Riku could feel chips of wood dig in under his short nails. Just as his fingers slid from the door frame, he felt Mao grab his wrist. No longer with the option to hold on, his mind raced through his options. Even if his arm was free to cast a spell, he was never that good with them. Gravity was only so useful. Try as he might, he couldn't fully free his arm from the wormhole. Even if he could have still used Dark Corridors, they had no pull of their own.

Now, however, even Mao's feet were sliding, and Riku could feel his torso finally being pulled. As Mao's coat flapped in his face, he tried fruitlessly to turn his hand so he could grab Mao's wrist in return. Slowly, he felt his feet leave the floor.

The moment his feet entered the wormhole, it was over. The last view Riku could remember was a sudden glimpse of dusty ground rushing up at him.

. . .

Riku woke to a throbbing head and the realization he was on his back. And that it was more uncomfortable than it should be. That and he itched a little, and it was hot. His hair was wrapped around his neck or something. Frankly, he didn't want to move much, but he'd pushed through worse. He rolled over with a groan, feeling woozy. His hands felt funny. They felt wrong. What was wrong with his hands? He squinted and tried to look around.

"Uuuuugh... ...Mao? Mao?"