Grass rolled like waves on an ocean, pink stalks giving way to blue tips. One might mistake these grasslands for an ancient sea floor – its waters long since dried up. Only duskwings braved this place, and they from the air, their predatory forms like pterodactyl-sized ravens, able to sweep any sky.

  Dimensional magic permeated the air here, folding space in on itself, where one grassy reef might be a thousand, even high-level spatial mages feared the Crystal Plains. This was a world, torn asunder — lost in the multiverse, floating like astral turf amongst the stars, its mass warping the space around it, as chunks of rock and planet orbited roots that jutted like teeth from the base.

  An odd happenstance occurred on this day – someone dared walk the grasslands and their infinite fields. A figure, pack on their shoulders, staggered away from a patch of scorched earth and randomly arcing plasma; palms open, trailing in the grass.

  “Is this a dream?”

  The tickle on his palms, the crunching underfoot, the smell of burnt ozone – an answer to his question. Turning in place, he should have asked questions: where was he, where should he go – but he could not, his mind was trapped, pinned down by the scale of what he was seeing.

  Distant peaks loomed over him, stretching forever – the tallest, like the sword of a god, rose to the heavens, before sheathing itself in a sea-foam whirlpool of churning waters.

  “W–where–w–what is happening.”

  Distances played tricks on his brain. His eyes must be deceiving him; something was wrong – no, nothing was right. He was being drowned by scale, unable to escape. His head swam, and his vision blurred – clenched fists, a sharp biting of nails on skin replaced the tickling in his palms. He was in his body, and he glanced down at his hands, clenching and releasing.

  “Breath. Walk away, put them behind you.”

  This went on for hours, thoughts running through his mind. He could remember working – he was at the club, the dance floor was just beginning to fill. How long ago had that been? Ren couldn’t remember.

  “Will this grass ever end–I need to get out…”

  Ren picked up his pace, slapping stalks of grass out of his way, eager to be free of this place. More time passed, hours maybe days–it felt like he’d been running for longer. His heart raced, and his mouth was dry; he couldn’t keep up this pace.

  Ren stumbled, grass jabbing him in the face, odd white seed sticking to his–everywhere. Looking down at his bloodied knees buried in the grass, he rambled words tumbling from cracked lips.

  “Hungry, thirsty, lost, I have no supplies – I’m dressed like a peasant – how did I…”

  Ren’s fingertips and toes pressed into the dirt. Up on his feet, he stumbled forward. If he just kept moving, he would eventually arrive.

  Where am I going?

  He stopped himself from thinking, thinking terrified him – motion, that was the only thing he could make sense of. One foot in front of the other, the grass parting around him, marking his passage through this place. He kept on like this for hours, the tiniest flicker of accomplishment, he paused, a thought occurred to him.

  “How far have I come?”

  He turned to look behind him.

  “Ohhh no, no, no, no.”

  The grass blowing in the breeze, elastic and alien, had all snapped back into place; his trail was gone. He couldn’t even tell what direction he’d come from.

  “I can triangulate if I just look up again. They’re only mountains, I shouldn’t be –”

  Ren slapped himself in the cheek. The sting brought some small clarity to his racing thoughts. Turning slowly, he lifted his gaze, hoping to see anything else. Clouds – no, they were too thin, and their mists too chaotic – clouds didn’t dance and swirl like that. The layer of fog, whatever it was, sat atop a forest, veiling it from the sky above. Ren’s attention settled on comforting greens below.

  “A forest. Forests are good. They have lumberjacks and magic – the good kind like fairies and unicorns.”

  Setting his sights on the distant treeline, Ren moved, mind calming, breathing slowing. He counted in his head to mark the passage of time.

  “One thousand–ten, or no wait, was that my eleventh one thousand…”

  The treeline isn’t getting any closer. You're going to die of thirst soon.

  Ren’s mind was spinning; again, he dared not look behind, and his destination wasn’t any closer. Nothing was changing; he was running on a treadmill, stuck in a holding pattern. He wasn’t moving any longer. He gripped the side of his head, tears ran down his cheeks, and he fell to his knees.

  “It’s hopeless. I’m dead. I’ll never make it.”

  He sobbed, shoulders sagging, arms limp at his sides, chin on his chest. The grasslands swallowed him up; he would die there, lost and alone. The last bits of hope fled Rens' body.

  Rustling in the grass behind him.

  “What is that–huh??”

  Ren, still, silent, not daring to take a breath, slowly turned around. Falling onto his but, he scrabbled backward, pushing into the grass. Bands of light loomed over him, trailing in his wake as he scooted away.

  “Stay back. Get away, from–ahh!”

  The bands leapt at him like a pouncing cat, cuffing him, restraining him, coiling around him like a snake. Pain radiated outwards from where they touched his skin. They wrapped everywhere from his ankles to his neck. The more he struggled, the sharper the pain.

  “Haha, ha! Ah, hah – Haha–”

  Ren leaned into the electric sensations, a gallows grin splitting his face. The bands opened slightly, and Ren pressed his advantage, widening them further, pushing harder. The pain reached levels of – familiarity. Ren was something of a pain pig.

  A skill had been used on him. A high-level skill — it should have instantly disabled him. He had no levels or classes. A pair of comically large eyes, floating atop a distant peak–magnified by swirling waters–narrowed.

  The pain was hitting Ren’s sweet spot now, just on the edge of what he could handle. It flirted with his sanity, the promise of madness just around the corner.

  Motes of light shattered like glass, shimmering and curling like waves in the breeze.

  Eyes in the sky blinked in surprise. Ren didn’t notice, didn’t look their way – wiping spit from his chin, eyes locked and mind focused – he had a magical forest to get to.

  “All this running’s got me thinking. I’ve got major distance to travel, and my tanks are running on empty. Luckily, I come from the modern world. SO! – FYP to the rescue!”

  Ren leaned forward, willing himself to move. Step by step, his muscles loosened, and soon he was jogging again. Thoughts of his favorite content creator had him mentally clicking the heart icon. HouseBeatBuzz deserved a mental like; entertainment was hard to come by in the middle of –

  The place where I am, let's go with that for now.

  “HouseBeatBuzz, could definitely get some chill content out of this place! In fact, this whole scene reminds me of one of their stickier info drops – something about distance runners, meditation, and EDM.”

  We used to love watching their content. If only she were still –

  Ren shook his head. Now was the time for sad thoughts; he had enough on his plate. Stress, fatigue, and grassland from Willy Wonka’s backyard – least among them. His mind wandered back to HouseBeatBuzz and that sticky info drop; he’d gone down some serious rabbit holes on that one. Foot strike speed was the key; it lined up perfectly with 121 BPM, the bread and butter EDM.

  “My breathing should line up with my tempo – in for two…out for three. For proper oxygenation and meditation.”

  Ren knew a 121 tempo as well as he knew his favorite playlist. The pacing came easily, the metronome in his head – a steady tik, tik, tik.

  Time passed, his trail faded as he went — like the endless stalks of repeating grass underfoot. The world around Ren was still–– though he kept moving. Seeds were stuck in his sandals, irritating his feet. When or where he’d gotten sandals was a mystery to him; he certainly never wore any while at work.

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  Silly thoughts like these occurred to him. Ren didn’t mind; he looked at them–just clouds in his mind's eye.

  Using the last of his saliva to wet his tongue, Ren tasted the air, warm and slightly sweet like a crape flavored vape – not that thick, but the air all around was different here. He imagined it, entering his lungs as they expanded, extracted gas and …

  It's not air, it's more like an – aether…

  Ren had never considered air to be an aether, and he wasn’t even sure what an aether was, but in this moment, in this place, that felt right. Rhythmic motion was Ren’s existence: a floating head, swinging elbows, pumping knees. The pain coursing through his empty stomach had stopped hours – days ago.

  The sun sat in the sky, its position unchanged. Rens ego, his sense of self. The ground beneath his feet. These were all just things – immaterial, something greater called to him, just out of reach – he was so close.

  A shadow skimmed the grass just in front of Ren, far overhead, a duskwing’s gaze tracked his movements, their razor-sharp talons reflexively clenching.

  The beast’s mind was dominated, [Control Beast], the skill user sat high in the sky; their [Ligh Bind] had failed. More direct measures were required.

  Ren hummed a tune, the first track they’d ever mixed. She had always been there: friend, teacher, and guide – he would let that place come to him, as she had taught him. His body – no, his soul began to vibrate; the music was all around him.

  This is not Earth, wherever this is, I can – let's find out.

  The aether around Ren began to resonate with that thought, his own pocket of magic, shaping the world as he went, his speed increasing, faster, faster, acceleration without end.

  Two sets of eyes narrowed; the interloper could not be allowed to escape. The duskwing tucked into a raptor’s dive as its controller activated another skill, [Haste]. Heat rippled off their wings, distorting the air, their speed approaching the wind mana barrier.

  Talons fell like a meteor for Ren's back, their inky black nails drank in the light, and soon...

  The aether around Ren danced to his tempo – he was on the precipice, talons seconds from piercing his shoulders, clear to his ribcage, stretched forward.

  A sphere of blazing icy light snapped into place, centered in Ren’s chest – he slipped into the void.

  Talons snapped shut, closing on empty air. A duskwing skimmed the ground, spraying grass and dirt, its furious shrieks dying on the wind – its mind released, the skills' effects broken.

  Eyes in the sky flew wide, wobbling in rage, their whirlpool bubbling and steaming. Ren had escaped, leaving behind nothing but an energy signature.

  Beneath the Crystal Plains, long dormant sensors blinked to life.

  Nestled in the base of the Sky Coil Mountains, there existed a secret lab, shrouded in a crimson tide. Home to the barbarian peoples, and they, better than any, knew to stay away from those bloody mists.

  There was one pink-powered prissy missy, who could give two oil stains about such claptrap.

  If, for some odd reason, a pair of pink pom-poms had wed an adjustable wrench, and that real odd couple, in their newlywed state, had given birth to a child, that child's evil twin would be – Mitzy.

  Mitzy found her mecha-lab, and its tainted location, suited her just fine; nothing a little ingenuity and bubble gum couldn’t fix. She may have been all of four feet something, but when her mecha arm whirred to life, nuts and bolts everywhere tightened up on their own accord.

  Her mecha arm was a collection of dull gray armor pieces: a bracer, a pauldron, and an elbow guard, fused by cobalt pistons, sleek bars, and mithril wires. It ended in a flat-tipped claw that clamped together, leaving a hexagonal shape at its center.

  Currently, it was locked around a beryllium copper tube, as she tested its conductivity. A vibration from atop her head, she crossed her eyes, glaring up, interlocking metallic triangles gleaming as she grinned, “Hmm, what is –”

  She hopped off her workbench, scrambling to her wall ladder. Kicking off, she leaned forward like the captain of a ship. She clung to the ladder as it thudded to a stop, her eyes focused on a large dial. Placing her palm flat inside its face, she slowly rotated, her robotic eye spiralling in reverse. Pink pigtails bobbed as Mitzy nodded in excitement.

  "Hmm, I'll bet my weight in mythic metals, they come looking for you — whatever you are."

  Beyond the bottomless canyons of Blackmaw’s Scars lie the Elysian Vents. Bouts of elemental steam covered their rolling horizons, the land itself some great industrial factory. In the heart of the Ventalnds, centered over a lava lake, a city floated, suspended on ovals of shimmering blue light. It wasn’t a city of delicate spires or winding, haphazard streets. No, it was a fortress of ambition, a stacked colossus of plascrete and willpower, rising tier by tier in a chaotic geometric defiance of gravity.

  Each borough was a cube atop another, stacked as if by children battling for the highest block. Every layer was alive – the lower tiers a press of markets, smoke, and the clamor of countless voices; the middle levels held advertisements for products, endorsed by the coliseum’s most recent victors.

  Higher still, the air thinned, and so did the patience of the sentries guarding the paths to the wealthiest burrows.

  At the very peak, where the sun struck hardest, stood the coliseum, an open-air ring of white stone where blood and glory entertained the masses. Beside it, the Imperial Senate loomed, draped in banners from each borough, its marble walls proudly holding democracies' decrees.

  Words etched on parchment, their power untouchable, unless you had the levels – of course.

  Inside the Senate, a palpable tension filled the air, weaving its way through the body politic like a shadow that refused to fade. All eyes were glued to the InfoGrid, its relentless updates sparking unease among the gathered officials. Anxious murmurs rippled through the assembly, yet not every face mirrored the anxiety of the moment.

  Amongst the storm of worry sat Burrow Manager Hisako, perfectly at ease in his assembly recliner and its plush felted folds. He leaned back with a practiced nonchalance, one leg casually crossed over his bony knee.

  A knowing smile played on his lips as he steepled his fingers, an image of calm smugness amid the swirling chaos. While others waited on the democratic process, he seemed to relish the chaos, as if he held all the cards in a game nobody knew they were playing.

  Ren was unconcerned with the foibles of the mortal world; he was formless in the void – mostly formless, his bladed hair defying both gravity and logic of any kind, which was the key feature of his astral body, and here he was at peace.

  A thing of light – hair wild, mind free.

  Time's river flowed.

  The twin moons and sun swapped places – randomly.

  Rhythmic breathing marked the passage of nothing.

  Days passed, or maybe weeks.

  Ren was aware of it, and none of it.

  He clung to nothing, not even himself.

  The sun, high in the sky, pondered the length of the day. Ren slipped back into reality, arriving at his destination. Feeling like he’d been released from a slingshot only to be caught by an elastic band, Ren ran a hand through his hair.

  “Whoa, that was – some kind of vibe.”

  Motionless, arms akimbo, Ren scanned the vicinity.

  “Uhh, the first is? Is – Goodbye unicorns, hello trolls.”

  A haunting scene stretched before him, a nightmare, not a dream. Exposed roots plunged into the ground, twisting and gnarled like the hands of an angry god.

  Craning his neck, trunks like skyscrapers ascended to towering heights, long wispy, swooping branches stretched in all directions, in search of something not yet found.

  Their search ended in a broad, fanning out of leaves, creating an emerald tapestry against the swamps' dusky shadows. Resting atop the canopie’s towering heights, a thick fog swam, like a veil to the spirit realm.

  A behemoth presence noticed him, a whale's eye spotting a shrimp; he froze.

  Blood drained from his face, he shook in an effort to keep his knees from buckling, bile rose in the back of his –

  The pressure passed, and Ren staggered. He swallowed hard while looking around.

  “I think – I’ll just stay over here.”

  A rumble, a long, low gurgle – a bead of sweat, Ren’s head was on a swivel. He felt a rumbling in his –

  “Food – it’s fine, I’m fine. I’ll find food soon. I’m hardly hungry at all. Probably just gas.”

  Another rumble had Ren holding his stomach.

  “Huh?”

  He felt lean and carved, as if from stone, lifting his shirt, he looked down at his own ribcage. It looked like his body was eating itself alive, looking from his ribcage to the road ahead, a no-man’s land between grasslands and swamp; would he get to any food in time?

  “Well, at least I feel good – better than ever, actually.”

  Continuing along the treeline, he wondered at the drastic changes in his body. Had he been running for that long? Time had done something – he was sure? Ren glanced at the sun; it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He wondered what day it was.

  “I have no idea how long I’ve been here, which I’m accepting is not Earth – for now.”

  Time felt like an illusion to him; thoughts of his FYP returned, his go-to for science, news, and anything – really.

  “I guess time is relative – that, Einstoop, Einstain, Ein … their name’s not important. What’s important is they were right!”

  It was eerily quiet running next to the swamp, its dense foliage and vibrant colors screamed of life, and yet, it seemed a place where sound went to die. Ren let his eyes drift straight ahead, determined to ignore that creepy crawly place – except there wasn’t any motion either. It was as if he ran beside the painting of a place, an idea manifest, but ultimately a two-dimensional plane, off-limits to his existence.

  “Einstein! That was his name, heh – a strange guy.”

  Clips of the historic figure, who was something of a recluse, he remembered, had shown a rather awkward individual, but he definitely had some interesting perspectives. There was that relative quote, and another that, as a DJ, had always stuck with him: ‘Mass and energy were the same.’

  DJs were all about energy, and he mused Einstein probably would have loved to learn about his craft – about EDM, pure energy waves synthesized and distilled into –

  “Maybe Einstein’s theories gave us EDM? Energy on the decks equals mass on the dance floor – HAH!”

  The feeling of connectedness still lingered in Ren. It had saved him from the grasslands – somehow, a million had become one. The aether around him had been tangible.

  Aether? Where did I get this idea of an aether from?

  Ren didn’t know when he’d begun to think of the air as an aether, a thing he could touch and bend to his will, something he could –

  Ren shook his head; it was all so silly, slipping into a void and stepping across the chasm of time!

  Time, why is it always time?

  “I don’t even have a watch for deck's sake.”

  Rocket ships, snow on the television screen after the signal cuts out, the shattering of a thousand plates. Bells and whistles, a sixth sense he didn’t know he had, pulled him to the present.

  “Huh, that's – weird”

  Ren paused, reaching up to adjust his backpack strap, which was chaffing his shoulder after that – he palmed his forehead, I'm wearing a backpack!

  Tingling all over, he pulled the bag to his front and opened it.

  Ren unwrapped a single biscuit; its dough sparkling like a diamond. He raised an eyebrow – before shoving the entire thing into his mouth.

  “Mmph, dist is gud.”

  Uncorking the water flask, Ren took a swallow before he choked to death. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. As he chewed, his cheeks puffed like a squirrel's, and he glanced at the remaining contents of the bag.

  "A bowl and spoon? What am I supposed to –" Ren's eyes drifted up.

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