[Scene: The Dimensional Choice — Inside the Celestial North Palace of Caelus]
The sky above the Celestial North Palace swirled in dreamlike majesty, a deep twilight blue, alive with drifting golden stars that shimmered not with light, but with memory—each glint a story, a crossing, a life caught between worlds. The palace breathed like a sacred monument, its obsidian spires etched with glowing constellations that pulsed softly beneath the heavens.
Oliver walked slowly, guided by the massive presence of the Black Tortoise, each of its footsteps echoing with a subtle thrum through the polished marble. The wind inside the palace was gentle, but held weight—like a lullaby and a warning all at once.
To his left and right, many Tortoises—some robed in cosmic patterns, others donned in simple gardener's cloth—tended to orchards of translucent fruit, combed ink-colored moss beds, or carried scrolls and high stacks of parchment from floating shelves. The air smelled of something ancient: rain before lightning, ink on forgotten maps, the dust of sleeping galaxies.
Then they arrived at the center of it all—a sanctum beneath a skylight of spiraling stars, where a great pedestal awaited. Upon it, with a shimmer like the birth of a sun, the Black Tortoise summoned forth an object:
A scroll of golden contract paper, glowing with threads of dimensional law, its letters shifting gently between languages—Earth's and Caelus's—like waves changing tide.
> "Oliver…" the Black Tortoise's voice resonated like slow thunder, calm yet vast. "This is a Dimensional Contract. A tether between this realm and your own. By signing it, you bind yourself to Caelus, willingly and entirely."
The ancient being paused, his black eyes dimly glowing like dying stars.
> "But be wise... If you sign, you may not return to Earth—not now, not soon. Perhaps not for many years. This world will be your life now. Are you absolutely certain?"
The scroll unrolled itself as if breathing open. The air grew still.
Oliver hesitated.
He looked down at his reflection in the polished obsidian beneath his feet—his weary eyes, his heavy frame, his stained shirt still faintly smelling of Little Caesars and detergent.
The choice hovered. His life, split in two.
His thoughts pulled backward, suddenly and without mercy.
He saw:
— His father, rising before dawn every day to go to the car wash, wiping windshields and laughing with coworkers, silver-haired, proud, still strong in his humble way.
— His mother, gently folding laundry, humming to old songs, sometimes sighing when no one was around.
He had always tried not to think about them too hard. Tried not to feel the guilt of being 29, jobless, living in their house, an echo of the boy he used to be. A boy who once dreamed of stars.
And now here he stood, within one.
Oliver's lip quivered slightly. A mix of shame and love twisted in his chest.
> "They deserve better," he whispered, barely audible.
The Black Tortoise's gaze deepened, his presence wrapping around Oliver like a tide of knowing.
> "Your parents live. They endure. And they are stronger than you believe. Your father... he is known at his work. Respected. He smiles more now. And your mother finds small joys—walks, music, quiet peace."
Oliver blinked. His breath caught in his throat.
> "They will be fine, Oliver. They will miss you... but not carry your burden. Not anymore."
Oliver lowered his gaze.
> "I didn't think I deserved this," he said. "I thought... I should be there, helping. But I wasn't helping. I was just... surviving."
He reached a trembling hand toward the contract, pausing just before the ink.
> "If I stay... I want it to mean something. Not just escape."
The Black Tortoise nodded slowly.
> "Then let it mean something. For you. For them. For what you lost... and what you might yet become."
Oliver took the golden pen.
The stars above shifted.
The wind stopped.
With one breath, one decision that felt like the quiet thunder of destiny—
he signed.
And in that instant, the golden light swelled gently—not a flash, not a blaze.
Just a soft, infinite yes.
Caelus welcomed him.
And Earth, for now, let him go.
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