To be continued

Li traced the patterns in the dirt with the toe of his worn moccasin. The traveler’s words, though fragmented and strange, had resonated deeply. He spoke of rifts, of echoes across dimensions, of a force that could pull one from one time to another and then, just as inexplicably, deposit them elsewhere. It was a language Li understood, a language of the unknown that had become his unwelcome companion. He remembered the shimmer in the cave, the ripple that had swallowed him whole. Had it been the traveler’s doing? Or was it a natural phenomenon, a fleeting doorway that only opened under specific celestial alignments, as Gin had once suggested during a moon cycle?

He looked up at the sky, the vast canvas of stars a familiar comfort, yet also a stark reminder of the immeasurable distance separating him from his own world. He thought of Sun-jin, of their son, Little Li, who would be approaching his second birthday. The thought was a physical ache, a hollow space in his chest that no amount of time or distance could fill. He pictured Sun-jin’s gentle smile, the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she laughed, the lullabies she sang to their son in a blend of Japanese and English. He yearned for the simple rhythm of their life, the scent of cherry blossoms heavy on the air, the comforting predictability of his rice farms.