The arch began to flicker, like a fluorescent light that’s been switched off for far too long. Between the joints of the stone, bright light emanated, pulsating, crackling with electricity.

“Over here!” I heard a voice in the distance. “He must have come this way!”

The light of the arch grew brighter and brighter. It was blinding to look at. The arch had transformed into a doorway of light, and the key grew so hot it burned my hands.

The pounding feet behind me grew louder and louder.

I squeezed my eyes shut and stepped into the light.

The force of it was awful. It felt like my body was being crushed by the weight of a giant, squeezed down small enough to fit through the eye of a needle. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t feel my lungs, couldn’t find my vocal cords. I was dying. I had to be.

Then suddenly the light was gone, and my voice was back, my shouted agony ringing in my ears and burning my throat. When the screaming stopped, I tried to breathe, but the air was thin—it burned worse than the screaming had.

I was flat on my back. I opened my eyes to see fiery orange clouds swirling above my head. The wind pelted me with red dust. I wasn’t in the cave anymore. But this wasn’t Earth, either. Where had the door of light taken me?

I struggled to my knees, trying to draw a breath but coming up empty. Around me was a desert plateau, strewn with gray boulders that were tinged with reddish-orange stripes. Above it all, I could see something—a dome-shaped building with glass walls, like a greenhouse.

I tried to move toward the building, but I felt disoriented, like I was walking through a dream world. I finally managed to stand, and the plateau loomed up toward me sideways. It was like trying to move in a fun house. If only I could breathe.

If I could get to the building, I might be able to find help. I had to get help. I was going to die if I didn’t get air soon.

In front of the building—there was a person. It wasn’t my imagination. There was a someone standing just twenty meters away from me. She looked like an old woman, with thick white hair braided around her head in a spiral. If she would just turn this way, she’d see me.

“Hey,” I tried to call out, but no sound came. The lack of oxygen stole my voice once again. I waved my arms, but another wave of nausea hit me. And still the woman did not look my way.

“Please,” I whispered, falling over on to my side. My vision swam, the building swirling together with the rocks and the ground and the woman and the ever-darkening sky.