As they waited, Bryce’s attention drifted to the scene around him. The sensory overload was overwhelming. People of all types, from every walk of life and even seemingly from other worlds, were milling about, speaking with attendants, and heading toward various platforms and counters. He tried to process what he was seeing.
There were the everyday types—the kind of people you’d expect to see in an airport terminal or shopping mall. Then there was the rest of the crowd. A man in full-length pajamas wandered by, looking sleepy and confused, while another woman strutted confidently past in what could only be described as inappropriate lingerie. Bryce caught sight of a few teenage boys blushing and turning their heads away, and some of the girls giggled behind their hands, amused by the sight. To his left, a woman in a stunning evening gown floated past, the fabric shimmering like liquid silver. Next to her, a group of teenagers shuffled by in mismatched pajamas, some sporting cartoon characters while others flaunted ridiculously short sleepwear that seemed better suited for a late-night party than a sorting hall. Nearby, a man in torn sweatpants and a faded T-shirt scuffed his way toward a booth, looking entirely out of place. The scene included people in all sorts of work attire, from utility and service industry workers, including fast food employees and nurses, to athletes, teachers, office professionals, and even construction workers.
But then there were others who seemed plucked from history. A woman in a flowing Victorian gown wandered through the crowd, her dress adorned with lace and intricate embroidery, her hair neatly styled under a delicate bonnet, as if she had stepped out of a 19th-century novel. A man in a tattered 1920s flapper suit stood apart from the modern crowd, his trousers high-waisted, his jacket sharply cut, with suspenders and a bow tie, evoking the spirit of a jazz age reveler. A woman dressed in an elaborate Regency-era dress, complete with a empire waist, bonnet, and long gloves, strolled through the scene, reminiscent of a character from the cover of a romance novel, with her dignified grace and posture. A child in 1950s school clothes, wearing a plaid skirt and cardigan with knee-high socks, skipped along, her pigtails bouncing as though transported directly from a post-war era of innocence and simplicity.
A group of people dressed in combat fatigues—some from recent wars, clad in desert and digital camouflage from the War on Terror, others in BDU’s from Vietnam, then a few in Pink and Greens and Utilities from WW2 and Korea — were deep in conversation. Another man, in what looked like a Napoleonic-era uniform complete with a cape and tall hat with ether an old fashion feather duster or some sort of feathery head dress in the top middle of the hat, stood at a counter, gesturing animatedly as if he were settling a dispute. Bryce’s jaw tightened. He had to remind himself that this was no ordinary place. It was far beyond life or death.
It wasn’t just soldiers and civilians, either. As Bryce scanned the room, he noticed people wearing thick fur coats, as though they had come from some arctic landscape. Some of them carried heavy weapons, axes slung over their backs, or long swords at their hips. And then there were others—men and women walking around in shining plate mail, gleaming armor that looked straight out of medieval times. They clanked as they moved, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords or gripping shields adorned with strange symbols. Following them was an old man with a long beard dressed as a wizard swirling his cape dramatically, utterly absorbed in the chaos. But that was only the beginning.
The more Bryce looked, the stranger the crowd became. “What is happening?” Bryce thought, trying to make sense of the eclectic mix. But before he could ponder further, a band of fantastical creatures caught his eye. Then he realized it wasn’t just humans passing by. Dwarfs with braided beards chatted boisterously, their hands gesturing wildly as they navigated the crowd. Elves glided gracefully past, their pointed ears and ethereal beauty accentuating the contrast with the more rough-hewn folk around them.
Gnomes darted in and out, their over sized hats bobbing like colorful mushrooms. Bryce blinked as a pair of kobolds scurried past, their scaly skin glistening under the bright lights, while a few goblins followed, their expressions shifty and mischievous. There were fantastical beings, too—creatures out of myths and legends.
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The children gasped, eyes wide with awe and disbelief. “Look at them!” one girl whispered, pointing at a group of beast-like figures. A man with a wolf’s head walked past, his fur sleek and his eyes glowing with a strange intelligence. Behind him, a figure with a cat’s face sauntered by, its tail flicking lazily as it carried on a conversation with a small bunny-like creature. There were rat-like beings with twitching whiskers and tall, lanky forms, and even a bird-like figure with feathers of every color imaginable, its beak moving as it spoke in a melodic voice. A woman with feathers cascading from her shoulders strutted past, her confident demeanor turning heads.
Bryce’s head spun from the sheer variety. The sight of people with bright orange or blue skin seemed almost normal by comparison. Some had scaly skin that shimmered like a reptile’s, while others had feathered crests or long, flowing manes. It was a convergence of beings from every possible realm of existence.
"Look!" one of the kids, Mason, said, tugging at Bryce’s sleeve.
Bryce turned his gaze back to the children and felt his breath catch in his throat. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but something was changing about them. The children who had come from the Challenge Day event—those with disabilities—seemed to be healing right before his eyes. Mason, who had been in a wheelchair for as long as Bryce had known him, was now standing, his legs steady beneath him. His wide eyes were filled with wonder as he flexed his fingers and stretched his arms, movements that had been impossible for him before.
Ava, who had struggled with cognitive challenges, was now speaking clearly to the other kids, her voice calm and collected, no longer marked by the stuttering that had once slowed her speech.
"Bryce, what's happening to us?" one of the student helpers, a girl named Rachel, asked as she watched the transformations unfold.
"I feel… different. Like something inside me is fixing itself."
Bryce didn’t know how to respond. He could only stare in awe as the kids who had once needed so much care were now moving freely, their disabilities seeming to fade away.
"I don’t know," Bryce said quietly, shaking his head. "I think… maybe this place is different. Maybe it’s not just where souls come after death, but where they’re given a chance to be whole."
Just then, a voice called out. "Bryce Turner."
He turned to see a figure approaching—a woman dressed in formal yet otherworldly attire. Her clothes shimmered like they were woven from starlight, and her eyes glowed with an ethereal light. She radiated authority, and Bryce could feel the weight of her presence as she walked toward him.
“I’m here,” he said, standing up straighter, though his heart raced with uncertainty.
The woman looked him over, her gaze soft but piercing. "You and your group are indeed a special case," she said, her voice like a melody. "Normally, souls pass through this center quickly, sorted and sent on to their next lives. But for you and these children… there are questions that need answering."
"Questions?" Bryce repeated, glancing back at the kids.
"Yes," the woman said, her gaze sweeping over the children, who were now watching her with wide, curious eyes. "There are rare occasions when certain souls, especially those who have made great sacrifices or endured immense hardship, are given choices about their next lives. You’ve all earned that right. But first, we must have a conversation."
Bryce felt a lump in his throat. "A conversation about what?"
The woman smiled, and it was both kind and sorrowful. "About what you wish for your next existence. Some souls are ready to return, to start fresh. Others… may choose to rest for a time. And some, like you and the kids, may have the option to shape their next life in ways most others cannot."
Bryce felt the weight of her words sink in. He thought back to his life—the pain, the struggle, the children he had tried to protect in his final moments. But most of all, he thought about the future—what lay ahead for these kids, for himself, and for the lives they might choose.
"Can we stay together?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
The woman’s smile deepened. "That is one of the choices you’ll have to make. But for now, let’s talk about your options." She gestured leading them out of the alcove along the walkway.
Bryce took a deep breath, nodded, and led the children inside, ready to face whatever came next.