Across the Ether

Chapter One

Chapter One

The Etheric Stream pulses with a rhythmic, otherworldly hum. Cosmic dust swirls like shimmering confetti around the edges of the Etheric Cross Station.

This place exists in the Betwixt, a liminal space caught between the Realms of Fiction and Reality, suspended outside the normal flow of time and space.

The station is a hauntingly beautiful anomaly—a grand, arching structure that seems to stretch into infinity, lit by faint floating orbs of light, that flicker in and out like dying stars.

In the center of the otherwise empty train platform, stands a single, weathered bench, which sits beneath a dim wooden lamppost. The light it emits is feeble, barely cutting through the station's ambient gloom.

On the bench lies a sleeping man, disheveled and out of place. His honey-colored skin glistens with beads of sweat, a sheen that glows faintly under the pale illumination of the dated lamp. His blanket is nothing more than an old, crumpled newspaper from 1934, its faded headlines hinting at a world long forgotten. Crumbs from a ham and cheese sandwich, now stale, linger in his scruffy beard, a testament to the meager existence he's carved out in this strange place.

With a startled snort, the man rolls over in his sleep and tumbles off the bench, landing hard on the cold stone platform. He groans, more annoyed than hurt.

The newspaper that served as his only source of warmth is snatched away by a gust of cosmic wind, swept up, into the Etheric Stream above. He watches it vanish, disintegrating into nothingness, as if it had never existed.

As he lies there, vulnerable and exposed to the strange elements of the Betwixt, a warm, motherly voice breaks the silence. "Now sugar, is that any way to present oneself in front of a lady?"

The man blinks, disoriented, and then quickly covers his exposed loins with a nearby brown paper bag, the remnants of his last meal.

Embarrassment burns on his cheeks as he looks up at the woman standing before him.

She is a vision of elegance and timeless beauty. A full-figured woman with rich, almond-toned skin that glows beneath the station's dim lighting, she exudes a grace that belies her age. Her figure is statuesque, with soft curves that suggest both strength and warmth. She wears a bright yellow sundress that seems to radiate light in the otherwise dim platform, and her eyes sparkle with kindness and mischief. Her hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and dangling earrings sway gently with each movement.

There is a presence about her that speaks of wisdom and experience—a woman who has seen much and carries the weight of it all with a smile.

"Who might you be?" the man asks, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The woman's expression remains serene. "I'm sorry, young man. I was raised in a society where it's considered good manners for a gentleman to introduce himself first, when addressing a lady." she says, her Southern drawl carrying a note of gentle reprimand.

The man scrambles to his feet, holding the bag firmly in front of him. "I apologize, ma'am. My name is Lance—Lance Orikazu."

"Lance." she repeats, her voice warm and melodic. "That's such a charming name for such a handsome young man." she flashes him a bright, disarming smile. "My name is Janet Janis Harriet Montocove-Pearl. But everyone across the three Realms just calls me Aunt Pearl."

"It's nice to meet you, Aunt Pearl." Lance says, feeling a strange comfort in her presence.

"Likewise, sugar." says Aunt Pearl, her tone kind, yet probing. "Now, more importantly, why are you naked?"