Nicanor Reyes Street, Sampaloc, Manila, Philippines — March 2, 2020
There was something unnatural about the air that morning. It was too still, too silent, and yet heavy with the feeling of something grim approaching. Geneva never believed in premonitions, but the goosebumps creeping along her skin told her otherwise. She shot upright from her worn-out mattress, her eyes narrowing as a chill ran down her spine.
"It has started," she murmured.
Without hesitation, she strode toward the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small but sharp kitchen knife. She tucked it behind her jacket, its cold metal brushing against her spine. Her body tensed as she approached the door. The silence outside was deceptive, pressing down like a warning.
The moment she turned the doorknob, the world outside exploded into chaos.
A red car came hurtling through the street, moving unnaturally fast, almost as if launched by an invisible force. Geneva's breath caught in her throat, but she moved with purpose. Her hands danced in a motion etched deep into her muscle memory. The gestures slowed the air around her until time itself seemed to freeze.
The honking horns faded into hollow echoes. Screams slowed into surreal howls, and faces distorted in panic hovered mid-motion like melted wax figures. It was like peering into a dream suspended in a still lake. She leapt over the railing of her second-floor apartment, her feet landing with a practiced thud on the rooftop of the nearby carport. Another jump brought her to the ground, where she moved toward the disturbance at the center of the street.
Hovering nearly four feet above the pavement was a man. His hands moved the same way Geneva's had moments ago. His body emitted a strange static, and his grayish eyes stared blankly, leaking trails of blood from the corners. His expression was hollow, but Geneva saw it—the thirst to kill.
"I need to end this now," she whispered.
She sprinted toward him, ignoring the pain rising in her joints. With a burst of strength, she jumped and struck, driving the knife into the man's chest. His body froze, his eyes widened for a heartbeat, and then time began to catch up.
The air warped. Sound returned in a rush. Geneva stumbled back, her knees buckling beneath her as her breathing grew ragged. Her body trembled as the price of her ability took its toll. She reached for the nearby wall and leaned against it, her vision dimming.
She had overextended again.
Geneva's gift came at a cost. Every second she bent the flow of time aged her. The longer she manipulated the temporal plane, the more life was stripped from her. From an outsider's perspective, it seemed impossible. But to her, the math was cruel. A few seconds could mean years lost.
She barely made it back to her apartment. Her limbs moved like stone, her back hunched, skin wrinkled and pale. By the time she reentered her room and recited the mantra to break her temporal link, she looked nearly ninety-five years old. Her chest heaved as she collapsed onto her cot.
She was forty-four.
She had discovered her ability when she was ten, after being struck by lightning during a typhoon that nearly claimed her life. Since then, she had spent decades learning how to survive the punishment that came with her gift.
The room was quiet, save for her ragged breaths. But then, a voice. Soft, barely audible, and not from outside.
"Geneva," the voice echoed in her head. It was a gentle tone, feminine, and oddly familiar.
The sound of the outside world—sirens, screams, chaos—was suddenly muted, like a radio turned down to a whisper.
"Geneva, please talk to me."
She furrowed her brow. The voice was speaking in Japanese, yet she understood it. She had never learned the language. Not even a single word.
"Who are you?" she whispered aloud.
"My name is Kayoko. I need your help. Eloisa must be saved."
At the sound of those names, Geneva's head throbbed. Images burst into her mind. Blurred memories that weren't hers began to flood in. She saw faces, shadows, and places she'd never been. Her nose bled from the pressure, and her body, still aged and frail, shuddered.
Kayoko, the clairvoyant, had used telepathy to reach her. Geneva had heard of such abilities but never imagined being on the receiving end. As she tried to sit up, her body screamed in resistance. Kayoko's memories bled into hers, fragment by fragment.
The lightning that struck Geneva decades ago—it was the same lightning that struck Kayoko. And others.
Eloisa. That name now rang like a bell inside her soul.
Eloisa had bradycardia. A slow heartbeat. Not fatal, but abnormal. After the lightning strike, her condition didn't improve. In fact, she was growing weaker. Worse still, she was being hunted. Marked as a key figure in a prophecy made ninety-three years ago by a clairvoyant whose identity had been erased from history.
Geneva tried to process it all. The threads were tangled, and Kayoko's voice was fading. The final words echoed like thunder across her mind.
"Save Eloisa, or darkness will cover the world."
Then silence.
Geneva collapsed once more, her body finally giving in.
---
San Vicente, Tarlac City, Philippines — March 3, 2020
The day after Kayoko reached Geneva, something else happened.
Those struck by lightning on September 16, 2016—people who had fallen into comas—began to wake up. Four years of silence broken in a day. Some woke up confused. Others were calm. But some rose with violence in their eyes and power in their bones.
The world was not ready.
The President of the Philippines declared Martial Law. Proclamation No. 922, Series of 2020, closed the country's borders and placed all "lightning survivors" under surveillance. Armed soldiers were dispatched to hospitals and rural centers where the victims were located. Scientists from the Department of Science and Technology were given full authority to investigate.
But even the brightest minds had no answers. Physics could not explain what was happening.
Lightning had struck the earth with surgical precision, targeting people across the globe. Something intelligent had caused it. And now, those people were awakening with abilities that defied all reason.
In a private room in the hospital, Athena sat beside her best friend Eloisa, watching over her with unwavering loyalty. Her heart raced as she stirred from a terrible dream.
"Eloisa, please wake up," she whispered.
Eloisa didn't move.
"The others are awake," Athena added softly, her voice shaking. "It's your turn."
But instead of waking, Eloisa's body went still.
The monitor flatlined.
Athena's heart shattered. She screamed her friend's name, collapsing onto the bed, trying to shield her with her body as if warmth could bring her back.
Police officers stationed outside burst in. Their orders were clear: secure all awakened individuals. When they saw the monitor, they raised their weapons instead of helping.
"You point your guns at her?" Athena cried, her voice raw and broken. "She stopped breathing, and this is what you do? Are you even human?"
Her eyes welled with tears as she clung to Eloisa.
Then a gasp broke the silence.
Eloisa was gone.
Not dead. Not revived. Simply gone.
She had vanished into thin air, as if the universe itself had plucked her out of existence.
The entire room froze. Even the most hardened officers dropped to their knees or leaned against the walls, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Panic replaced purpose. They were no longer in control. Something bigger had begun.
Something that would change the world forever.