Two tunnels carved into the hillside. Identical. Perfectly circular. Too perfect. The grass around them glows a neon green, as if it’s been sharpened into pixels. The sky above is baby blue, scattered with clouds that never shift.
The air feels thin, filtered, like you’re standing inside a screensaver. The hills stretch on too far, rolling endlessly, but nothing changes. Looking at one tunnel makes you feel you’ve already walked through the other.
“…now boarding passengers at Gate B…” A voice drifts across the field, tinny and hollow. There is no gate. Only grass. Only the tunnels.
Some who wander here say both tunnels lead to Amberveil. Others swear one takes you somewhere else entirely. No one agrees which is which.