For the second time in his life, Amos was pulled across the boundary between worlds.
He wasn't dead or dying this time, though. Fully conscious, he perceived all that affected him. The slowing of time; Leila running towards him with a scream on her lips, moving as if through molasses. The warping of his vision; wheat stalks bending in unnatural ways, appearing like yellow seaweed. The feeling of wrongness; utter wrongness that grew like a tumour in the back of his mind.
The world compressed on itself, folding over and over through dimensions. It doubled and shrunk in size all at once.
The only constants were Amos and the eclipse. Everything else was up to interpretation.
The Aquila family farm disappeared in a garbled distortion. Amos screamed for Leila, but the eclipse didn't care. It continued shunting him through to the world of the Gods. The tumour of wrongness grew larger still, becoming almost physical. Tangible.
Amos was burning. He dropped to his knees and began spinning in place. There was no ground. He lost track of which way was up. Everything was going in circles, the world a tumble dryer. A flash of ringed light, blotted sun, stars, every time he completed a circuit.
Space. Infinite, empty space.
The heat grew in intensity. Hotter. Hotter. Hotter than the fire that injured his new father, hotter than his ambition, hotter than his desire to protect those he loved. Amos couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He was subject to the whims of the universe, and it wasn't being kind to him.
Suddenly, everything stabilised. Disorder became order and gravity made its gracious return.
Amos was on his hands on knees, though he didn't remember falling to that position. It took a second for his organs to adjust to the transition. He kept his head down until his eyeballs stopped pulsing.
The ground was made of smooth, dark stone. Familiar: Reflective obsidian.
Just like the Infinite Lake. That place must have something to do with the magic in this world. Connected to the Gods in some way.
Amos felt his stomach turn. Bile pushed its way up without him being able to gulp it back down, and he threw up on the stone floor. The sharp smell burned his nose, and he retched at the scent of his own vomit.
Amos turned away, staggering to his feet. He pressed a hand to his head. The pounding pain was coming back. He pushed the discomfort to the back of his mind for now. His face was already bloodied from his earlier altercation with the two men in the Infinite Lake, so he was no stranger to pain now.
The puddle of vomit was wafting still, so Amos left his spot. He cast a cursory glance at his surroundings, taking in anything of immediate note.
First was the eclipse, dominating the sky. It was larger here, ever present. Looming. The pink solar flares seemed to be frozen mid-lashing from behind the shadow of the moon. It never left Amos' vision even when he turned away, despite never moving from its stoic place in the sky.
The second most dominant part of the landscape was the obsidian. Unlike the Infinite Lake, it was not a uniformly flat plane here. This place featured jagged spikes and spires of the dark stone, twisting like fingers grasping towards the sky. They were twisted and lumpy, resembling a multitude of gangrenous, infected digits.
Amos found himself in between a few of these spires. Dotted around in a seemingly irregular manner, they blocked off any view of the horizon. From a distance, one may be forgiven for assuming they were conical trees. Up close, however, the unmarked reflective surfaces were unmistakable.
Amos made his way through them, wending aimlessly. No matter which way he went, he was always moving towards the unnaturally still eclipse. The air was chilly, giving rise to goosebumps on his arms.
These spires... I wonder how they were formed.
Could it be something similar to what that man - the mysterious 'Master' - did in the Infinite Lake?
Amos touched the obsidian spires as he passed them, holding on for balance lest the uneven, lumpy ground throw him off. After a short distance, the spires gave way to empty space. A clearing, by any other name. Amos stopped short.
In the centre of the 'clearing' was a large mansion - no, a Palace.
The exterior was all marble pillars and gold inlay. Delicate curtains of sheer hung behind majestically carved window frames protruding from the walls. The frieze atop the building was carved with a scene that Amos had never seen before - 12 stars spaced evenly, adorned by figures enthralled in battle with each other. Affixed at the top of the gable was a marble statue of a cloaked figure, extending its hand with the palm downward, other hand over its breast. Turrets and towers adorned with decorative crenellations broke the silhouette of the building, giving it an increased sense of grandeur.
At the very front was a set of double doors - easily ten feet tall, if not more - set wide open. An invitation.
Amos took it. He strode forward with a singular compulsion - becoming Drai.
He passed a gurgling fountain on his way and splashed his face with crystal clear water. It stung his swollen eye and cut cheeks, but washed away the blood and tears dried there.
Better.
Then, he entered the Palace of the Gods.