CHAPTER 1

THE PLANET CORISTON

Black crafts shaped like scorpions hovered over Coriston, their shadows stretching across a red sky as the land below split in violent seams. A massive river tore through the fracture, swallowing houses, livestock, and those too slow to flee.

Inside the war chamber, Noric stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Screens on black walls flickered with aerial feeds—continents cracking, resistance collapsing. At his side, his first general watched in silence.

“Too much force,” Noric said mildly, twisting the pinky ring at his hand. “You overshot-- again.”

“They resisted,” the general replied.

Noric shot him a silent look. Peaceful artisans and farmers—how much resistance could they offer? Then he gestured toward a widening fault line. Beneath it, mineral veins pulsed faintly—alive and luminous.

“That there,” he said. “That’s why this world mattered.”

The mineral would survive the atmospheric collapse. It hummed even now beneath the ruin, a conductor of thought, an amplifier for his control. Once harvested, Noric’s mind stream would stretch farther than ever before. Entire systems could be manipulated without a single fleet deployed. For now, the mind stream was the only thing holding Earth. Without the minerals, humans would awaken.

“That crack,” Noric continued, pointing to the northern hemisphere. “Erect a dome there. The elite will remain useful. It will house our military. Once that’s set up, the rest of the lords will follow.”

“And the Coristonians?”

“Four smaller domes.” His gaze did not waver from the screen. “Seal them in. Use the warlocks of architecture. The toxins will finish off the noncompliant.”

The general shifted his weight. “Romnia?”

“In civil war. They’ll welcome order.” Noric’s mouth curved faintly. “Conquered minds are the most loyal.”

“And… Earth?” the general asked carefully.

For the first time, Noric’s eyes hardened.

“Confederation territory.” He mumbled. “Only the mind stream gets through.” he added softly.

The screen shifted. A view of Earth from space. He twisted the ring once more.

“We use Romnia as cannon fodder. And force the Confederation to remove their protectors.”

The river roared as another city vanished beneath its surge.

“We meet again once the domes are operational,” Noric said. “Romnia first. Earth after.”

 The general bowed and turned, his broad frame eclipsing the chamber lights as he left.

On the screen, Coriston’s red sky deepened. And beneath the fractured land, the mineral veins glowed brighter.

 

 

BUMPS IN THE NIGHT

 

“Weird.” I murmured, fists rubbing my sleepy eyes. I’d fallen asleep, my back against the pillow, as I faced the window.

Nine o’clock had come and gone, but the lights inside the corner market were still on. I watched their fluorescent glow spill onto the sidewalk as I waited for Echo to lock up and cross the street. She was five minutes late. A month ago, five minutes was nothing. Now things were different.

Things came alive—things that shouldn’t be here, were. Before my mother began spending the night out, her presence anchored me. The same was true of Echo. When she was around, the edges of things stayed where they belonged. But now she worked late, and I was left on my own to keep the other realms at bay.

This dream was different, though. I’d never traveled to another world. I’d never heard someone mention Earth. Let alone in a threatening way.

I stiffened.

The closet door thudded once, then settled. I tried to tell myself it was old hinges and gravity. But that didn’t explain the images I saw from the corner of my eye, or the horizons from other realms swirling on the ceiling. I could smell the faint trace of my mother’s perfume drifting through the air. She wasn’t here. Maybe sounds echoed and shadows appeared but weren’t evidence of anything—just like my mother. Her perfume was here, but not her.

I looked down at my hand. It was barely noticeable, but my fingers were trembling. I flexed them, irritated that I was letting things get to me. But it wasn’t just that. That dream left a mark. Like something was on the brink of breaking. Something that was closer than I was ready to admit.

I glanced down at the time on my Langdon AI wristband. It was synced with Echo’s. If I texted her, her hologram would appear. The temptation to reach out to her was as difficult as finishing dinner. Sometimes the ache of hunger felt satisfying. Predictable. One thing I could control.

When the streetlights flickered on and washed the pavement in silver, my chest expanded. She’d be here soon, and I could lose myself in our project.

Echo and I were making a movie on my Langdon Silver Screen. While most of our classmates disappeared into glowing screens—scrolling and consuming—Echo and I stayed rooted in books, stories, and worlds we could build with words. We wrote screenplays because stories were what humans had created since the beginning of time. And lately—fewer people seemed to care about making anything at all.

I saw the light inside the market click off and bolted down the stairs. When I flung open the front door, I caught the detachment in Echo’s eyes before she masked it with a grin. She’d started scrolling on her AI during her breaks. It always showed.

We hugged and I breathed in her familiar perfume. The world felt right again.

Laughing and talking over each other, we crammed a week’s worth of thoughts into a few stolen minutes. Before she started working nights, we’d talk for hours—about books, about the future. Now there was no time for that. We had a movie to finish. I powered up the Silver Screen — my Nana's Christmas gift — and the air above my bed shimmered as a translucent screen blinked into existence. Echo dragged it closer, already absorbed in that way she got when we were creating something together.

"So, let's focus on the big news." She smiled, her eyes a mixture of joy and intensity.

"The Langdon's announcing the shuttle to the moon?"

"Sort of." She lifted a finger to her lip. "Let's give it a twist."

Last week we outlined the plot. Tonight was about putting bones on it. We needed to create something that could become our ticket to freedom.

Ten thousand clicks would change our lives.

 

Later, when Echo finally left, the noises and shadows returned. I heard people screaming, not outside, somewhere in a world far away.

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, telling myself the same things I’d said earlier. Shadows were just shadows. It was normal. Echo and I wrote Sci-Fi Fantasy. This was my imagination giving me ideas. And I could control it, make sure the ideas only came when we were working on the project.

I didn’t believe it this time.

 

 

CHAPTER 2

THE MOVE TO THE VALLEY

 

I woke up to rustling in the hallway. My mother had returned and I jumped out of bed, my heart racing as I opened the door with a sleepy smile on my face.

“Mother.” I breathed softly.

“Julion. Did you see Echo last night?”

I nodded, my eyes noticing the boxes and items on the floor.

“I was thinking we’d catch the tube into town,” Mother said, slipping her hands behind her back with an awkward smile. “We could go to Holloway’s and have a royal breakfast.” Between her charm and beautiful ebony eyes, I overlooked the sight of the things on the floor and the nagging feeling in my chest that whispered something was wrong.

My eyes fell on my childhood doll. Molly Perkins--my father had given her to me. But now as I looked at it--it brought no warmth, no sentiment—only cold indifference and a rush of memories I stopped before they could spill out.

 

A vibrant energy swept through the cobblestone roads of Olde City. Shoppers and pedestrians strolled along the brick promenade while youths on automated skateboards and gliders whisked toward the waterfront’s fresh air and blue skies a few blocks away.

Holloways was perfectly situated in a district of 17tn century buildings. Everything felt just right, from the weather to how effortless our conversations were.

 I hadn’t seen Mother much in the last few months, not since she began spending the night at her boyfriend Rob’s house.

We talked as we waited for the hostess to sit us. Once we were seated the waitress left menus and brought us cold glasses of water a few minutes later. Between my time with Echo last night and being with my mother today, I was perfectly happy.

“Lorna stopped by my cubicle in a skirt so tight it must’ve taken an hour to get into.” My mother said, leaning over the table, her face as close to mine as possible. “She was gloating about organizing the Thanksgiving party.”

I sighed, expecting another Rob story, but she rolled her eyes

. “I remembered what you said about when she brags. I just smiled.”

“Good,” I murmured, proud of her.

“She wore one of those tight dresses again,” she whispered, barely containing herself, “the entire office heard this loud rip.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “No.”

“Oh yes. Right up the back.” She snorted. “She tried to run.”

“But the dress was too tight?” I gasped.

“By the heavens of Babylon!” she cried, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Babylon,” I echoed, laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

Memories of us visiting Olde City when I was younger flitted by. The magical moments that we experienced returned. My mother said that Philadelphia was a city of enchantment. The magic only deepened our bond and my mother coined me her magical fairy as a term of endearment, using it in lieu of saying she loved me. I didn’t mind. I knew what she meant and adored the nickname more than she knew.

We ordered waffles with whip cream, omelettes,  thick bacon and lemonade—our favorite breakfast of all time. Everything felt wonderful until we settled into an uncomfortable silence where the only sounds were silverware clinking against the plates.

“What is it?” I asked, my brow warm and sweaty as I reached for the lemonade. After several gulps, I wiped a wet mustache from my upper lip.

“Nothing,” she mumbled, gazing away with flushed cheeks.

“Mother, please. I can tell something is wrong. Hiding it is ruining our time together.” My voice cracked as a splinter cleaved a painful opening in my heart. The nights that she’d spent with Rob now felt like abandonment, and each breath ached with wounds I hadn’t realized were so deep. We’d always been close, but she’d changed since meeting Rob.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine and then dropped to the bright colors of the breakfast food, now getting cold. “Well, you know that Rob and I have been dating for nearly a year now, and he’s been asking that we move in with him.”

My breath became ragged as my world instantly flicked to a gloomy gray. Mother’s poor choice in a husband was bad, but she’d spent the next four years making even worse choices in dating. When my emotions were bruised, words were difficult, but this time they were stolen by her lack of insight.

“I’ve said no to him each time he’s asked, because I realize you don’t trust me.” The pleading tone in her voice made me believe I still had sway. “And if I’d said ‘yes’ right away, you’d tell me I didn’t know him well enough. And you would’ve been right.”

I turned my head, hiding the tears in my eyes.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” she said. “And I’m beginning to see his point.”

“By the heavens, Babylon… What point?”

“That I’ve been neglecting you, and if we all lived under the same roof, that wouldn’t be the case.”

“Why can’t he move in with us?” I asked. It was a ridiculous question. Our tiny home was in a working-class neighborhood, and Rob came from a long line of attorneys that worked exclusively for the Silver Rain tribe.

“Well, that wouldn’t work… I’ve made the decision that we’re going to move in with him.” Her voice was more confident than it had been in my entire life. I had to fight for my life this time—and hers too. The last time I froze, I paid for it. There was only one problem: Words were never easy for me.

I drifted away from the here and now, something instinctive that I’d done as long as I could remember. My mother used to love books. But just like Echo, technology was sneaking up on her. I tried to think of something. Anything. The book I was reading. I couldn’t concentrate. My emotions felt like a bunch of screaming kids at a birthday party.

And then I heard a sound. It wasn't loud or distant. But the café noises dulled, as if someone had turned the volume down.

She hears us.

The voice was familiar, but always inside my head. Now breath almost tickled my ear.

Of course she does, another replied. She always has.

My fingers tightened around the napkin in my lap, but I kept my eyes down and didn't react.

Well, the mother finally did it. She told her they were moving.

The voice produced a long breath from my lungs. I'd known it all my whole life. But hearing it here and now felt like a line had been crossed.

My mother kept talking — something about Rob, about her Native American roots and the Valley — but her words thinned, sounding tinny and far away.

The location works, another voice said, older and measured. Proximity to the forest will accelerate her development. The kids there don't use much technology, another plus.

Good, the familiar one murmured. Less distraction.

"The tube doesn't even run through the Valley," I added automatically, my mouth moving before I realized it.

The voices started going in and out. I couldn't make out some of the words.

You'll guide her dreams, the older voice said. Seed coincidences. Small awakenings.

Already done.

The books she's read have prepared her for more than she knows.

My spine went rigid. More than she knows?

And if she can't figure it out, she'll find a way.

She always does, the older voice agreed.

Well… it's finally begun.

I gulped. My eyes fluttered as my mother's sniffles distracted me. She reached into her purse.

The voices fell silent and the world rushed back in.

My mother was trying to hand me something. It looked like an official document. She was shaking it, forcing me to take it.

It was a statement. Her name, Monica Acevedo-Brathwaite, was boldly printed at the top, while my father’s surname was absent. Just like he was. The words “Norton Checking Account” appeared below in a different typeface. The name of the bank appeared in the paragraph with the number three and a host of zeros behind it.

“How many years of salary is that?” I asked, part of me wondering what had just happened regarding the voices.

Rob had given her money to move in. He’d bribed her, in other words.

The look on her face told me she hadn’t thought about the total and how it related to her life beyond the temporary wealth it provided—for now. With pursed lips, and my head shaking pitifully, I did the math.

“What’s his reason for buying you?”

Embarrassment washed over her radiant brown skin and her eyes watered up. “He understands how hesitant you are about all of this.” She said lifting the bank statement from the table, folding it like it was a parchment about the Holy Grail. The sound of her purse zipping grated the air.

“And what about Echo, and school?” My eyes stared, unfocused. I was still trying to hear the disembodied conversations. I heard the end tail. I had a mission, it had to do with Earth. “We love the city,” I said, half of me struggling to understand how I could be part of something that had to do with the planet. I stammered.

“We’re…we’re city dwellers.”

“Finish your breakfast. All of it. I don’t have money to throw away,” she fussed.

“And what about Philadelphia? You said it was enchanted.” My stomach fluttered, not from hunger but from precious moments still pouring into my mind. Philadelphia was the city that made me magical, that made life magical. Who would I be once we left?

“Edgar Allen Poe,” I mentioned his name, hoping to jar her recollection of the day magic was etched within my heart. “Do you remember when we snuck in to tour his colonial house?” I saw the events in my mind’s eye just as a ray of sunlight penetrated the umbrella and struck the edge of the fork with a flash. “Remember the dust motes?”

The day that we saw Edgar Allen Poe’s home, my mother purposely lingered at the back of the crowd. We stood at the foot of his steps watching the guide and the group walking down the alley of small 18th-century brick homes.

There was a stone, easy to miss, its surface discolored with grime, but there, etched into the corner of the marble steps, were mystical symbols and forgotten lore.

“You ran your fingers over the symbols,” my mother said, her eyes cloudy with memories.

My fingers tingled even now. “The image of Edgar Allen Poe appeared,” I said, hushed and still full of awe. “He was rushing down the street and kept looking at his pocket watch. I remembered his dark hair curling over the edge of his high collar and wondering if he was a vampire.

“And then he looked up and saw you. Stared you right in the face and smiled before he phased through the door.” Her eyes, just like that day, were wide with wonder. “But that, that was just our imagination,” she added briskly. “Child’s play.”

“What?” I gasped, the air rushing out of my inflated lungs. How could it be our imagination when we both saw the same thing?

“Julion, magic isn’t real!” Her gaze mocked me, and her words cut parts of me that were tender—that housed memories and emotions that belonged only to us.

I felt the other world where the voices were. It rumbled and a clap of thunder shook the umbrella above us.

“I’ll be eighteen soon.” My voice sounded tougher than I felt. Memories of every moment of magic were collapsing inside me. In one instant, I went from a world of promise to one as gray as the sky above us.

“What does that mean?”

My lips parted, but the shards tearing at my heart stole the words.  

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3

SAYING GOODBYE TO ECHO

 

I woke up to the sound of rain and blurry vision. The tissue around my eyes was squishy from crying all night. Something felt different from yesterday. Maybe it was the rain—the gray hue outside the window. Or maybe life without magic was gray. The world felt precarious—its orbit slightly skewed.

I yawned, my spine stretching let in a rush of emotions. My body instinctively folded inward, arms holding me because without magic bonding me to my mother, I was on my own. A year in foster care flew by in seconds, but nightmares didn’t need time to remind me of the trauma.

The exhaustion in my bones suggested dark dreams and places I hadn’t been before. My eyes searched the sky for some reason.

It was the last Sunday in this house, and the last time Echo and I would make movies here in my bedroom. Moving felt more like death than an ending.

When I told Echo about the move I almost burst into tears. She must’ve told her mother because she got the day off. The entire day would be ours. Just like old times.

“Well,” she sighed, sitting on my bed staring ahead where the rain was beginning to let up. “Working at the market is the real culprit in us not being together.” Her voice was steady and strong, but I could see the light shining off her glassy eyes. “I’m almost glad you’ll be able to meet new friends. You spend too much time alone.” She said, her voice almost cracking now.

“I can still come and visit you.” I said, trying to sound hopeful.

“I’d rather visit you.” She smiled. “The Valley? Have you ever read about it?”

I hadn’t. I didn’t want to.

“Well, we all know they don’t use a lot of technology, but I did an essay on it for social studies. Cheveyo means Land of Spirit Warriors.”

I nodded, the meaning of the name resonating. I loved reading about warriors especially when they were female and good swordsmen.

“They believe their land is magical and some of the people are called wind chasers.”

“Wind chasers.” I mumbled. “What are they?”

“Oh, you’re going to love this part. A duke from England visited Philadelphia two centuries ago. He drowned in the waters inside the Valley.”

Echo grabbed the computer and pulled up the article. It loomed into the air, an invisible screen holding it like a picture in a frame. Students on their way to a building with the name Water House High etched into it caught my eye.

“Cheveyans found them and took his body to waters near some kind of sacred cave... Julion...”

“What?” I said leaning in to get a clearer look at one of the students—a girl in a long flowing dress and dark hair.

“He came back.”

“To what?” I asked distracted.

“To life. He was revived.”

“No way,” I waved my hand.

“Even his friends corroborated the story.” She said, her voice filled with certainty. “And he’s the one that saw the wind chasers. They run like the wind and look like light.”

The room grew silent as we stared at each other.

My mind was split between what she’d said and how the girl’s features resembled mine. I had lighter hair, coiled where hers fell straight — golden-brown where hers was black as ink. My skin was a shade warmer than hers too, catching the light differently. But the eyes were the same. Swept up at the corners, hers dark, mine green. And the mouth.

“Really?” I finally said, still staring at the screen.

She nodded. “There’s a spa in the Valley. The duke built it for the chief that lived back then. Chief Starman Silver Rain.”

“Starman…sounds like a good name for an extraterrestrial.”

I smiled. Still thinking. What if I fit in for once?

Echo laughed. “What extraterrestrial would be so obvious?”

We took a walk after that, purchased ice cream cones and sat on a bench on the Broad watching bullet-shaped vehicles hiss past in smooth, wordless streaks. A handful of diehards still drove sportscars, gleaming, immaculate, their soft motors growling as they lagged behind, their motors emitting a low, throaty purr. When we returned, we began working on our project again.

Echo typed in: The Odyssey moon resort.

It bloomed above the bed in real time and high definition: glass towers beneath a massive dome, artificial waves breaking against a synthetic shore. Neon signs pulsed invitingly. We both wanted to get jobs there, but now I wanted to more than ever. I wondered if a high school certificate was required.

A taxi’s horn blared as a luxury car, its headlights slicing through the silver glow of the street lamps, swerved and sped down the inky, winding road.

“So, I was thinking,” I said slowly, “Remember you said the plot should be about Langdon Technologies building the shuttles?”

Echo nodded. “It’s current. People would click.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment. I was too busy imagining the real dream that burned inside of us both. Getting enough clicks to break the iron sky and climb to the next social cast. It happened all the time. Unknown kids no older than we were writing screenplays and using the Animate Program to create content and break the glass ceiling. There was an insatiable hunger and curiosity about the human-extraterrestrial half-breeds.

“Let’s spice up the story…” I started up again. “Langdon’s grandson, Aramis, secretly modifies one of the shuttles so it can travel to the Andromeda Galaxy. He’d fallen in love with a brilliant, sexy scientist who was furloughed there.”

I felt the room changing as the air thinned. The Silver Screen hummed, and beneath it, another sensation stirred—like the moment just before falling asleep and the dreamworld pulled at you.

“Clever girl…” Echo murmured, her voice distant, stretched.

The image flickered.

I blinked hard, grounding myself in the present. The room snapped back into place—the bed, the screen, Echo’s knee pressed against mine. I exhaled, forcing a laugh.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just thinking about the plot.”

We leaned back into the project, shaping a world from our imagination. But even as we worked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were other realities outside of this one getting closer.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 4

A GODDESS’ IMAGE

 

The plot continued to unfold effortlessly, which was another reason why Echo and I got along so well. But my imagination stirred too deeply. Doors to other worlds were starting to open. I felt my lips quivering and I folded them inward, pressing down hard to still them.

The Odyssey resort faded away, pixel by pixel, until two templates replaced it, one for each of us. Before we began, I set my AI alarm to go off in an hour. The pressure was on; four hours was all the time we had before Echo had to leave.

The sharp staccato of our fingers flying over the keyboards filled the room along with occasional giggles or gasps, as our brains produced thrilling scenes. Dreams spilled into my head—faces and places I’d seen all my life were pouring in too quickly. Something felt like it was on the verge of becoming undone.

“Shall I count down by minutes, seconds, or—”

My AI alarm went off. The voice was human, a female with a British accent.

“No,” Echo snapped, interrupting her. “Just tell us when we have two minutes left.”

“Do you concur?” my AI alarm asked, not acknowledging Echo’s voice as its programmer.

“Yes, I concur,” I answered, distracted.

Once the two minutes were up, we proceeded to the next step: Character Design. Echo would create the image of Aramis Langdon and another character. She had photos of them to choose from. My task was to create two characters as well, one of which would be Aramis’s love interest.

The air began to grow thin again. This time something slipped, it wasn’t my imagination, it was another world.

Beyond where Echo and I were choosing the character’s physical features, it was softly vibrating inside my bones and teeth. It was moving so close, I wondered if I reached out my hand if it would disappear.

I swallowed. This hadn’t happened before—not this, not the other side coming this close when I was awake.  My fingers stilled above the keys. I forced myself to blink.

When my vision cleared, I was no longer looking at my bedroom.

A stone wall replaced the darkening sky behind the window, cool and worn smooth by centuries of passage. I was standing—though I didn’t remember rising—pressed against the wall as I looked toward a long courtyard.

My heart quietly raced. Sunlight fell between vines that wrapped around the pergola, too real to be a dream. The place felt familiar—impossibly familiar. My pulse hitched, a memory pressing forward until the words formed on their own. The Realm of Divinity.

Dreams usually blurred at the edges. This didn’t. I could smell morning-blooming flowers, and the pollen in the air tickled my nose—I almost sneezed.

Stay hidden, I told myself. Dream or not, something warned me to be careful. I tiptoed toward a narrow path veiled by trees, keeping to the shadows. The presence of gods pressed against the air, charged with power. But if she was here…

“Julion!”

Echo’s voice cut through the courtyard and the world lurched. I was pulled backward, astonished as stone dissolved and light fractured. My stomach dropped as my awareness slammed back into my body.

The room reeled. Walls and ceilings bulged and warped for a dizzying moment.

“Who… who is that?” Echo breathed. “Is that Aramis’s love interest?”

I followed her gaze to the image on my template. It was complete, and way too alive. The woman on the screen pulsed with life I could feel tingling on my fingertips. Raven hair spilled down her back in heavy waves, catching light that hadn’t existed a second before. Her white gown blew in a wind that wasn’t programmed into the scene.

Her eyes opened. They were big, dark and endless, and power flooded the room. The screen suspended in the air flickered, its edges distorting under the strain. The air crackled, sharp and electric, raising the fine hairs along my arms. My pulse roared in my ears.

I knew her. I’d seen her in dreams. A dream where she’d warned me not to visit the Realm of Divinity flittered quickly. Something might happen and if it did—Echo would see it too. And then what? What would happen to reality?

“Oh my God,” Echo laughed nervously. “I love the ears. They’re kind of elfin.” She leaned closer.

“No—” I whispered, too late.

Echo jerked back with a yelp, clutching her nose. A thin line of blood streaked across her fingers.

“I—Julion, did you see that?” she said, her eyes wide and unfocused--staring at the blood on her fingers. “The screen—Something flashed. Like light, but how—.”

Yes, I’d seen it, and anticipated it before it happened.

The goddess’s eyes landed on mine. She tilted her head, but not with curiosity—in recognition.

The room shuddered, her gaze piercing mine through the screen, through the layers of realities that had always stayed in their place when others were around.

Pressure built inside my skull, in my chest, like realms were stirring inside me. This wasn’t a computer image; this was another world breaching inside me.

 

 

CHAPTER 5

THE WRATH OF A GODDESS

 

An angry voice startled me awake.

My eyes opened—not to the tail end of a dream, but to life unfolding in another realm, like a projector pinned to my bedroom ceiling.

The walls between realms were weakening again. “No,” I whispered, pulling the edges of the sheets just below my eyes.

Something else was wrong—something other than another world unfolding where it didn’t belong. This problem even eclipsed what had happened the night before.

In the courtyard I saw another version of myself, one I sensed was shaped by a history and a life I’d never lived. The other me hid behind a tall-leafed column watching the gods and goddesses recline along the promenade. Power emanated inside the air and their beauty exceeded anything on Earth.

They didn’t feel like dream figures. They felt ancient—real in a way that made my chest tighten.

Light and shadow took turns claiming the furious goddess as she moved under the beams of the pergola, raging and shaking her fist in a tirade of disbelief.

Other goddesses lounged nearby, watching with vague, mocking interest. Someone laughed. Someone else shattered a branch with a lightning rod. Only one of them was amused.

The god of war stood apart, bronze skin catching the sun, arrows slung across his back.

"How dare she use my likeness!" the deity roared. Her eyes narrowed, dark lashes crushing into a line of black silk. "I am a goddess — the overseer of knowledge and prophecy — not some silly mortal to distract humans' puny intellects!"

She stopped pacing and glared at my favorite god, the one with the golden arrows — Anyehi. He was munching on dark heart-shaped berries, his amusement betrayed by the subtle curve of his full lips.

"It's all your fault!" she said, chastising him through gritted teeth. "Allowing her to slip into our realm. Spoiling her will do nothing but cause trouble!" She stomped away, her voice resonating danger as sharp as a blade. "Mark my words. She won't stop until she sneaks into other realms. This will end with her darling sister's head served on a platter to Lord Noric."

A breeze passed through the courtyard when the lord's name surfaced — as though something far away had just cracked open.

Both gods looked to each other, and whatever passed between them didn’t need words.

The self hiding behind the pillar giggled nervously, and all the gods and goddesses turned.

I wasn't supposed to be there — I hadn't meant to come. Sometimes these things just happened.

It only angered the temperamental goddess more.

A shriek ripped from my throat when a loud crash rang outside my bedroom. The noise disrupted the dream, shattering it like the pieces of a kaleidoscope. With a mix of horror and amazement, I watched a portal materialize on the ceiling and, with a distinct popping sound, devour the dream.

My mother yelled from the first floor that it was alright—just the movers.

 

Rob lived on Navajo Road, a fifteen-minute walk from Silver Rain Lane, which ran through a quaint, three-square-mile Town Square. Storefronts were decorated with fancy neon signs, and the streets were lined with trees wrapped in tiny lights that flicked on at dusk.

He gave us a tour of the Valley a few days later, driving down a maze the winding roads inside the residential area before driving through the Town Square. I paid attention. Maybe I could go back to the neighborhood and stay with Echo until I graduated from school. Knowing how to get out of the Valley was important.

Rob drove a Langdon bullet, the luxury edition. It cruised through the air without making a sound.

Images from a recent dream kept trying to bleed through the chatter of Rob’s sightseeing narration. I gripped at the seats, but the scenes in my head pushed harder.

The back of Rob and my mother’s head were replaced by a translucent coliseum. There were thousands of thrones. Otherworldly beings occupied them. Each from another part of the universe, some were nothing but oblong light forms.

Rays streaming from all their foreheads intersected in midair—some tangling, others forming smooth filaments that swam like eels through water.

One of the beings rose from her throne. The space seemed to tighten. An aura of light hid her form, but I knew she was a tall humanoid.

Swimming lights flickered as they responded to her presence. Then her aura exploded outward, consuming the coliseum and spilling across the land beneath a gigantic moon.

The lights froze before retracting into the small black holes in the centers of their foreheads. My fingernails scraped at the leather seat, searching for something—anything—to hold onto.

A silent gasp shook the structure. Then a familiar voice whispered shakily.

“Please say yes… Please give her more time.”

More time—for what?

My heart slammed just before Rob turned onto a shaded street lined with trees.

The reverie went dark—then returned.

The tall figure was walking beside another—thinner, smaller, uncomfortably familiar. I wished they’d turn around, but I only saw their backs as they neared a clear, round spaceship built for two.

“But she doesn’t know about the Master Star Seed yet.”

My hand closed around my throat. I’d read about Star Seeds—they were human.

“We have to change that… The foot soldiers gave Noric intel about them.”

Whatever they were talking about had to do with Earth.

“The warlord?”

“Yes. The warlord who conquered Coriston.”

Coriston. That was the planet that was conquered. The one with the minerals that the warlord said was important.

Something stiffened in the center of my being. Why were dreams beginning to feel like other realities. I shook my head, resisting the thought.

“I’d like to visit one of the cafes,” my mother said suddenly, breaking my attention.

I breathed in, relieved. Perfect timing.

“Anytime,” Rob replied, pointing ahead. “Those shops are owned by Cheveyan families. Only a small portion mingle outside the tribe, but that’s where the housekeeper buys flowers and candles.”

“The candles that smell like lavender?” my mother asked.

Echo had told me about the Valley, but living here was different. I’d expected a flat, boring existence where reading would take up most of my day. But things hadn’t turned out that way. As much as I hated to admit it, the Town Square had enough variety—shops and cafés—to keep someone busy. My favorite part of the Towns Square was the Silver Rain Library. It was huge and wrapped around the corner onto Shawnee Lane. I could read books there—lose myself for hours. But I had other plans.

I craned my neck when I saw the spa dedicated to the Chief. It was situated on Shawnee, separated from the library by a small garden.

A small stone structure stood in the road, dead center in the lane of two-way traffic. It caught my eye even before Rob's warning.

"You can't go past there," he said quietly, pointing to it.

The bullet hovered in place as we stared at the stone gatehouse. It had a moss-covered roof and warped seventeenth-century glass. Something about it felt as though it hid more than just a dimly light interior.

When a Cheveyan guard glanced in our direction, the planet from my vision the other night flashed.

It resembled Earth — except its mountains pierced clouds that drifted around massive peaks. The image shifted. The red sky again. One of the mountains now half its size, black crafts shaped like scorpions hovering above it shooting blasts that turned into invisible waves of unbelievable destruction.

Ruins scattered the land like crumbs within seconds. Green pastures split, dark crevices plunged for miles.

I knew the planet's name. Coriston.

Something else pressed in beneath the image. Earth was next. It wasn’t a voice. It was more like a feeling.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I'd lost count of how many times other realms were forcing their way in.

My mother's voice intruded, rising with a question whose words I hadn’t heard.

I’d always had wondrous dreams. They were like other lives far more fascinating than the dreary experience in our little world of conflict and lack. I used them to write stories when I was young. Then used them to stitched together worlds from books and late-night documentaries about extraterrestrials.

A quiet thought slipped into my mind, one I didn’t like at all.

What if the dreams hadn’t been dreams?

What if someone—or something—had been showing me things?

“As long as you don’t break the rules, things will be fine,” Rob was saying.

I lifted my gaze toward the forbidden road Rob was warning us about. Beyond the gatehouse, the trees stood thick and shadowed, hiding whatever lay past their reach.

Part of me was afraid that what lurked beyond those trees was Coriston itself. That the gatehouse wasn't a boundary but a warning.

I chuckled. It was a silly thought. But something still wanted to break the rules and go beyond where Rob told us not to.

 

 

 

On the way back, the quiet of the cul-de-sac settled around us. The Valley didn't feel the same as the rest of Philadelphia. Something about it felt awake.On the way back, the quiet of the cul-de-sac settled around us. The Valley didn’t feel the same as the rest of Philadelphia. Something about it felt… awake.

Back home people rushed from one thing to the next, but here the air felt lighter, like whatever had people in their grip didn’t exist here. Or not yet, at least.

Time stretched differently too—not slower exactly, just wider, like a relaxed yawn where each moment melted into the next.

I went straight to my bedroom. It was almost six. The bell tower would ring soon, and like clockwork, the fog would arrive, sliding down the lush hills toward my window like ghosts of the past.

The first time I saw the mist, the way it moved felt eerie and alive. Now the image of Coriston crept up. Its red sky, the black scorpion crafts and the angry warlord who’d interests included Earth. I wasn’t sure what were visions and what weren’t, but I hoped whatever mineral he was looking for didn’t grow here.

I saw myself stranded outside, searching for shelter as weapons plummeted and homes and trees fell like toothpicks.

I thought about magic. When I believed I could match fear with lore.

Now I was on my own.

If there was anything in that mist, I had only myself—and a prayer that I could outrun monsters, imagined or not.

 

 

I’d fallen asleep. A fragment of an old dream was interrupted with the words:

“Julion doesn’t believe in magic anymore!” The frantic words came out of nowhere.

The boy—the black tree, lime green showing between cracked bark was fading just as a being surrounded in an aura of light voiced agitated frustration.

“No. No, no, no,” she lamented.

The first voice sighed and the light beings tone sharpened into a growl as she spat-- “no,” for a final time.  

Hello.  I tried to call out. Are you talking about me? I’m right here.

“All those years we spent fashioning Julion’s dreams and arranging synchronicities,” the light being said, irritated now, “so those magical moments would pay off—gone? All of them? Gone?”

“All of them,” the other voice answered.

They didn’t see me. They didn’t hear me.

“That’s the last thing I needed,” the light being muttered. “This impacts more than Julion’s fate.”

 “Queen of Glitch,” the familiar voice sighed.

My stomach tightened. Fate? And was she calling me that or was my mother the Queen?

“What are we going to do?” The voices fractured, broke apart, and the dream collapsed as if someone had yanked the cord.

 

My mother and Rob laughing as they passed my new room roused me from my sleep. My eyes parted, the outline of a vase, the moon’s light on the comforter brushing my chin, glowing white. My lids turned heavy—another dream vibrated at the edges of my awareness.

My eyes shut again, like fingers lightly closing them.

I drifted through a dusk-colored sky filled with floating spheres. Inside each one, shadows moved. Dreams.

The minds of evil entities like the warlord slipped through its portals to invade and control people’s minds.

The being of light and the voice were the good guys— zipping through the dusk in the translucent craft. I sensed them searching for the construct that belonged to me. Something inside me wanted them to find it. Something else feared that if they did, they might not like the new images that had found a home since magic left.   

"We'll give her another day or two to settle in," the light being said. "Then we move."

"I don't think accelerating is wise," the familiar voice said, sounding worried. "Her mother broke the magic. And the gods — you can never override destiny without permission."

"Earth can't wait for permission," the light being said. The words landed like a verdict and left no room for argument.

 

CHAPTER 6

THE NEW HOME

 

I wasn’t due to start Water House High for a week, so I spent my days walking the fields and trails between neighboring homes thinking of Echo, how to get out of this place while images of the forest interrupted my thoughts like a whisper.

As I looked around I noticed the Valley and how different it was from the city. In a good way. In a way that kept making me want to take a deep breath and open my arms and twirl around.

There were hidden pockets everywhere. Koi ponds. Narrow creeks. And rocks with strange symbols etched into them.

When I touched one of the stones it vibrated beneath my fingers. After I’d walked for nearly a half hour, I ended up where I’d begun.

The sky was beginning to darken as pink hues stretched into blue along the horizon. I turned back toward Rob’s home. Dinner would be served in a few hours, and I wanted to text Echo and maybe get the courage to tell her my plans about wanting to live with her and her family.

Rob kept a housekeeper who’d worked for his family since he was a child. I’d never known anyone who could afford one—until I realized all the attorneys in our cul-de-sac had them.

She ran the house with quiet efficiency, but it was her kindness that disarmed me. Breakfasts were lavish, dinners rivaled my mother’s best, and for once in my life I felt… seen.

She noticed what I ate, how I slept, whether I'd been alone too long. My mother noticed the kindness she showed me. The tension between had been tightening over the past few days.

The housekeeper saw how often I wandered the hills. "Stay out of the forest at night," she warned gently.

I hadn’t thought of wanting to go there until she said that. It reminded me of Rob telling us not to go past the gatehouse.

"Oh?” I answered.

Her eyes held mine a beat longer than usual. Then she waved me over and lifted a bouquet of flowers to my nose. "I always loved plants," she said, "but I never knew their power until Aryan — the Cheveyan woman who owns the flower shop — taught me their effects."

I could tell she loved flowers. They were all over the house along with their welcoming scent.

"The forest is old," she continued, her voice dropping slightly. "Filled with all sorts of things. Some plants are dangerous — even to the touch. You wouldn't know by looking at them." She paused, smoothing a petal between her fingers. "But others can heal. That's why I keep lavender in the house."

"Like the lavender candles," I murmured, the fragrance doing exactly what she'd described — pushing my curiosity about the forest gently aside.

"Yes." She smiled. "Robbie was high-strung as a boy. A roomful of lavender calmed him right down." A beat. "It still does."

 

I tolerated Rob more than liked him. But that shifted a few nights later when I overheard the housekeeper crying in the garage.

I'd been walking again, trying to avoid the paths that circled back to the koi pond and becoming ever more curious about what a forest looked like. I’d never seen one. Only parks and that didn’t count.

The fog arrived when the bells tolled — hovering over the grass and moving strangely, almost deliberately. I turned to look behind me, the sensation of being watched nagging at my back.

Was it moving faster, or was the air just pushing it down the hill more quickly than usual?

I hastened my step, my sneakers swishing through the uncut grass as I headed back.

The garage door stood ajar. The housekeeper's sobs slipped from the kitchen into the dark.

I froze on the steps.

My mother’s name surfaced between broken words. She wanted to take over the cooking. Assign me chores and replace what the housekeeper had quietly built.

Rob listened without interruption. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully, like someone walking a tightrope. His compassion chipped at my mistrust in a way I resisted. I wasn’t ready to think he might be more than a replacement for my father.

Rob arranged a compromise: my mother could cook dinner, I would set the table, but the housekeeper would keep authority over breakfast and special occasions.

 

 

CHAPTER 7

THE SNAG

 

That night I lay in bed thinking about the housekeeper and my mother trying to push her aside. My heart tightened, the breath not fully reaching my lungs until panic arose.

My mother had done the same thing to me when she told me magic wasn’t real. Why was she doing it again—tampering with things that were important to other people?

Magic was the only thing that belonged to both of us. It was something that softened the edges from everything that made our life a struggle. She could never say the word love, but she could call me her little magical fairy. Now she couldn’t even say that.

A warm tear slid onto my lips. I tasted the salt and sniffed, my nose already becoming stuffy. Magic wasn’t real. And those places that we’re trying to reach me—the dreams that had found a way to the real world? It was because something was wrong with me. It had been for a long time. I’d learned how to forget the nightmares and stop the screaming. Now the bandages were fraying.

“Magic is real,” a voice said—the voice I’d known since I was a child.

I punched the pillow. “I’m done with magic,” I muttered.

“I am real,” the voice snapped. “I’m Das.”

I lifted my head.

“I am.” The voice insisted.

I stayed still- waiting for the dream to go back to where it belonged. I could feel it though. Its energy laying next to me—an ethereal shoulder touching mine.

“Das?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You—you have a name?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“What are you doing in the real world?”

“It’s complicated,” she said. “But first things first. I can prove magic is real.”

We sat up at the same time. “Really?” My voice squeaked. “Prove it.”

“When you see me,” Das warned, “don’t panic.”

I didn’t remember closing my eyes, only standing in the shadows of a drafty room, staring at a face identical to mine.

My hand flew to my mouth when I saw Das. Translucent. Human-like but more. So much more. Something about her screamed guardian angel.

“Das,” I whispered, my heart racing like I’d found a long-lost relative.

She pressed a finger to her lips and nodded toward the far end of the room. My eyes went round when I saw we were in a war chamber. Torches burned along black stone walls. Strange, brutal weapons gleamed like trophies, mounted to make a point. The furnishings were elegant in an eerie, dark way.

I startled when I saw two aliens standing near a large ornate desk. One sitting, the other a foot away. My stomach twisted, the drop held in suspension like even my organs were shocked. Evil clung to the air like a web sticking to my skin. I rubbed my arms and hands to remove it, but the cold film stayed put.

Their skin was blue; their faces etched in cruel expressions with deep folds. The one who stood wore a mustard-brown military uniform and held a scroll with both hands like a serving platter.

“Lord Noric,” he said, bowing low. “A message from the Supreme High Lord.”

The figure behind the desk rose before pacing as he read it. His body moved like his muscles were heavy, his shoulders swaying, and boots landing hard. A black robe trailed behind him like gravity was different there. Its edges embroidered in red tassels swayed like drops of blood. 

Stroking his tapered beard, down to its pointed tip a dark image appeared above his head. Whatever he was reading had conjured the image. A dark room. A throne. A huge figure in a robe surrounded by a court as silent words left a hollowed mouth and a long crooked finger pointed to a window were stars and a gigantic moon could be seen.

Noric finally looked up from the yellowish scroll. The image above his head faded but the absence of white inside his eyes sent my stomach plummeting as nausea flittered before leaving as fast as it came.

I looked away, my eyes landing on a wall of monitors. Their surfaces flickered with moving scenes. Black scorpion crafts ejected blue fighters as smoke rolled over fractured landscapes. Blue skin burned as lasers ripped through uniforms and arm shields. They pushed on ignoring red dermis singeing black. My stomach twisted harder, plummeting to my knees now.

Another screen flickered. It stole the breath from my lungs—white fire arced across a battlefield and fighters who moved like the wind crossed fields so swift, they turned into light and comet trails followed in their wake.

This strange place was real. I was sure of it. There were no distortions, no fading in and out. No metaphors teasing reality. Only reality. I reached out and pressed my palm to the stone wall. It was cold enough to leave a sheet of ice on my fingertips.  I hissed painfully as grit crumbled and fell soundlessly to the floor. Adrenaline rushed. Cold and real.

“I thought you said the mining was going well?” Noric’s eyes dropped to the scroll before penetrating the soldier’s blinking gaze.

“It…I thought you wanted multiple streams across the universe.”

Noric harrumphed.

“We can make the mind streams running through Earth more powerful.” The soldier shifted, foot to foot before his fidgety hands clasped at his back.

“The mind stream are doing what they should for now,” Noric said, visibly thinking. “Greed and wars do the rest. Civilization is dismantling themselves. But the warriors defending the planet.” Noric subtly shook his head. “We need them gone. We need to conquer Earth.”

My eyes shot up as Noric mumbled the words almost casually. “How long before the Romnian captives are ready?” He added.

I’d heard those names before. This would be catastrophic if those dreams were real too.

“They’re acclimating,” the soldier replied carefully. “Astral combat is… disorienting and--”

Noric’s fingers steepled. “I need numbers.” He interrupted.

The soldier hesitated. “Teaching them how to morph.” He hesitated again. “The generals fear—”

“Fear?” Noric rasped softly. He crossed the distance between them in two strides, his knuckles cracked loudly as he formed tight fists. The sound traveled hollow through the chamber. “What do they fear,” he said, “but me?”

The soldier stiffened, his eyes locked forward.

“One month,” Noric said. “Break them. Teach them. Have them ready to deploy at my command.”

The soldier’s jaw tightened—but he bowed.

“I want so many mercenaries,” Noric thundered, “that death itself becomes meaningless.” The soldier practically fled.

I crouched, my fingers shaking as I pinched the grit from his floor and hid it in my pocket before I could think better of it. If this was real, I wasn’t leaving empty-handed

“Raseka,” Das whispered. “You said the Romnians would turn on each other.”

“They will,” Raseka replied. “But that’s the decoy.”

“A decoy?” Das asked.

“This war isn’t the only aim,” Raseka said quietly. “There’s a second objective.”

 “For what?”

Raseka didn’t answer right away. “The star seeds,” she said at last.

“I thought he only wanted the Master Star Seed,” Das said.

Star seeds? I whispered, my fingers trembling harder.

Raseka’s voice turned colder.

“They don’t know who the Master is,” she said. “But Earth won’t wake without her.”

Silence fell.

“The Master Star Seed…” Das whispered vacant eyes turning on me.

Raseka nodded. “If she falls, the people of Earth will fall in line.”

My breath tangled as I tried to breathe normally. The only thing I understood right now was that there would be a lot of deaths just to target one—the Master Star Seed.

Raseka turned toward the long windows lining the chamber, her aura dimming as if something heavy pressed against her. “I can feel Noric’s thoughts,” she said. “He’s still calculating.”

“What is he thinking?” Das asked wearily.

Raseka lifted one finger, listening. When she turned back, her aura flashed. “He’ll redirect the mercenaries,” she said. “Not toward the elite warriors in the astral plane—toward the new recruits. The level-one fighters.”

“If they die,” Raseka continued, “there’s no one left to replace the casualties.”

My stomach finally dropped through my feet.

“The Confederation would pull the warriors from the war.”

Das’s eyes widened. “But they’ve sworn to…”

Her words twisted the tension tighter. Even if I didn’t understand everything that was happening, I knew what pulling warriors from a war meant. Whoever they were protecting would be left alone.

“But if the High Priestess discovers the Master Star Seed soon,” Das said, hope glinting in her eyes, “and her magic abilities unfold—”

“All of that takes time,” Raseka cut in. “Don’t forget her magic was severed.”

I covered my mouth to smother a gasp.

Her voice lowered. “Young fighters will begin dying any day now.”

“They’re just kids,” Das said, her voice rising. “How long before the Confederation stops protecting Earth?”

Raseka didn’t hesitate. “A few months at the most,” she said. “But first, the vessel of magic has to be restored.”

Their words collided, warriors, astral planes, star seeds, level-one fighters. Until only one truth remained. If those fighters died, they stayed dead.

Something surged inside me then. Magic was real. And the Master Star Seed sat at the center of everything. And if the warriors were withdrawn, Earth would stand alone.

I didn’t understand the war—or how fighting in the astral plane protected Earth. But I understood this.

The warlord needed to control minds to conquer my world. And finding the Master Star Seed was key to stopping him.

 

CHAPTER 7

SCHOOL MATES

 

My mother and I were inside the blaring white interior of Rob’s Langdon bullet waiting for 8:45. My mother was admiring the view of my new school, Water House High with its white marble exterior gleaming under the sun. 

While my thoughts were on being friendless and lost in a new school.

I heard my mother’s voice—the school sitting at the bottom of a lush hill with winding promenades met with her approval. Rob pointed out a smaller version of the school sitting at the top of the hill.

“The teachers and their families live there.”

His voice faded into the background as my hand slipped into my pocket, closing around the pouch. I’d saved the grit. Black, strange and still cold.

My breath caught when a shiny film of ice formed on the tips of my fingers.

Noric’s face. I could still see those black eyes.  

My grip tightened. Ice spread into my palm. I thought of the Master Star Seed. Some High Priestess was looking for her, but I’d read about star seeds. I knew their type. Outcasts. Artistic. Quiet. They were people like me and Echo. Still awake, and not lost in technology. I didn't know who this High Priestess was or how she planned to find the Master Star Seed. But I knew something she probably didn't. I knew what it felt like to be one.

The sound of tires crunching over debris in the street stole my attention. I turned, putting the cold pouch back into my pocket as a procession of shiny sport cars slowly passed by.

“They drive cars…” I muttered softly.

“What did you expect, horses?” Rob answered, provoking a warm chuckle from my mother.

“I- I don’t know… bikes, I suppose.”

I turned to look out the window, the sound of engines purring and polished coats drawing my attention.

A Cheveyan boy sat behind the wheel of a white mustang. I’d toyed with the idea that maybe the tribe had come from the planet Cheveyo. He didn’t look extraterrestrial, but the hum against my skin as others passed by said otherwise.

My mother and Rob’s voices quieted into the background.

I noticed something else about my new schoolmates. Their hair was blacker than black. The sun pulling blue from it instead of gold. It made their skin, copper, bronze and gold look almost… off.

One of them turned as I stared. Our eyes locked. Something pushed into me, a recklessness. Like these kids scaled cliffs with nothing but fingertips like it was sport and not dangerous.

Several gliders zipped around the cars, jumping ahead of the line, laughter trailing behind them.

Gliders were made by Langdon Technology. They looked like motorbikes without wheels just like the Langdon bullets. Rob twisted in his seat and asked if I’d ever ridden one.

I chuckled, my thoughts somewhere else. “Never,” I answered. The Affordability Act of 2120 kept everyone housed and fed—but it froze the social classes in place. Nothing broke through the iron sky. Luxuries like Langdon gliders weren’t for people like us.

Cheveyan girls arrived after the boys, like there was an order behind it. Their vehicles were small, boxy. European built for maximum protection. Fortified.

 

Rob engaged the engine after no other cars passed for several minutes. The bullet glided to the back of the lot. 8:45 was still ten minutes away.

The boys were already outside their cars, moving toward the promenade where the trees began.

Their bodies were built for the terrain of the Valley. Wide shoulders, a slight spring in their steps. The thought about cliffs didn’t feel imagined anymore. Groups of two and three drifted outward, forming a loose ring around the lot — as if they were guarding something the rest of us couldn't see. I couldn't stop thinking of first-level fighters.

The world didn't know about Noric or the warriors. The UN had met with the Confederation of Planets — we'd all heard about that. But if they knew about the warlord's plans for Earth, it never made the news.

These kids did though. Whatever was out there in the bushes, they knew what it was capable of.

A shiver went up my spine just as the sun broke through the clouds. One boy's skin flashed — like light lived just beneath it. He turned sharply, moving toward a tree, angling his body away from the others.

I leaned forward. My heart pattering against my chest.

Half of him disappeared behind the trunk—but I saw him double over. Then drop to one knee. Something wasn’t right. I expected my mother and Rob to react—we were all facing the same direction—but they didn’t move.

He pushed deeper into the brush and disappeared.

“A boy looked sick,” I said to Rob.

He glanced back. “Don’t get involved, Julion. They know how to take care of themselves.”

I sat back, not liking his answer. Not liking how quickly he dismissed it. But I was new here. Maybe not getting involved was normal.

The girls stepped out after the boys stopped moving and were engaged in conversation or casually looking around.

They didn’t dress like girls in the city, I remembered that from when Echo pulled up that article. They wore long dresses, but it was the flowing jackets that trailed just above the ground that caused my eyes to drop to my straight-legged kecks. I lifted my eyes again. Their hair. They wore styles that made me lean toward the window.

Waist-length hair was braided with gold twine or pulled high with falling ringlets.

The Valley felt out of place. Like something ancient had settled into.

I smoothed back my ballerina bun, so tight inside the band because strands always found their way out. It made me feel self-conscious. I just needed one thing in my life to stay in place. Just one. And hair should’ve been the easiest.

 

I turned when I heard the door’s lock click.

It wasn’t quite 8:45, but Rob slipped out of the bullet and started massaging his neck. The non-indigenous students arrived just as he took my mother’s hand to help her out. Seconds later, car doors clapped one after another and loud voices rang inside the parking lot.

After they entered the school, we followed, walking down a white marble hall lined with tall pavilion windows. None of them noticed me. They were content in their cohorts, engrossed in conversations before disappearing into stairwells.

I patted my pockets of my kecks, checking for my ID, my eyes widening. “Oh no.” I whispered.

My mother turned, then Rob.

“My ID. It must have fallen out of my pocket.”

Rob smiled, passing me his fob in case I needed it and telling me they’d wait.

I reached the parking lot, my eyes on the tree where the youth had been.
I hadn’t forgotten my ID. I wished I could’ve done something earlier.

My heart raced the closer I got. I’d seen it. How wrong he looked. No one else had reacted. No one else had even noticed.

I climbed the small hill, crossing the promenade and into the grass where the trees were.

I felt him first. That hum against my skin. And then I saw him walking toward me. Recovered. Strong. Moving with that same athletic gait the other youths had.

His skin caught the sunlight filtering through the branches, it was more radiant than it should’ve been.

When our eyes met, he stopped, looking me up and down. Kecks, V-neck sweater, sneakers. My appearance screamed ‘outsider’.

My pulse kicked harder. I slowed but didn’t stop.

Say something. The words pressed against my throat.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

I turned, my eyes dropping to the grass as the space around me tightened.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he called out.

I stopped and then turned.

The look in his eyes didn’t read: stranger.

I slipped my hand into my pocket, pulling out my ID. “It got caught in the wind,” I said. “Blew it away…”

I noticed him in detail now. Broad shoulders. His face half-shadowed, his hair swallowing the light. Something about standing this close made my head swim faintly, like standing too near a current.

He gave me a single nod. His eyes didn’t move.  He didn’t blink. He just studied me.

I held his gaze a second too long, then turned and rushed down the hill, gravity pulling me faster.

I’d been close enough to warn him. Close enough to do something. Even if he wasn’t a first level warrior, I could’ve said Noric’s name and watched for a reaction. I hadn’t done any of that.