Prologue
EXT. HIGH SCHOOL - DAY
A classic suburban high school campus. Students mill about the main entrance, laughing and talking in groups as the morning bell rings.
INT. MAIN OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
The air smells faintly of printer ink and floor cleaner. Behind the counter, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT MS. GABLE (40s, sharp glasses, completely unfazed by teenagers) shuffles papers.
TESSA (18) stands at the counter. She is impeccably put together—not a hair out of place—and is meticulously adjusting the alignment of her color-coded binder clips.
Ms. Gable slides a heavy cardstock packet across the smooth laminate counter.
MS. GABLE
Morning, Tessa. Perfect timing. VP asked for you specifically. You’re officially the Ceremony Chair Liaison for the upcoming milestone banquet.
Tessa stops short. Her fingers tighten noticeably on her binder.
TESSA
Already? I thought the planning committee wasn't finalizing the volunteer assignments until next month.
MS. GABLE
(Without looking up)
Schedule changed. Ten key contacts. Ten specific event requests. The admin team needs it handled flawlessly, which is why they gave it to you. Don’t lose that paper.
Tessa looks down at the list. At the top of the page, printed in bold black ink, is the name: KAI REED.
Tessa’s expression freezes for a fraction of a second. A look of buried panic flashes in her eyes before she instantly forces it down, replacing it with a polite, professional smile.
TESSA
I’ve got this. No problem.
Ms. Gable looks up over her glasses, a dry, knowing smirk on her face.
MS. GABLE
I'm sure you do.
Tessa quickly folds the paper, slips it into her bag, and exits.
INT. ENGLISH CLASSROOM - LATER (AFTERNOON)
The final bell of the day RINGS. A chaotic wave of students packs up their bags, chatting loudly as they filter out the door.
Tessa sits completely still at a desk near the back of the room. She waits.
Once the room is entirely empty and silent, Tessa lets out a long-held breath. She unzips her bag and pulls out her supplies. One by one, she lines up her pens beside her notebook in perfect color order: Blue. Black. Red. Green.
She pulls out her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. She opens her messages. Her chest tightens.
She scrolls past KAI's name, her thumb trembling slightly, and stops on a different contact: MARCUS.
She types rapidly: "Hi Marcus, this is Tessa. Regarding your request for the ceremony layout—"
The THREE DOTS of a typing bubble appear immediately.
MARCUS (TEXT ON SCREEN)
Took you long enough. Deadline to submit the layout to the portal was five minutes ago. Did you even check it?
Tessa blinks, her fingers stumbling over the digital keyboard.
TESSA (TEXT ON SCREEN)
Portal? I didn’t receive any admin access for a layout portal yet.
MARCUS (TEXT ON SCREEN)
Typical. Just read the list, Tessa. It’s all there. You always think you have everything under control.
Tessa’s face flushes red. Shaken, she exits the chat and opens the next unread message from SARAH.
SARAH (TEXT ON SCREEN)
Why are you messaging me about this now? We literally talked about this yesterday before you walked away.
Tessa swallows hard, switching quickly to JACK's thread.
JACK (TEXT ON SCREEN)
Wrong file, Tessa. Again. Are you even paying attention to us, or just checking boxes?
Tessa slams the phone face-down on the desk. She closes her eyes, taking sharp, shallow breaths. The empty classroom suddenly feels suffocatingly hot.
She pulls the folded ceremony list toward her, desperate to find a logical, technical error to fix.
INSERT - THE CEREMONY LIST
The printed black school header and the names begin to blur. But it's not a smudge. The ink itself is moving, liquifying. Glowing SILVER fluid spreads across the page, completely erasing the text and rewriting it into strange, pulsing, ancient symbols.
BACK TO SCENE
Tessa gasps, dropping the paper.
A low, deep HUM vibration rattles the floorboards.
The overhead fluorescent lights flicker violently. A loud, electric CRACK echoes through the room.
The air around Tessa's desk shimmers with heavy, distorted television static.
At the front of the room, the chalkboard warps inward—then RIPS open like fabric, revealing a blinding, jagged seam of pure WHITE LIGHT.
Papers fly off the surrounding desks as a vacuum of freezing air rushes through the classroom.
Tessa scrambles backward, but the static electricity crawls up her sleeves and onto her fingertips. The white light inside the tear pulses violently. An invisible, gravitational force YANKS her forward.
TESSA
What the—!
Tessa trips over her desk, falling directly into the blinding light.
MATCH CUT TO:
INT. THE CORRIDOR - CONTINUOUS
SILENCE.
Tessa hits the floor, but instead of linoleum, she lands on smooth, pale stone.
She scrambles to her feet, gasping for air, looking wildly around.
She is standing in an impossibly vast, endless corridor. Overhead, the sky looks like dawn trapped in glass, shifting in soft gradients of color. Glowing, lantern-like lights drift lazily through the air, casting long reflections across the polished stone floor.
Tessa takes a shaky step back. Her shoes CLICK sharply against the stone.
She turns around. The classroom is entirely gone. There is no door behind her.
Instead, lining the massive corridor ahead of her, are TEN DISTINCT DOORS.
- One is carved from pale wood, wrapped in living, blooming vines that subtly shift.
- Another shimmers like stained glass, colors rippling beneath the surface like water.
- A third is made of pure, flawless crystal, with faint constellations drifting inside it like trapped stars.
Tessa reaches up, pressing her palms against her temples. Her eyes widen in pure horror.
TESSA
(Whispering)
This… isn’t real. Who… who am I?
Her breathing shatters into a panic. She stares at her hands, hitting an absolute, terrifying blank wall in her mind. Her identity, her name, her memories—completely wiped. She looks toward the nearest door. It pulses softly, almost rhythmically, as if waiting for her.
Inside her jacket pocket, a faint glow appears. Tessa reaches in and pulls out the ceremony list—now transformed into a piece of heavy, glowing parchment. Faintly, written in silver ink, the ten forgotten names begin to reappear.
FADE OUT.
