Aarav had crossed back into Codora just after midnight Earth time. He'd spent about ten hours on Earth—adapting his manuscript, handling his landlord, dealing with his boss. The light here was different again, more subdued. He made his way toward the upper sector, trying to keep track of when he had last stepped out.
Just to be sure, he asked a nearby transit officer, "What's the current local time?"
The officer replied without blinking, "Mid-third cycle. About 20 hours since morning bell."
Aarav thanked him, trying not to look too shocked.
So… twenty hours here. Ten on Earth. That was no coincidence.
He scribbled the ratio into his notebook: 2:1 — two hours here for every one back home.
It hit him harder than expected. Codora followed a 24-hour cycle like Earth, divided into three major 'cycles' instead of the usual AM/PM. Each cycle lasted eight hours, but time here felt denser—richer. Things happened faster, schedules were tighter, and people moved like every moment counted.
And now he knew why.
Two hours in Codora equaled one on Earth.
That wasn't a guess anymore—it was a hard fact. He'd lived it.
Codora didn't just run differently in style. It ran on a different tempo. A tempo that gave him double the time... if he could keep up.
That meant more time to work, to plan, to build. And if he managed his hours right, he could live two lives. One life in the open. One life under lock and key.
He scribbled it into his notebook before sleep claimed him.
The next morning, he got up early, packed his rewritten scroll, and crossed back. The Codora-side portal responded instantly now, as if it remembered him.
Once through, he didn't waste time.
He exited the portal and made his way toward the junction where he'd last seen Reva. But she wasn't there.
Instead, a receptionist was waiting outside a nearby transit checkpoint, holding a small slate with his name.
"You're Aarav?" she asked, glancing up. "Reva logged your intent. She said if you showed up, I'm to make sure you get to your interview."
He nodded.
"You cut it close," the receptionist said, voice clipped. "They don't like no-shows. Come on."
She handed him a slip of printed mesh. "Hall of Cultural Records — Sector 3B, Upper Vireen. Ask a transit bot for redline tunnel 7."
Aarav thanked her and hurried off, heart hammering. He hadn't even realized he was late.
And now, Aarav stood outside the Hall of Cultural Records, staring up at the wide curve of its obsidian arch. The building shimmered like it was breathing, or maybe reflecting clouds that didn't exist. People entered in singles and pairs, most of them older, dressed in ceremonial gray. A few kids raced down the polished ramp, one of them clutching what looked like a digital scroll.
He stepped inside, clutching his own scroll—his rewritten story. The interior was hushed, almost reverent. High ceilings, filtered skylight. Walls that changed color depending on where you stood.
The main hall of the Cultural Center was grander than anything Aarav had expected. Marble-like floors that shimmered with holographic threads, walls that shimmered with gentle waves of abstract art, and high arching ceilings that gave the whole space a cathedral-like hush.
Aarav approached the main reception desk where a woman with translucent gloves and sharp silver spectacles tapped something invisible in the air.
"Name?"
"Aarav," he said.
She nodded. "Vireen candidate. You're registered for a cultural contribution interview. One moment."
A small token slid from a dispenser beside her. She handed it to him. "Room assignment will flash when they're ready. Wait in the public gallery."
Token in hand, he turned and scanned the space. Just ahead, seated by a transparent wall near the art display, was Reva.
She looked up as he approached. "Good. You made it."
"I ran."
"You should. They don't reschedule these."
She gave him a once-over and slid him a canister of water from her seat.
"You're early. Nervous?"
"Extremely."
"Don't say anything weird."
"Got it. Keep it simple."
Reva gave him a sideways look, half smirk, half warning.
He nodded and sat down.
Twenty minutes passed. He studied the other applicants—two musicians, one sculptor, and someone with what looked like a wearable poem that shifted across her sleeves. Then his name blinked on the panel: Aarav – Room 7B.
He followed the corridor, stepped into the room.
It wasn't grand. Just clean, with two people sitting behind a table. One was an older woman with light-brown hair swept up into a bun; the other, a tall man whose left arm had digital filigree glowing like constellations.
"Welcome," the woman said. "We are the Review Committee for Independent Cultural Integration. Present your submission."
He placed the scroll on the desk. It unfurled automatically.
"What's it called?"
"The Desert Garden."
They read silently for a long time. He watched their expressions—nothing. Not a twitch.
Then the woman said, "It feels foundational. Like something old."
"It feels real," the man added. "Struggles with belief, resource scarcity, social control... This is fiction?"
"Yes," Aarav said.
"Original?"
"I adapted it," he said honestly. "From something I read a long time ago. I changed everything. But the bones are old."
Silence.
"Cultural relevance score is high," the man said. "Emotional density, very high."
"Style, however," the woman added, "feels... atypical for Vireen standards. It doesn't align with regional structures."
He froze.
"I grew up with a mixed cultural palette," he said quickly. "My family moved a lot."
Another pause. Then the woman nodded.
"You'll be on probationary track. Two cycles. If your next contribution is equally strong, we'll finalize your status."
The token he'd been given pulsed warm in his hand. It changed color—now a faint gold.
"You're a citizen in training," the man said. "Welcome."
He walked out, holding the token like it weighed more than gold.
He couldn't help but think: if anyone ever found out about the portal, he'd probably end up 'permanently relocated'—which was Codora-speak for 'disappeared mysteriously in a recycling bin.' This wasn't the kind of secret you whispered. This was the kind you locked up, buried, and then denied ever having known. Twice.
He chuckled under his breath. 'Secret interdimensional travel' sounded cool until you realized it came with an unspoken death clause.
Outside, Reva was waiting.
"Well?"
"I passed."
"Good. Because now you owe me dinner."
He blinked. "I do?"
"Not yet. But you will."
And she was already walking.
Aarav followed, heart racing, future unspooling in his mind.
Not surviving.
Building.