force.
"Are you okay?" My voice carried across the short distance, an attempt to bridge the gap not just physically but emotionally, to offer a semblance of understanding and concern amidst the confusion.
His reaction to my presence, marked by a mix of surprise and suspicion, was understandable. "Did Luke push you too?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on me as if trying to piece together the narrative that had led him to this unfamiliar place.
I shook my head in response, a gesture meant to convey both my non-involvement and my empathy. "No," I clarified. "I'm guessing he pushed you though?"
"Yes," he answered sharply, his confirmation laced with a mix of realisation and resentment. "At least, I think he did." His admission, though vague, hinted at a complexity that piqued my interest further.
As our exchange unfolded, a smile found its way onto my face, not out of amusement, but from a profound sense of relief. I am no longer alone. The sentiment was twofold; not only did his arrival signify another human presence in this foreign landscape, but it also represented a potential expansion of our fledgling community.
Luke's sudden emergence from the Portal, just moments after the young man's tumultuous arrival, immediately heightened the tension in the air. "I see you've already met Glenda?" His words, seemingly casual, did little to alleviate the charged atmosphere.
Instinctively, I took a step back, creating distance between myself and the unfolding confrontation. The young man's face flushed a deep red, a clear indicator of his escalating fury. His reaction was visceral, a raw display of emotion that left no room for misunderstanding. "You're a fucking arsehole, Luke!" His accusation was launched with venom, his proximity to Luke's face underscoring the seriousness of his anger. "What the hell did you push me for?" The question, though rhetorical, demanded an answer, an explanation for the abruptness of his journey through the Portal.
In the physicality of the moment, he shoved Luke hard enough to cause a stumble. "See," he continued, pushing Luke once more, a tangible demonstration of his point. "You don't like being pushed around."
"I'm sorry," Luke offered, his tone earnest, seeking to diffuse the situation as he struggled to regain his footing. "But Jamie needs you."
My surprise at this revelation was unmistakable. So, he knows Jamie. A relative perhaps? The question formed silently in my mind, a puzzle piece that suddenly seemed crucial to understanding the dynamics at play.
"What? Uncle Jamie is here?" The disbelief in the young man’s eyes was palpable, a mixture of shock and an urgent need to reconnect with the familiar.
"Yeah," Luke's confirmation was simple, yet it carried the weight of our shared predicament, a silent acknowledgment of the complex web of relationships and responsibilities that had begun to form amongst us.
The shift in the man’s demeanour was stark, his face hardening as he processed Luke's affirmation. "Take me home, Luke," he insisted, his voice laced with a determination that belied the underlying desperation of his request. "And I'll take Uncle Jamie with me." The firmness in his statement spoke volumes about his resolve, yet it also hinted at the naivety of his understanding of our current limitations.
Luke's response, or lack thereof, was a heavy silence that filled the air with tension. "I can't," he finally admitted, the weight of his words anchoring us all back to the harsh reality of our situation.
"What do you mean, you can't?" the man’s frustration boiled over, his gestures a visible manifestation of the turmoil churning inside him.
Luke's apology, offered to the ground as if he couldn't bear to meet Kain's gaze, was a soft confession of his own helplessness. "I'm sorry, Kain," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, a testament to the depth of his regret.
Feeling my stomach plummet at the exchange, I was acutely aware of the pain etched in Luke's eyes—a mirror to the confusion and anger in Kain's. It was evident that Luke's decision to bring Kain here, though fraught with unforeseen consequences, was not made lightly.
"Sorry?" Kain's anger erupted, his question a rhetorical blade aimed squarely at Luke's guilt. "You're sorry! Sorry for what?"
Compelled by a need to offer some solace, or at least an attempt to diffuse the escalating tension, I stepped closer to Kain. Placing a firm hand on his shoulder, I hoped the gesture would convey a sense of solidarity and understanding. "It's impossible for us to return," I explained softly, my words intended to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding that lay between us.
The moment Kain pulled away from my grasp and launched himself at Luke, everything seemed to escalate uncontrollably. Witnessing the raw violence of Kain's actions, as he ran at Luke, shoulder-barging him with full force, sending them both tumbling to the ground, my heart raced, fear and adrenaline intertwining as I anticipated the worst. Someone is going to get seriously injured. The thought was a stark reminder of our precarious situation on Clivilius, where every new injury could spell disaster.
"Kain!" My voice, loud and filled with urgency, cut through the air as I sprinted towards them, desperate to prevent further violence. But my plea went unheeded. Kain, fuelled by anger and perhaps fear, took a wild swipe at Luke, who narrowly avoided the blow. The sight of blood oozing from Kain's knuckle, a visible testament to the intensity of his emotions, sent a chill through me.
Attempting to restrain Kain proved futile; his movements were too swift, his desperation too profound. As he dragged Luke closer by the foot, a grim tableau unfolded before my eyes. "Both of you, stop it now!" My demand, authoritative yet tinged with desperation, seemed to fall on deaf ears.
The situation escalated further when Kain's elbow collided with my jaw in his fervour to strike at Luke again. The pain was immediate and sharp, a physical blow that was matched by the shock of the betrayal. As I stumbled backward, grappling with the ache that radiated from my jaw, Luke took advantage of Kain's momentary distraction to retaliate.
Kain's subsequent fall, the impact stealing his breath, momentarily halted the chaos. Luke's stance, poised to continue the confrontation, prompted a swift intervention. "Luke, don't," I warned, the sharpness in my voice underscored by the urgency of preventing further violence. My outstretched hand, a plea for peace, contrasted with the dull throb in my jaw where Kain's elbow had made contact.
The tension that had just moments ago crackled in the air began to dissipate as Kain's breathing steadied, his body sprawled on the dust with vulnerability etched across his features. As he lay there, his gaze locked onto Luke's, I could see the raw fear mirrored in his eyes—a stark contrast to the anger that had propelled him just minutes before. Holding my own breath, I watched as Luke, in a gesture that seemed to bridge the chasm of their recent conflict, extended his hand towards Kain.
My held breath escaped in a loud exhale, a mix of relief and residual tension, as Kain, after a moment of hesitation, grasped Luke's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The simple act, laden with complex emotions, felt like a tentative step towards reconciliation, or at least an acknowledgment of a shared struggle.
Turning my attention back to my own discomfort, I couldn't help but quip about the lack of medical supplies, "I'm assuming we don't have any ice either?" The question, though rhetorical, underscored the reality of our limited resources. Luke's confirmation, delivered with a softness that reflected our collective frustration, only served to solidify the concern. My jaw is going to swell up nicely, I thought ruefully, not enjoying the prospect of dealing with the injury without the basic comfort of ice.
Kain's apology, offered with a mixture of remorse and embarrassment, caught my attention. His inability to meet my gaze spoke volumes about the guilt and conflict he felt. "I'm sorry, Glenda," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his actions.
There was a sharp twinge of pain as I attempted a smile. Despite the discomfort, and the lingering wariness from Kain's earlier outburst, I felt it important to forge a connection, to extend the hand of friendship in the midst of our uncertain circumstances. His firm handshake was a solid affirmation, a tangible sign of his willingness to move past the altercation.
"I'm the camp's doctor," I informed him, easing my grip and stepping back slightly. My role, albeit self-assigned, felt more like a calling in these moments—providing care and attempting to maintain the well-being of our small group in an environment that was anything but forgiving.
"And I'm..." Kain's hesitation caught my attention, a brief pause as he seemed to search for the right words. His hand moved to his brow, a gesture of contemplation or perhaps uncertainty. My curiosity piqued, I couldn't help but silently question Luke's rationale for bringing Kain to Clivilius. The answer came sooner than expected.
"And you're our new construction expert," Luke chimed in, his grin slicing through the tension of the moment. The declaration was both a surprise and a revelation. Kain, with his youthful appearance and previously demonstrated physical prowess, was now being introduced in a role that was crucial to our survival.
I nodded, processing this new information. Kain's youth was apparent, placing him in his early twenties at most, yet the responsibility now being placed upon his shoulders was significant. My initial impressions of him, influenced by the morning's chaos, shifted towards a recognition of the potential he brought to our group. His expertise in construction, as proclaimed by Luke, could be the key to enhancing our living conditions and ensuring our safety
The sudden, faint sound of a bark slicing through the air was unexpected, but what followed sent a jolt of alarm through me. Paul's loud cry for help echoed across the distance, piercing the relative calm of the moment and instantly transforming it into a scenario fraught with urgency.
Luke's reaction was immediate; the shift in his expression from one of casual engagement to grave concern was palpable. "Something's wrong," he voiced the dread that had already taken root in my mind. His words were barely out before he sprang into action, taking off towards the source of the commotion with a speed that spoke volumes of the gravity he attached to Paul's cry.
My own heart matched Luke's pace, pounding with a mix of fear and adrenaline as I hurried to keep up with him. The brief jog to the camp became a mental preparation ground for me, my mind racing through various scenarios we might encounter. As the camp's doctor, I braced myself for the possibility of injury or worse.
