Memorial Hospital's corridor buzzed with anxious energy.
Students huddled in small groups, whispering nervously. The smell of antiseptic cleaner hung heavy in the air, mixing with the underlying scent of fear and worry.
Joseph stood apart from the others, his back against the wall.
He was still processing what had happened. That moment when he'd felt another person's despair as if it were his own.
Maybe I'm going crazy, he thought. Maybe this is how it starts—random delusions, hallucinations, breaks from reality.
"Everyone, please listen."
A doctor emerged from the operating room, looking exhausted but relieved. He was young—maybe in his early thirties—with kind eyes and the steady hands of someone who'd seen his share of emergencies. His name was Dr. Arthur Smith, A young 25-year-old surgeon.
The corridor fell silent immediately.
"The patient is stable," the doctor announced. "The fall caused serious injuries, but she's going to survive. But she's unconscious now."
Relief rippled through the crowd like a physical wave. Some students hugged each other. Others wiped away tears.
"Are her parents here?" the doctor asked.
"The teachers went to contact them," one of the students answered. "They should be here soon."
The doctor nodded, his eyes scanning the waiting crowd. Then they locked onto Joseph with sudden, specific intensity.
"You." He pointed directly at him. "You're Joseph Bennet, aren't you? Dr. Johan Bennet's younger brother?"
Joseph straightened in surprise. "Yes, sir. How did you—"
"Come with me." The doctor's tone left no room for argument. "I need to speak with you privately about the patient."
Confused murmurs spread through the other students as Joseph followed the doctor down the corridor, away from the crowd.
Why does he want to talk to me specifically? How does he know my brother?
They walked in silence until they reached a quiet section of the hospital. The doctor stopped outside a private room and turned to face Joseph, his expression grave.
"Tell me something, Joseph." His voice was quiet, almost conspiratorial. "Do you believe in the old curriculum? The one about the three worlds that the government keeps changing?"
Joseph hesitated. The question felt like a test.
"The curriculum changes every few weeks," he answered carefully. "I don't know what to believe anymore. The government keeps revising the official history."
"Smart answer." The doctor studied him closely. "Did your brother or sister ever tell you anything about the three worlds? Anything that contradicts what they teach in school?"
"No. Never." Joseph frowned. "Why would they?"
The doctor was silent for a long moment, seeming to weigh a difficult decision.
"I thought as much," he finally said. "They've been protecting you. Keeping you safe from a truth they thought you weren't ready to know."
"What truth?" Joseph's heart began to beat faster. "What are you talking about?"
Instead of answering directly, the doctor opened the door to the private room.
"Some secrets," he said quietly, "are more dangerous than the lies that cover them. But right now, an innocent girl's life is still in danger. And your brother and sister might be the only ones who can help save her."
Inside the room, a girl sat on a wooden stool, trembling violently.
Her name was Martha—Joseph recognised her from school. She was Anni's closest friend, the one who'd screamed from the floor above just before Anni jumped.
A nurse stood beside her, offering tissues and quiet comfort.
The doctor closed the door behind them and handed Joseph a piece of paper.
"This is Anni's suicide note. She wrote it this morning and gave it to Martha right before she jumped. Read it."
Joseph's hands shook as he unfolded the note.
The handwriting was rushed, desperate, barely legible in places. Ink smudges and tear stains made some words impossible to read. But what he could make out made his blood run cold:
My stepfather tortures me every day. He does terrible things to me. When I tried to tell my mother, something happened to her. He uses some kind of dark magic or power to control her. Now she can't help me anymore. She attacks me instead.
Strange things keep happening to me. I fall asleep randomly—my eyes just close no matter where I am or what I'm doing. When I wake up, hours have passed, and I don't remember anything. But I find new scars on my body. Fresh wounds. Blood on my hands.
Objects around me are broken. Windows shattered. Furniture destroyed.
Yesterday I fell asleep in the study room. When I woke up, the window was completely shattered. A knife had pierced through my right hand, pinning it to the desk. I screamed for help for hours, but nobody came. Nobody heard me.
Something is trying to kill me. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it watching me. Waiting.
I'm so tired. I can't fight anymore.
Martha, you're the only one I can trust. If I die—
The last two sentences were completely illegible, soaked with tears until the ink had run into incomprehensible blotches.
Joseph's analytical mind immediately began searching for rational explanations, trying to make sense of what he was reading.
"This sounds like severe mental illness," he said, his voice uncertain. "Dissociative identity disorder, maybe? Self-harm during fugue states? She clearly suffered trauma from her stepfather, and her mind created these episodes as a coping mechanism—"
"Her stepfather," the doctor interrupted quietly, "is Mayor Hazel Jasper Jones."
Joseph's blood turned to ice.
Mayor Jones.
One of the most powerful men in Barniglos City—possibly in all of Penraven. He was connected to every major politician, every business leader, every influential family. The public absolutely adored him.
He was untouchable.
"Mayor Jones presents a very kind face to the public," the doctor continued, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. "He does charity work. He makes inspiring speeches about protecting families and children."
He paused, his expression darkening.
"But in private, he's something else entirely. He uses his political power—and other powers that most people don't know exist—for his own twisted purposes."
Joseph backed toward the door instinctively, his survival instincts screaming at him to get away from this conversation.
"I don't know what happened to Anni," he said quickly. "But Mayor Jones is too powerful. If we accuse him without concrete proof, it could destroy my family. My brother and sister could lose their medical licenses. The orphanage could be shut down. I can't—I'm sorry, but I can't get involved in something this dangerous."
He reached for the door handle.
"I really am sorry, but—"
SNAP.
The doctor snapped his finger. The sound echoed through the room.
A sphere of pale blue energy materialised, floating in the air beside him. It pulsed with gentle, rhythmic light.
And suddenly, everything stopped.
Martha froze mid-sob, her face locked in an expression of grief. A spoon that had been falling from the nearby table halted in midair, hanging suspended as if caught in invisible amber. Even the dust motes visible in the sunlight stopped moving, frozen in place.
Time itself had stopped.
SNAP.
Another finger snap, this time from the nurse beside Martha. A sphere of black, swirling energy materialised in her palm—appearing out of thin air as if conjured from nothing.
She hurled it at the door.
The sphere struck the door handle with a soft thud.
Joseph didn't notice anything. He just opened the door
Joseph grabbed the handle and pulled the door open—
—and froze completely.
His mind went blank with shock.
Beyond the door was not the hospital corridor.
It was space.
An enormous reddish-orange planet hung in the cosmic void directly in front of him, so close that he could see massive storms swirling across its surface like angry whirlpools. Lightning the size of continents crackled through its atmosphere. Stars blazed in every direction, their cold light illuminating the infinite darkness.
The cosmos stretched out endlessly before him.