RING RING
CLICK
The alarm clock on the nearby table went silent, its shrill cry put to an abrupt, uneventful end.
The culprit was a young man, twenty-four years of age, who lay sprawled on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"What was that this early in the morning?" he muttered, his voice low and groggy. Contrary to what many might assume, it wasn't his alarm clock, set to ring at 6:00 AM, that had dragged him from sleep. That mechanical scream was only a reminder. No, what had truly disturbed his rest was a thunderous sound followed by a faint tremor in the earth, one that had rattled through his room roughly five minutes earlier—or at least that's what he believed.
He stood up groggily from the bed, wearing nothing but boxers that gave much-needed protection for his beloved little brother. In the five minutes that he lay on the bed before standing up, his little brother had been slowly laid to rest; his morning wood was nowhere to be seen.
Dragging himself across the room, he headed straight for the bathroom at the far end, positioned relatively close to his bed for easy access—a decision he was forever grateful for. He entered the bathroom and did his business with no hassle.
He finally finished and went out of the bathroom, opened his wardrobe, and selected some clothes.
He put on black joggers and a black top.
He glanced in the mirror and saw that he looked like someone who had just woken up from sleep, which was who he was.
He returned to the bathroom, this time to splash water onto his face. Dissatisfied with the first attempt, he scooped a handful and rubbed it thoroughly over his skin. Grabbing a towel, he wiped himself down and looked into the mirror again. A small, satisfied smile curved his lips. Much better.
"I can now g—" His sentence broke off midair, his nose catching the foul odor that leaked from his own mouth. He was quickly put into a dilemma. 'The sound that woke me up earlier this morning seemed nearby, and I really want to check it out, but my breath though…' he thought.
He was now faced with two options: stop wasting time and go check the commotion to get the earliest news, or brush his teeth.
After some time—which wasn't long—he finally settled on the latter option.
'Man can't be caught lacking in front of the huzz, couz…' he thought to no one in particular as he grabbed a toothbrush, applied some toothpaste on it, and put it to his mouth.
His goal was to try his hardest to brush fast enough not to be late to the early morning appointment the universe had for him, but be thorough enough to get all the germs and foul odor from his mouth.
Mid-brush, his eyes shifted downward toward the shelf. There sat his mouthwash, staring back at him with cold mockery.
He stared back at the mouthwash for about five seconds, its existence seemingly calling him an idiot for not thinking of it at first.
He removed his eyes from it forcefully, trying not to think about how much time he would have saved if he had just used the mouthwash.
He just kept brushing his teeth in silence, 'It is what it is' echoing in his mind. At last, he was done. He rinsed, spat, and set the toothbrush back in its proper place. Exiting the bathroom, he cast a glance at the alarm clock.
6:13.
"Quite some time has passed…" he muttered, wondering how time flew so fast and simultaneously nodding in satisfaction as his nose caught the minty scent of his mouth.
He sat on his bed, picked up a pair of black socks, and put them on his feet. He grabbed a black windbreaker, one that beautifully matched his black joggers, and looked around the room for a bit but didn't find what he was looking for.
'Oh, I should have dropped them there…' he thought as he walked towards the bedside drawer that his alarm clock and other things rested on.
He opened the drawer and found what he was looking for—a sleek black-pouched iPhone 15 Pro and a black analog watch. He slipped his phone into the pocket of his windbreaker and wore his watch while walking to the door of the bedroom.
He finished putting on the watch and opened the door, walking out of his bedroom and finding himself in a corridor. He chose the door that led to the parlor and opened it, walking straight through the parlor to the door that served as both the entrance and now the exit.
At the threshold, he slid his feet into a pair of black slides, unlocked the door, twisted the handle, and pulled it open.
Cool air greeted him as he stepped outside.
---
He walked toward the source of the commotion. It wasn't hard to find; clusters of people were already streaming out of their homes, converging in the same direction like ants drawn to sugar. He fell in step behind them, doing what any sensible person would do—follow the crowd.
Soon, he arrived at a large clearing. A dense ring of bodies had already formed, the air buzzing with whispers, gasps, and hurried conversations. Without hesitation, he began weaving his way through the crowd, slipping past those who left space and nudging aside those who didn't.
"Hey! Watch it!" an irritated voice barked as he shoved past.
"Sorry, sorry—coming through…" he muttered, ignoring the flurry of complaints as he pressed on.
Finally, he broke through to the edge of the inner circle, where the view cleared—and his eyes widened in shock.
"What the fuck…" he breathed, his voice low but edged with disbelief. His face tightened as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
'This has to be a prank… right?' he thought.
Before him lay a crater—massive, gaping, at least twenty meters across. In its center sat a rock, blackened and smoking, roughly the size of two footballs stacked together. Steam curled upward, carrying the acrid scent of scorched earth. Its cracked surface glowed faintly from within, split into jagged fissures that looked moments away from bursting apart into smaller fragments. Already, smaller rocks lay scattered around it, debris that must have broken free during the impact.
"What the fuck happened here?" the man asked no one in particular.
"Apparently, a rock fell from the sky and smashed into the earth about twenty minutes ago…" a female voice answered from his left.
He turned toward the source. The speaker was a woman with sleek black hair that shimmered faintly in the morning light, framing a face set with sharp brown eyes. She looked to be in her late twenties, calm but curious as she studied the crater.
"…but no one actually saw it falling," she added, her gaze never leaving the smoking rock.
The man gave her a quick once-over before turning his head back toward the crater, processing both her words and the sight before him.
"Are the police or any officials here yet?" he asked, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket and pulling out his phone.
"They'll be here soon," she replied, folding her arms. "Something like this is impossible to ignore. I'm sure someone's already made the call."
Click. Click.
The sound of his phone's camera shutter echoed in the air. He crouched slightly, angling for a better shot.
'It's not every day you wake up to find a damn asteroid sitting in your backyard…' he thought, snapping picture after picture with shameless enthusiasm.
The crowd around him seemed to catch the same fever. Phones, tablets, and even a few old cameras appeared as people began recording, photographing, and filming the smoking anomaly from every possible angle. The quiet clearing turned into a flashing chorus of screens.
When he finally felt satisfied, he lowered his phone and slid it back into his windbreaker pocket. Only then did he properly turn to face the woman beside him. A thought struck him as his eyes lingered on her features.
'She's actually quite beautiful, now that I think about it.'
Smiling, he stretched out a hand in greeting.
"Thanks for the explanation. Can I get your name, please?"
She regarded him for a heartbeat before accepting the handshake. "Mia Carter."
"Mia…" he repeated softly, his smile widening. "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl."
Her lips curved upward, a faint blush of amusement tugging at her cheeks. "Thank you."
"And what about you?" she asked, tilting her head. "Can I get your name?"
He chuckled lightly, scratching the back of his neck before replying.
"Oh, right—sorry. I should've started with that," he said, grin returning. "My name is…"
—
BUZZ BUZZ
'Just at that point, huh?' Adriel grumbled inwardly, lifting his hand to tap his SpectraComm—his ever-reliable alarm. The device fell silent, leaving only the faint hum of the room's cooling system in the background.
He lay flat on his bed, eyes tracing invisible lines across the ceiling.
'The dreams are becoming more frequent…' he thought.
'…occurring almost every night now.'
The strange dreams had plagued him for the past year. At first, he dismissed the first one as nothing unusual—dreams were always bizarre, after all. But soon, a troubling pattern revealed itself. Every time, he would wake up remembering that he had dreamt something strange… but within five to ten minutes, the details slipped from his mind like water through his fingers. By the ten-minute mark, the dream was always gone.
It wasn't like normal forgetfulness either. It was sharp, deliberate, as though something was forcefully cutting away the memory before it could settle.
He'd even gone for a mental checkup once. The doctors assured him his brain was perfectly healthy, nothing out of the ordinary. When he asked about his dreams, they told him it was natural to forget them upon waking. Everyone did. And if he wanted to keep track, they suggested something simple: write them down in a journal, digital or physical.
He remembered leaving the hospital somewhat relieved. The next time it happened, he immediately grabbed a journal, ready to test their advice. But that was when the real problem showed itself.
He couldn't write them. His hand would freeze, refusing to move across the page. He tried recording his voice, dictating details into his StarComm, even attempting to tell someone directly—but every effort failed. Words choked in his throat or refused to leave his mind entirely. It was as though some unseen force inside him refused to let the dream escape.
And once the ten minutes passed and the memory was gone, he would simply shrug and carry on with his life.
But one thing was consistent.
The dreams never repeated. Not even once.
'And yet… it always feels so familiar,' he thought, a dull ache stirring at the back of his mind.
He tilted his wrist to glance at his watch.
"It's 6:06. The details are fading already," he muttered, resignation dripping from his voice.
Swinging his legs over the bed, he stood and shuffled into the bathroom. He filled his mouth with the cool liquid of his oral rinse—what passed for mouthwash in this era. Unlike the ones on Earth, this one required you to hold it in your mouth for ten seconds before spitting it out and rinsing with clean water. Once done, your oral care for the entire day was covered. Efficient, though strangely clinical.
After rinsing, he stripped off his sleepwear and stepped into the shower. The hiss of water filled the bathroom, steam rising around him as he scrubbed away the haze of sleep. By the time he finished and toweled himself dry, the dregs of the dream had fully dissolved from his memory, leaving only an empty, nagging feeling behind.
He pulled on a loose blue top and a pair of comfortable grey shorts before leaving his room.
'I should check if Mom's back,' he thought, pausing at the hallway door before stepping through. His steps carried him across the landing until he stopped at the familiar door.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
A long silence answered him.
Frowning, Adriel pushed the door open. The room inside was exactly as he had left it—neat, quiet, empty.
'Doesn't look like she came home last night…' he thought, concern flickering faintly across his face as he pulled the door shut again.
Shaking the thought away, he descended the stairs, each step light and measured. His destination was the kitchen, and his stomach grumbled as though guiding him there.
Breakfast. Something simple.
He grabbed a large bowl, poured in a heap of cereal, then walked to the food cooling system. From within, he pulled a chilled jar of milk. The white liquid splashed into the bowl, mixing with the cereal until it looked just right. Adriel nodded in satisfaction, replaced the jar, and took the bowl with him. On his way out, he snatched a spoon.
"I've always wondered how the Infernal Blue Spirit Chicken tastes…" he muttered aloud as he plopped onto the longest couch in the parlor. The cushions sank beneath his weight, comfortably familiar.
The Infernal Blue Spirit Chicken—an aether beast both loved by many for it's taste. Its flavor was legendary, so much so that wealthy aristocrats and high-class merchants reared them solely for their meat. Even among delicacies, it was said to be divine. But the price… only the rich and powerful could casually enjoy such a luxury. For common folk, it was just a dream, a story carried on the wind.
Adriel smirked at the thought before shaking it off. He dipped his spoon into the cereal, lifting the first bite to his mouth just as he tapped his SpectraComm back on, connecting it smoothly to the Starnet.