Across the ocean, in the marble-clad competition hall of London's Grand Academy, Evelyn Fairchild sat with poised determination.
Rows of international students sat at identical desks beneath glimmering chandeliers, their eyes glued to the final problem glowing on the massive display above. The air was thick with tension. Evelyn's pen hovered above her answer sheet.
Her father sat in the audience, hands folded tightly, his expression calm but proud.
Clara was absent—her desk in the far-left row was empty, her name tag removed. She had chosen to stay in London, citing "a gut feeling" Evelyn had never fully understood.
So this moment… was Evelyn's alone.
The buzzer rang. Answers were collected. Murmurs spread like ripples across a still lake.
Moments later, the host stepped forward, adjusting his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this year's International Academic Invitational, earning a year-long scholarship to study in New York City…"
Evelyn's fingers gripped the edge of her seat.
"…is Evelyn Fairchild!"
Thunderous applause followed. Her father stood, clapping with fierce pride. Evelyn sat frozen for a heartbeat, then rose slowly, stunned, the spotlight catching the golden flecks in her eyes as she walked forward.
The medal felt heavier than she expected as it slipped over her neck.
But heavier still was the sensation blooming in her chest—not relief, not pride… but a feeling that something had shifted.
Something had begun.
---
The streets of London glowed in the soft amber of streetlights as Evelyn walked beside Clara later that night. Despite the champagne toasts, the speeches, and the photos, Evelyn had insisted on one final walk through the city before her departure.
"You're officially going to New York, Eve!" Clara beamed, looping her arm through Evelyn's. "A whole year! Living in the States! You better not come back with a fake accent."
Evelyn laughed, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders. "No promises."
"But seriously," Clara said, tone softening, "I'm proud of you. You earned this. Just… stay safe, okay?"
Evelyn tilted her head. "Why do you say that like you're sending me off to war?"
Clara gave a nervous smile, then looked away. "Just a feeling."
They continued down the quiet street. The city's usual noise seemed distant tonight—muted, as if something unseen pressed down on it. The air was cool, charged with static.
Evelyn felt it too.
And then, without warning, the world screamed.
A deafening screech of metal on asphalt. A crash. The ground shook beneath them.
They turned.
A massive armored truck lay on its side just ahead, smoke pouring from its hood. Sparks snapped from broken power lines.
Clara gasped. "That truck—it just—"
But Evelyn was already running.
Her boots pounded against the pavement. Her breath was sharp, frantic. She didn't think—she moved.
The truck's cabin was crushed inward. Inside, the driver slumped against the wheel, blood streaking down his temple.
"Sir! Hey! Can you hear me?" Evelyn shouted, gripping the door.
It wouldn't budge.
She threw her shoulder into it. Once. Twice. Her fingers blistered from the heat. Still she pulled.
And then—
A glow.
Blue.
It flickered faintly from the open cargo hold—an eerie, unnatural pulse. Evelyn barely registered it, her focus locked on the man. With a final grunt, the door tore loose. She reached inside, wrapped her arms around his torso, and dragged him free.
And then—
Flash.
A blinding eruption of blue light. It swallowed the night whole.
Clara screamed her name.
Evelyn shielded her eyes, heart pounding. The world warped—buildings shimmered, the sky cracked like a mirror.
And then—it stopped.
The truck was silent.
The light was gone.
So was whatever had been glowing inside.
---
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sound of a heart monitor dragged Evelyn back into consciousness.
Sterile white walls. An IV in her arm. Her father asleep in the corner, slumped in a plastic chair.
She shifted upright with a groan. Her head throbbed. She remembered the crash. The man. The light.
Was he okay?
Before she could reach the call button, the room dimmed.
And then—
Something shimmered at the foot of her bed. Blue and pulsing. A floating stone, smooth and glowing like it had a heart of its own.
Evelyn's breath caught.
It hovered upward, spinning slowly, the light bathing her face.
And then—a voice.
Not spoken aloud.
Spoken inside her.
> "You are the chosen one."
Evelyn's pulse spiked. "W-what?"
> "You saved a life. You acted with courage, without hesitation. The power of Attraction recognizes you."
"The what?"
> "I am the Attraction Stone. One half of a whole. You are now my bearer. And darkness approaches."
The stone surged forward, brushing against her chest. Evelyn gasped as a sudden warmth spread through her. Her vision blurred. Her body tensed.
A sharp tingling raced across her scalp.
She looked toward the mirror on the opposite wall—
A streak of vibrant blue now glowed through her blonde hair.
Her hands trembled. "What is happening to me?"
> "You are no longer ordinary, Evelyn Fairchild."
And just like that, the stone faded—absorbed into her palm. As if it had always been there.
She collapsed back into the bed, breath ragged. Whatever this was… it had only just begun.
---
The following morning, Evelyn was discharged. "Minor concussion, light bruises," the doctor said. She nodded along, silent, her thoughts far elsewhere.
On the plane to New York, she stared out the window. Her fingers curled against her palm. The stone—she could still feel it.
Like a second heartbeat.
She drifted to sleep just after takeoff, her forehead pressed to the glass.
And then—the dream returned.
---
A crimson sky twisted above her. The air was thick with electricity, howling winds tearing across the void.
She stood alone—until she saw him.
The boy.
Raven hair. Pale skin. Piercing eyes the color of ice and steel.
He stood with his back to her, shoulders tense, as if bearing some invisible burden.
He turned slowly, sensing her presence.
Their eyes met.
Evelyn's heart skipped.
He was a stranger.
And yet—he wasn't.
Their connection ran deeper than time or distance.
She took a step toward him, but the wind howled louder. Shadows stretched across the sky. The void around them cracked.
And still, neither of them broke eye contact.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
Their fates were now bound.
---
Somewhere in Manhattan, Ethan Lockwood jolted awake, his breaths shallow.
His mirror reflected an impossible change—a crimson streak slashed through his black hair like a scar.
His hand rose to touch it, trembling.
The Repulsion Stone had chosen him.
And though he didn't yet understand what it meant—he could feel it.
A storm was coming.
And he was standing at the center of it.