The crushing pressure of the void finally broke.
Elias didn't crash into the new world. He bled into it. The absolute zero of the dimensional channel faded, replaced by a suffocating, heavy warmth.
He tried to drag air into his lungs. The pull was weak, the capacity completely wrong. The air hitting his throat tasted of warm linen, crushed lavender, and the sharp, bitter tang of dried herbs.
He tried to open his eyes. The lids dragged apart, heavy and uncooperative.
There were no clinical white tiles. No harsh red emergency lights. The ceiling pressing in above him consisted of massive, dark wooden beams. Deep knots scarred the grain, completely unpolished, stretching across a wide, sunlit expanse. Dust motes drifted lazily through the amber light spilling from a high, narrow window.
Elias attempted to push himself up.
Nothing happened.
