The Colour of Catastrophe

Joey had not sent word.

Not a single message to Steve's phone.

Elorae had been waiting for hours, telling herself that perhaps he was busy, or thinking, or planning—but the truth curled in her chest like frost: he hadn't been warm to her plea, and now he was silent.

She told Steve to take her back to where he'd first found her.

He didn't ask why. "Yes, your highness," was all he said.

They drove out of town in silence, her worries too great for conversation. When she instructed him to stop, they left the car behind and walked into the forest. The deeper they went, the quieter it became, until even the birds seemed to hush. The colours were so vivid here—lush greens, deep browns, gold shafts of sunlight cutting through the canopy—that her eyes ached to drink them in.

Emerald. That was the word for the moss under her feet. Amber for the light. Carmine for the flash of a bird's wing. While he had been driving, Steve had given her his device, his 'phone', and showed her how to search a thing called 'the internet'. It had been fascinating, learning about this world, but in the end it was its colours that drew her attention. And so Steve had driven and Elorae had tried to distract herself by learning more and more of the hues that painted a layer of beauty in this realm that she could never have imagined.

But even with all that beauty, her fears had not been sated. They threatened to consume all thought as they drove. And yet she pressed on. Elorae knew that giving in to her fear would only lead to despair, and that would be the end of her world.

At last they reached the place. A hollow in the trees, the air faintly distorted, as if the heat shimmered here though the day was cool. She could feel it—the rift. The crack in reality that had allowed her to spill through.

Steve took up a post nearby, hands folded, eyes scanning the trees.

Elorae lowered herself to the ground, knees folding neatly beneath her, palms flat against the moss. She breathed slowly, feeling her power curl and stretch within her.

She wasn't sure this would work.

She closed her eyes. Reached.

At first—nothing. Only the scent of the forest, the damp cool of the earth. Then, faintly, she felt it: the crack.

She reached deeper. The air seemed to pull back, the rift resisting her like a muscle tightening. She pushed harder. Tendrils of her will slipped through—slick, uncertain—until she crossed over.

The pain was sharp, a sudden lance through her temples. She clenched her teeth, not willing to cry out.

Then—clarity.

It was there. The seed she had created for Vaelith, uncontained.

Doubt had spread, rooting deep in minds across her home. People no longer trusted each other, their leaders, even what they saw with their own eyes. The certainty of reality itself had been eaten away. In a world where belief had power, where ideas became new layers of creation, unrestrained doubt was more than dangerous, it was destructive.

The ether had grown. She could feel it now, a great swelling pressure between worlds. It was pushing against the boundaries, slipping through every fracture it could find. It would not stop with her reality. It would spread. Even here, to this world of beauty and colour.

She tore herself back. Her body jolted like she'd been pulled from deep water. The forest rushed back into focus, the colours—emerald, amber, carmine—mocking her with their beauty. Tears rolled down her cheeks, chased from her eyes by worries for her home, but also for the threat to this poor world. The oncoming disaster was no fault of their own, but a side-effect of her own mistake. She hadn't just doomed her own world, but this one as well.

She turned to Steve. Her voice was tight.

"Please tell me that he has sent a message."

Steve's expression was unreadable.

"I wish I could, your majesty. But so far there's nothing."

"Then we may need to try again with him. Things are worse than I had thought."