Chapter 2
Elliot jolted awake, his chest burning like he'd just sprinted a marathon. The gray light of Ashwood seeped through the holes in his curtains, casting shaky patterns across a floor littered with cables. His mouth tasted like metal and stale pizza. On his nightstand, the key pulsed faintly, a silent witness to whatever the hell he'd stumbled into.
He glanced at his wrist. The holographic watch glowed dimly:
06:32 | Pulse: 72 | Temperature: 21°C
Images from last night crashed into his mind: Aetherion, that oppressive silence, the impossible white room. He turned to the black coat slung in the corner—tangible proof he hadn't lost it. His fingers, still numb, seemed to carry the memory of a cold too real.
He pried open his worn wallet. Thirty bucks. A coin stuck to an ancient piece of gum. A crumpled bus ticket. And in his bank account: $47.23.
"Great budget for conquering the cosmos," he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.
But something new flickered inside him. That frozen world… it was his shot. A chance to prove he was more than a broke coder stuck in Ashwood. To go back, he'd need gear—something to survive that bone-chilling cold.
The QuickMart smelled of worn linoleum and stale bread. Flickering fluorescents threw jittery shadows across half-empty shelves. Elliot pushed a creaky metal basket, his knuckles white on the handle.
In the camping aisle, a five-meter rope caught his eye. Rough but sturdy. He grabbed it. Then some protein bars—their garish wrappers screamed "long-lasting energy" with a fake caramel taste.
The clearance bin was a graveyard of sketchy relics: a pair of holey ski gloves, a temperamental flashlight with a stubborn button, and an orange balaclava that reeked of mothballs and bad decisions.
He tried on the balaclava. It scratched like an angry sheep was settling a karmic score. Rough, poorly stitched, probably made in the '80s for a kid whose life took a dark turn the moment they put it on. Every move sparked an itch behind his ear or on his neck, just enough to make him question his life choices.
It was hideous, but it was the only thing he could afford that might keep him vaguely warm.
At the register, Kyle, a pimply cashier with a smirk, eyed the items mockingly.
"Planning a bank heist with this haul?"
"Planning to apply at Texas Instruments with that face?" Elliot shot back, shoving his stuff into a plastic bag. Kyle's grin vanished. He took the cash and shuffled off, muttering under his breath.
Elliot clutched his pitiful loot, his stomach twisting. This was his survival kit? Holey gloves and a dinosaur-era balaclava?
Back in his lair, he spread his haul on the bed. The flashlight flickered to life after a few solid smacks. The gloves let air through like a sieve, but they were better than nothing. He slipped on the black coat. Its texture felt… different, unlike anything he'd ever worn.
He eyed the key on the table. Picked it up, turning it over in his fingers, lost in thought. A question nagged at him now that he knew what it could unlock. Did it only work on the wardrobe? Or… any lock?
He crossed the apartment and slid the key into his front door's lock. A moment of doubt. Then…
Click.
A blast of icy air seeped into the hallway. Beyond the door wasn't his familiar landing. It was the same desolate, frozen landscape he'd glimpsed through the wardrobe's window last night.
Elliot froze, hand on the knob. The key wasn't tied to one spot. He slammed the door shut, heart hammering. For a few seconds, he stood in the silence of his apartment, staring at the key. Another idea sprouted, crazier but impossible to shake.
What if the door were bigger?
A garage door, say?
Or… a warehouse?
Would that other world adjust? Would a larger doorway lead somewhere else? A different slice of that frozen realm—or something else entirely? A shiver ran through him, equal parts thrill and fear. For now, though, all he had was a small lock and a black coat.
He headed back to his room. Took a deep breath. Piled on every layer he could to stay warm.
"Goddamn itchy balaclava," he growled as the scratching kicked in.
Key in the lock.
Click.
The icy gust hit.
-50°C | Pulse: 95 | Hypothermia: Moderate Risk, his watch warned.
Stepping through, he found Aetherion waiting, still and silent. Snow crunched under his sneakers, each step leaving deep prints in the powder. The houses around him stood frozen in time, sharp despite the icy haze.
The sky was pitch-dark, pierced by a faint glow. The sun hung there, lifeless, like a final, futile stand before fading out.
Elliot didn't linger. He trudged to the nearest house and tried shouldering the door open. No dice.
"Ow, shit. Looks so easy in the movies…" He tried again, and the door finally gave way, much to his shoulder's relief.
Inside, the air felt almost balmy compared to the howling wind outside. He poked around the rooms, but found only strange, unfamiliar designs and indescribable materials. Nothing much to grab. On a shelf, a pair of earrings glinted through the dust. He pocketed them—his first loot.
Further on, a globe caught his eye. Not Earth. The continents were warped, the oceans evenly spread, and land and sea almost perfectly balanced. At its base, a single word etched in fine script: Aetherion. Or so he thought.
"What are you hiding?" he whispered, tracing its smooth surface.
The next house had an attached garage. Inside, a car straight out of a sci-fi flick. Its sleek body pulsed faintly, like a sleeping heartbeat. As he approached, the dashboard lit up, projecting holograms in an alien script, and the door… dissolved, letting him in.
He slid into the seat, hands shaking. This wasn't just a car. It was a gateway. To something deeper in Aetherion.
System Active | Battery Low
Like the watch, the cryptic symbols became readable, as if the car had synced with his brain.
It was getting late, and the wind outside was picking up. He'd been trudging through snow and cold for nearly two hours, and the chill was winning. Reluctantly, he turned back. The gusts lashed him to the bone.
Back in his apartment, he collapsed, frozen, drained, but buzzing with adrenaline.
Later that day, he hit up the pawn shop. The guy took the earrings for $200. Pocket change, maybe, compared to what he might find next.
That night, for the first time in ages, he treated himself to McDonald's—two big meals, wolfed down with guilty pleasure.
As he scarfed his fries, one thought consumed him:
The car.