"It begins not with thunder, but with the hush that comes before it — when even the world holds its breath."
Ameira — The Air Remembers
The air in Ameira's room had always felt still.
But this morning, it stirred before she did.
A soft breeze circled the rim of her tea cup, rippling the surface before she touched it. The window was closed. The fan was off. She stared at the movement, her breath caught in her throat.
She shook her head, chuckling nervously. "Maybe just a draft…"
Yet, the moment she stepped outside, the breeze followed. Down the winding stairs. Across the café street. Through the university's glass lobby.
No one else seemed to notice.
But she did.
By afternoon, it had a rhythm — almost like it pulsed with her heartbeat.
During a group project, someone made a harsh joke. Ameira looked down, embarrassed… and the projector flickered wildly. Lights dimmed.
When she whispered, "Stop it," the flickering ceased.
She didn't feel afraid.
She felt… watched.
And strangely, not alone.
Rudren — Sparks Between Moments
"Hey! Your jacket's sparking again," one of the cadets said.
Rudren pulled it off quickly, pressing it against the wall. The small crackling static faded. He didn't answer — just nodded, his jaw tight.
He had stopped trying to explain.
Ever since that night under the stars, something inside him had been pressing against the surface. Like molten pressure behind steel. It wasn't pain, not yet. But it wasn't peace either.
During weapons training, he gripped a staff — and the handle grew warm, metal creaking in his grip.
He let go immediately.
The instructor glanced at him. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Rudren muttered. "Just tired."
But he wasn't tired.
He was full — of something he couldn't name.
That evening, he sat alone in the mess hall, staring at the neon light above. It blinked once when he raised his hand… and blinked again when he lowered it.
A pattern.
Controlled. Responsive.
And he whispered to himself:
"It's not just coincidence anymore."
Vikran — Beneath the Stillness
The cows had been restless all morning.
Vikran noticed their twitching ears, the way they circled him more often than usual. Even the old goat — stubborn as she was — followed him with calm eyes.
When he dug into the soil near the field's edge, something shifted beneath his fingers. A soft vibration — not mechanical, not from the earth, but living.
He froze.
The warmth that had touched his palm days ago had returned — only stronger.
When he poured water for the seedlings, they leaned slightly toward him. Not the sun. Him.
His breath caught.
He didn't run.
He didn't cry out.
He simply whispered:
"I think… I see you."
The wind moved the grass around him gently. A bird landed on his shoulder and did not fly away.
Vikran's hand shook — not from fear, but from the weight of knowing something had changed.
Shifting Threads
In three different places, under three different suns, something invisible began to pulse:
• The air curled like a ribbon around Ameira's wrist.
• A bolt of static snapped near Rudren's feet — and the grass didn't burn.
• A dandelion floated toward Vikran, against the wind, landing softly on his chest.
None of them said anything aloud this time.
But all three felt the same word echo in their bones:
"Soon."
It wasn't spoken.
It wasn't understood.
But it was heard.
End Scene
That night, when all three closed their eyes — the world didn't just sleep with them.
It watched.
Leaves rustled without wind.
Streetlights blinked once in unison.
And beneath the layers of earth, water, fire, and air… something very old stirred.
Still silent.
But no longer asleep.
To be continued..