Angelo's headache had subsided after taking the medicines Olivia gave him and resting for an hour. While lying on his bed, he kept wondering about the horned figure and the shackled girl.
Eventually, he got down from his bed and went downstairs. Olivia had just finished making a fresh batch of cupcakes, the warm smell filling the kitchen and making his stomach growl.
He walked up and asked, "Can I have one? They smell so good."
Olivia set the tray down. "Sure, but one. You have to eat your breakfast. You haven't eaten anything today."
Angelo's eyes sparkled as he picked one up, almost drooling. He took a bite, his face lighting up. "There's no comparing your cooking with others, Mom."
Olivia patted his head, smiling. "How's your headache? Is it fully gone?"
Angelo, still chewing, replied, "It's still there, but less."
Olivia began setting his food on the table. "Take it easy for the rest of the day, okay?"
Angelo finished the cupcake and muttered, "Okay."
While she wasn't looking, he reached for another. But Emma toddled up to him, and Olivia turned just in time to catch him red-handed.
"Angelo! I clearly said you could only have one."
He quickly put the cupcake back and grinned. "They're just so tasty. I can't help myself."
Olivia sighed. "You can have another. But only after you finish your breakfast."
"You're the best mom in the world."
He sat and ate his meal. When he finished, he announced, "Done!"
"Okay, now you can have one," Olivia said.
He took one…and secretly sneaked another into his other hand. Sitting beside Olivia, he flipped on the TV.
"Mom," he said between bites.
"Yes, honey?"
"I think I had bad dreams last night."
Olivia raised a brow. "You think you had a dream?"
Angelo nodded. "Yeah. I'm not sure if they were dreams or real. I really hope they were just dreams."
She touched his arm, worry in her voice. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I saw a young girl standing near my bed. She was covered in blood, with shackles on her wrists, ankles, and neck. She climbed into my bed and just… stared at me for a long time. I panicked and kicked her, but there was nothing there. And from then, I had this headache."
Olivia forced a smile. "That sounds like a dream to me."
"Yeah, you're right. Now that I think about it again, it sounds stupid." Angelo scratched the back of his head and gave a soft laugh.
Emma slipped off Olivia's lap and waddled to Angelo. With her tiny hand, she reached between him and the couch and pulled out the cupcake he was hiding.
Angelo thought, Shit! and snatched it back, but Olivia had already seen.
"Why do you have another one?" she asked.
Angelo gave an awkward smile. "'Cause I'm still hungry?"
"You already had two, and just ate breakfast. How do you even have room for another?"
Deadpan, Angelo replied, "I always have room for your cooking." Then he shoved the cupcake in his mouth and walked outside.
Olivia rubbed her forehead. "What do I do with this boy?"
Emma copied her, rubbing her tiny forehead and babbling nonsense.
Angelo stepped out into the yard. The air felt heavier than usual, charged, as if something in the world had shifted when he wasn't looking. Even the sunlight seemed muted, washed out. He shook it off, but the feeling lingered.
By the time he turned fourteen, the world had changed in a way no one could have predicted.
It started with cracks in the air. Not ordinary cracks—rifts, glowing and pulsing, appearing out of nowhere. At first, people thought they were tricks of the light. Then they grew. They widened. They split open. And through them came beasts.
Twisted, primal things, moving on too many legs or none at all. Some were small as wolves. Others towered like buildings. Their eyes gleamed with hunger. Their bodies were grotesque—limbs too long, mouths too wide, flesh that seemed to writhe as if it wasn't their own.
The first to encounter them were rural towns. Entire villages disappeared overnight. Survivors—those who lived long enough to be interviewed—spoke of walls being torn apart in minutes, of monsters devouring people whole.
The government responded with force. Soldiers moved in, rifles raised, tanks rumbling down roads. For a moment, it seemed like humanity could fight back. Some of the creatures bled when shot. Some even fell. But then—they got back up. Bullets slowed them, never stopped them. Tanks blasted holes through them, only for the gaps to close like wounds of clay.
Still, the military pushed harder. Air support came. Fighter jets tore across the sky, unleashing missiles that lit up entire horizons. Explosions swallowed fields of beasts, and people watching thought maybe—just maybe—they could win.
Then the flying ones came. Things with wings like torn sails, claws that hooked like anchors. They swarmed the jets, dragging them from the air. Whole squadrons went silent within minutes. Civilians on the ground watched in horror as metal husks spiraled into fireballs overhead.
Helicopters tried to hold the skies, but the shrieking shapes tore through their rotors, sending them crashing into streets. Broadcasts blurred with static as camera crews filmed their own deaths—footage of soldiers firing desperately until the feed cut to black.
Within weeks, cities were abandoned. Entire nations fractured under the weight of loss. The sound of gunfire faded in region after region—then came the silence. The kind that said no one was left.
But the beasts weren't the only things that came through.
In their shadows stood the Watchers.
They didn't attack. Didn't roar. Didn't chase. They only stood—tall, thin, almost human in shape, cloaked in an aura of darkness that never stopped moving. Their faintly glowing eyes observed everything.
And people felt it. Those who saw them described the sensation of being dissected from the inside out. A soldier in one report shot an entire clip at a Watcher in panic. The bullets passed through as though through smoke. The thing didn't move. Didn't blink. It only watched.
The news tried to keep up:
"—unknown entities appearing alongside the creatures—"
"—they do not engage—merely observe—"
"—their purpose remains a mystery—"
Angelo sat, numb, as he watched the chaos on the TV. The footage was filled with images of burning cities, soldiers fighting and falling, monsters tearing through barricades. And always, somewhere in the frame, a Watcher stood. Silent. Still.
One night, flipping through static-choked channels, Angelo froze. The image flickered, cutting between attacks across the world. Then, on the screen, he saw it: a Watcher, standing among wreckage. Its eyes glowed faintly. For the briefest moment, Angelo could have sworn it looked directly at him.
The world had cracked open. And Angelo knew it was no longer just his problem. It was everyone's.
The beasts had come.
The Watchers were waiting.
And whatever was pulling the strings—had begun.