Light warped, and the law of physics bent, depositing two men on the floor of a spacious hall.

It was a brutal tip. Mankind wasn’t adapted to sail through the quantum-displacement tunnel. The two unwilling travelers learned that fact first-hand. They would be In a better shape as a sandbag for an aged elder, practicing Karate on a desert island on the coast of the Indian Ocean.

Would it be sad to know these ‘heroes’ were destined acquaintances of agony?

On the left, suppressing a pained grunt, was Remus Breaker; or Rem for short. An American with sharp, square glasses over his blue-eyes and a face that appeared to be perpetually frowning for all eighteen years of his life. He was the uncrowned king of killjoy in his Senior School, and a social recluse in his University years. Contrary to his tattered social reputation, he was sharply dressed in black trousers and a smart jacket.

By the right was Hikma De Darwin; a tanned man of mixed French/Arab descent wearing light-green, hardy clothing for an expedition into a desert. Unlike Rem’s loose and natural perms, Hikma’s hair was neatly combed. He audibly nursed his bruised shoulder. The young man was no stranger to the uncomfortable environment with half-decade living in ruins of ancient civilization, but nothing from the day his father first took him to visit the dig-site to now prepared him for the mean massage by uncle space-time.

It took approximately thirty seconds for the two strangers to acquaint themselves with the white, featureless haul. None of them knew of such material, but their educated guess was between weightless space marble or reflective polymers.

It was there that two men from opposite sides of the planet met; united by one destiny.

…

It took a few minutes of seizing each other for the two men to have an awkward icebreaker. Being a man with the social sense of a dehydrated rock in the Sahara, the act of introducing himself was an insurmountable obstacle to Rem, forcing Hikma to open the dialogue. After establishing English as their common language, the newly found duo set upon the mission to make sense of their reality.

“Are you telling me the sky over Egypt also turned red?” Rem rubbed the non-existent beard on his chin, recalling how the blue noon over Manhattan turned crimson before he suddenly got dropped into his current predicament.

“Yes,” Hikma scanned the room. Fear was slowly breaking in his face. “I was helping with an archaeological survey when the sky changed.” He paused at Rem. “I couldn't help but think you are too blasé about this. I am no physicist, but don’t you find everything happening in the last 24 hours strange?”

Rem, a hobbyist philosopher and a straight ‘A’ student, chuckled and shared his perspective.

“Hikma, we are made from stardust. Our species lives on inhabiting a ball of space rock orbiting a hydrogen reactor traveling through the cosmos,” Ciel said. “Scientific law is only a method to look at the world. We don’t even know whether our entire lives are a simulation.”

Hikma blinked at the incarnation of existential angst before him.

“I don’t pick you as a type who waxes and wanes about philosophy.”

“People are multi-facet creatures,” Rem shrugged. “As an archeologist, what branch do you study in?”

“World history,” Hikma answered with sad nostalgia. “My father taught me about everything but the dinosaur.”

Ciel wheeled out the question in his mind, “Correct me if I am wrong, but I don’t think this architecture resembled anything in Earth’s culture.”

Hikma gazed at the smooth, flat surface. Rem was right. Progress in history was judged by its revolutionary material — be it iron, bronze, or silicon. This hall defied that law. Hikma never saw a room made of what he assumed to be a glowing pearl. The architecture was seamless, no hint of rivet or adhesive gluing the material. Hikma’s brain ran through several manufacturing techniques and arrived at a few that could make this room.

Unsure, he asked for an outside opinion.

Hikma turned to Rem, “Do you think this room is cast?”

“Don’t know,” Rem stood from his meditative position. “It could be preformed like carbon-fiber or naturally created. I believe the rule of physics ceased to function along since that sky changed color, but something remains constant.” Rem gestured at a double-door standing at the far end of the hall. “That is an invitation.”

Hikma nodded, “Totally.”

The white wooden doors stood at the far-side of the room, inviting the two visitors with the allure of forbidden knowledge. The anticipation thickened the air, but unlike their biblical ancestor, the two men were too smart to bite on the forbidden fruit.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Rem pointed at the closed door. “That is a perfect ambush point.” He sighed. “Not that we have a choice.”

“You think the door is hostile?” Hikma, a trained archaeologist, was equally hesitant for a different reason. He had the respect for uninvestigated doorways drilled into him since fourteen. Unlike in movies, most ancient corridors weren’t booby-trap but no self-respecting archeologist wanted to break a priceless relic on an oopsies.

“We got teleported into an alien locale,” Rem pointed out the obvious. “I will be surprised if the door isn't a booby-trap. Here is the plan. We both flank both sides of the door, and open it gently on three.”

Hikma nodded.

Both men crept to their respective position of the white double-door. Rem raised his fingers and began counting down.

The door swung open before the fingers dropped to two.

Between that wide opened door was a woman. A vein of annoyance throbbed in her temple.

“Boys, you are too paranoid,” the woman said sternly, knowing where her visitor hid out of her sight. “Come in. The cookies just finished baking.”

…

The two were seated in the perfect dining room.

The matron of moms everywhere would give this place a pass. An ideal circular table with a plate of cookies and flowers pattern table-clothes. The room was soundlessly air-conditioned at a leisure temperature. Their host even provided them with their favorite beverages.

Rem gulped down the diet coke, while Hikma sipped the tea. Both of them had a feeling they were going to be given bad news and would prefer to take it with a full stomach.

The host returned a freshly baked cake. Neither the men could pin down her nationalities. She spoke in English. Her sun-kissed skin reminded Rem of a European who spent holidays on a beach. The assumed western ancestry was ruined by the way she moved; elegant but spring of a Chinese opera dancer. Her clothing, a traditional white Indian Sari, further broke the trend.

Both Rem and Hikma could swear their host was deliberately messing with their attempt to figure her out. Aware as they were about this woman’s theoretical culpability for their current situation, both men failed to direct any hostility toward her. Their very beings, down to the subconscious, cherished their hostess without questions. Every cell in their body relaxed, welcoming the return home.

Moreover, the welcome had been nothing but warm.

“My name is Symphony,” Their host introduced herself with a freshly baked cake and a motherly smile. “I know you two have questions.” She turned to Rem. “Dear, there are more Diet Cokes in the kitchen; feel free to take them anytime.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Hikma, ever the gentleman, responded with politeness. Despite an army of questions assembling on his head, the kind-hearted, junior archaeologist still treated manners as the paramount standard of man.

Rem nodded in appreciation of the decorum, but just because he understood its necessity didn’t mean the young Breaker held it with any importance.o

Symphony took a seat at the end of the table and tackled questions that both men patiently waited to be answered.

“My children, I must first express my gratitude for your patience,” Symphony began. “Your calmness and level-headed attitude in the face of all reality-shattering circumstances is truly a sight to behold.”

“Your words are too kind,” Hikma replied like a model gentleman.

Rem silently nodded, accepting the commendation with neutrality.

“First, let us address the first elephant in the room,” Symphony continued. “You are currently inside the Cosmic Tree TRUE. This place exists beyond the conceivable dimensional-phase of the Universe and the effect of possible ‘event.’”

Rem cracked the jingoism within seconds, “You mean we are located outside the concept of possibility and ‘location’ in the observable universe.”

“Correct,” Symphony smiled. “My, my, you are truly a sharp child.”

Hikma blinked. He didn’t understand the high-concept Rem was talking about, but it was obvious they weren’t on planet Earth anymore.

Which brought them to the most important question.

“May I ask why are we here?” Hikma said. “I am not an expert, but this set-up is very familiar.” He looked at Rem. “Isn’t this all the rage in Japan?”

“You mean reincarnation genre,” Rem stalely said. “Personally, I believe I would remember getting hit by a truck.” He sighed. “Everyone should know the concept is overcooked the moment ‘Reincarnating as a Washing Machine’ is a thing.’”

For the first time since they met, Symphony’s motherly smile quivered a little.

“Boys,” Symphony smiled without light in her eyes. “First, you are not dead. Second, the Multiverse will be doomed if ‘Truck-kun’ of all things lands a hit on you two. Third, while I am, in all sense and purpose, a ‘goddess,’ I am — foremost — a mother and a teacher. As a guardian-figure, I would prefer being caught naked, fighting a Multiversal war wrapped in the flag of the Czech Republic, over sending an untrained, unqualified or unwilling child in modern Japan to die in the frontline. I admit our situation is desperate, but we aren’t that pathetic.”

Again Rem and Hikma met eyes. It appeared their host had a pet peeved with cliché genre and some strange fondness for the Czech Republic.

“Anyway,” Symphony removed her foot from the pedal of annoyance. “Back to your question…”

The ‘goddess’ paused, struggling to find a method to explain.

“Do you want the long version or the short version?”

“May I have the abridged version,” Hikma said.

“I planted a tree, causing the Multiverse to head toward an apocalypse. As a result, your planet is being dragged into this cosmic war as cannon fodder, and you two are my best candidates to prevent the utter devastation to the cosmos.”

Remus Breaker took that in, stood and calmly walked toward the kitchen for more Diet Coke. He knew he needed more calories to digest the ‘long version.’