The lungs that had been stifled for decades within the sterile confines of laboratories now inhaled air so sweet and fragrant it was almost intoxicating—a scent of sandalwood that seemed to bloom within her chest.
Yet, this fragrance was not alone. Beneath the sweetness lay the sharp, biting scent of ozone—a frigid electrical charge that jolted her consciousness into a state of high alert, as if her very brain were being rewired by the atmosphere.
The blood coursing through her veins felt like liquid fire. Her heart hammered against her ribs—'Thump! Thump! Thump!'—a violent rhythm that felt as if it were trying to break free from her chest.
A shadow of pure terror suddenly fell over her features. Toram recoiled, stumbling five steps back. "Listen to me!" she hissed, her face contorted in a mix of confusion and defiance.
Saruel turned his head. Toram's hand instinctively drifted toward the twin blades strapped to her back, though she had no idea how to wield them. But the figure standing before her rendered all her previous logic meaningless.
Saruel's eyes were fixed on the swords. Arcs of lightning flickered within his pupils, turning them into pools of swirling, milky white. Though he stood at the height of an ordinary man, the majesty radiating from him was incommunicable. Toram swallowed hard, her throat dry.
His skin began to glow like polished glass, revealing the divine machinery beneath; his veins did not carry blood, but rather glowing filaments of sapphire and white electricity. His eyes were the most terrifying and captivating feature—the light churning within them looked like a vast ocean storm trapped behind a thin pane of crystal.
As Saruel moved to approach her, Toram flinched. Seeing her panic, he froze. He seemed to understand that any further movement would shatter what was left of her composure, so he stood as still as a statue.
In that heavy silence, he looked past her at the blades she bore. His gaze was ancient, saturated with the memories of a thousand millennia.
"I am Saruel. The God of Lightning."
The voice didn't seem to originate from his lips. Instead, it rose from the earth itself, a resonance of thunder that vibrated through her very marrow. When Toram heard this, the physicist within her collided violently with the reality before her.
The word 'God' almost made her laugh. To her, it was a relic of ancient myths and dusty manuscripts—not a living entity standing in front of her.
She believed 'lightning' was the flow of electrons, a matter of potential difference and calculated energy—not a manifestation of divinity. Yet, the reality before her was currently throwing her entire education into the abyss.
Saruel didn't wait for her to process it. He turned and walked past her, his stride oddly light, as if he were partially exempt from the laws of gravity. Toram stood paralyzed for a heartbeat before the words finally tumbled out of her.
"The God of Lightning?" she whispered to herself, the concept feeling alien on her tongue. "Wait… where are you going? Where… where are we?"
Saruel halted. Without turning his head, he closed his eyes and opened them—a gesture of profound patience or perhaps bone-deep exhaustion. He turned slowly, his face a mask of terrifying calm.
"To Rama. I have already welcomed you, Dr. Toram," he said. His voice carried a strange note of both ownership and ancient longing. Without waiting for a reply, he looked out at the horizon. "This is the Great World—an endless, untamed realm where no mortal has ever set foot."
"Rama?" Toram asked herself. "There is no planet named Rama. Is this creature serious?"
"I am not a creature. I am a God. The God of Lightning," Saruel's voice boomed from the distance, answering a thought she hadn't even spoken aloud.
Toram gasped, stunned that he could hear a whisper that she barely heard herself.
"Instead of standing there admiring me, follow. You have no better choice," Saruel added, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
As Toram surveyed her surroundings, her senses were overwhelmed. The earth and sky seemed to merge in a surreal tapestry of light and shadow.
The clouds drifting above defied all meteorological norms, shimmering with the iridescent colors of a rainbow. The grass was as white as fallen snow, yet it sparked like molten gold whenever the wind caressed it.
But it was the sight in the heavens that truly shattered her grip on reality.
Two suns burned in the purple firmament. One was a deep, throbbing orange, while its companion was a brilliant, piercing crimson. They sat side-by-side, dominating the sky.
"Two suns?" she muttered. "I am truly in another world. The laws of astronomy… gravity… how is this possible?" The questions swarmed her mind like angry bees.
The laws of physics, her years of research—everything was being dismantled. This place wasn't where her science functioned; it was the land where her nightmares and legends became physical truth.
Saruel was drifting further away. Snapping out of her trance, Toram sprinted after him. Because the gravity was slightly lower than Earth's, each stride felt like she was gliding, covering massive distances with ease.
She caught up and blocked his path, her breath hitching. Saruel stopped, his calm unshaken. As the spark in his eyes fell upon her face, a jolt of static electricity rippled across her skin.
"I understand you have many questions," Saruel said, his voice weary but firm. "But I have no time for them now. Time is slipping through our fingers like dry sand."
His gaze drifted once more to the swords on her back. Toram realized instinctively that these weapons were not alien to this world. Her possession of them held a significance that Saruel was not yet ready to explain.
"I'm not asking you!" she shouted, trying to mask her terror with anger. "Take me home right now! I have no business here. I am a woman of the laboratory, not a beast of the battlefield!" Her words sounded like a command, but the underlying tone was one of desperate pleading.
Saruel ignored her outburst. Instead, he looked up at the sky. He placed two fingers to his lips and unleashed a whistle so piercing it seemed to fracture the air. As the sound echoed through the valleys, the very atmosphere began to churn.
Suddenly, the heavens tore open. Two milk-white steeds, pulling a massive throne-chariot of crystalline light, emerged from the clouds. Their wings beat against the purple sky, pushing the clouds aside. Their neighing sounded like rolling thunder.
The chariot and the steeds descended like a flash of lightning, coming to a halt directly in front of Saruel. The majesty of the beasts was heart-stopping.
Dr. Toram, terrified by the sheer power of the display, shrank behind Saruel's back—looking like a frightened fawn seeking shelter behind the very predator she feared.
Each steed was quadruple the size of a terrestrial horse. Saruel unfurled his wings, beating them once before stepping onto the chariot with sovereign pride. He took his seat upon the throne.
"Dr. Toram," he said, looking down at her, "at this moment, you have no other home. The world you knew is currently being consumed by darkness. From now on, your home belongs to the realm of Daruel."
The words made no sense to her. The name 'Daruel' echoed ominously in her mind. As she frowned, ready to argue, she noticed the foreheads of the horses.
A sharp, shimmering horn protruded from each of their brows. She looked up again at the twin suns, which seemed to burn even brighter now.
Her scientific mind began to race: "Where is the thermal energy from these two suns going? Why don't I feel the heat? What kind of atmospheric shield is this? Why doesn't this gravity crush my bones?" The questions were endless, but the only source of answers was the enigmatic figure before her.
"Have you decided?" Saruel's voice snapped her back to reality.
Toram knew she had no choice. To be left alone in this vast, alien land meant certain death—either from the heat of the twin suns or the monsters lurking in the shadows. She lowered her head in bitter resignation, but when she looked up again, things moved with terrifying speed.
To be continued….