Darkness swallowed Tyler.
But it wasn't truly dark.
It was dimensional static — a storm of fractured space, where shards of geometry flickered in and out of existence like broken pixels. Tyler's stomach lurched as if gravity had been deleted from the universe. His limbs stretched, then compressed, then twisted in ways no human body should twist — yet he felt no pain.
Then—
FOOM.
Colors burst around him like supernovas detonating in a vacuum.
Tyler found himself suspended in a colossal void, and before him loomed the Tesseract, a structure the size of a mountain, yet impossibly weightless, its edges folding into themselves like a puzzle that refused to obey three-dimensional logic.
Thousands — no, millions — of cube-like rooms spiraled around its core, forming a vast, ever-shifting maze. Some cubes rotated like celestial bodies; others pulsed with glowing symbols; some were transparent, showing swirling storms or serene gardens inside; some were… completely empty.
