The tarot cards pulsed in his hand, warmth radiating through his fingers like tiny heartbeats. Not just glowing. Something had changed. Not just color, not just the faint hum of energy clinging to them like static. They felt different. Wrong, or maybe too right. No explanation formed in his mind—just a quiet, growing certainty that they were no longer what they used to be.
It was the same as the rift.
It pulsed like a wound in the sky, gaping and unnatural. Every time he looked at it, something primal twisted in his gut.
I'll study them later, he told himself. No time. People were hurt. People were scared. That mattered more.
He stuffed the cards back into the left pocket of his shredded cargo pants. The fabric was useless now—torn, filthy, clinging to his legs like wet paper. His chest was bare, skin raw against the cold wind curling through the ruined walls around him. He barely remembered what happened to his shirt—probably torn off during the chaos—but it didn't matter.
What mattered was that the air wasn't just cold.
It was wrong.
Kealix knew cold. He grew up with it. Rah'dull winters ate through your bones, they turned breath to fog indoors, made layering a survival tactic. But this… this wasn't Rah'dull cold. It needled his skin in waves, like invisible threads laced with static and frost, brushing across his arms and neck and back again, relentless. His skin erupted in goosebumps he couldn't shake.
"Fuck," he hissed, arms instinctively crossing over his chest. His breath came out dry, thin. "A rift in the sky, a sunless goddamn day, and now this alien ice? Fantastic."
His lungs ached. Every breath felt too shallow, like dragging air through torn fabric. Muscles screamed with each step, exhaustion pulling at him with invisible chains. It didn't matter. He pushed forward. Collapse could wait.
A shape. Someone nearby. A girl—knees drawn in, hair matted to her face, maybe younger than him. Clothes still mostly intact. Skin pale like his. And her eyes—he froze for half a second.
Like embers.
Burning quietly in the middle of all this grey. Colorful and Focused.
"Can you stand?" he asked, reaching out without hesitation.
She flinched at the sound, then slowly raised her head. "Y-Yeah… thank you." Her voice was soft, barely audible, like snow falling in an empty room. Not weak. Just… still. Balanced. Like someone who'd learned to live quietly.
He gripped her hand—soft, trembling—and pulled her to her feet.
"What's your name?" The words slipped out before he could stop them. He scanned her face, trying to recognize her. No luck. The last minutes had been chaos—too much to remember clearly. His body still screamed with pain.
"It's Alora." She brushed hair from her face, eyes wary but grateful. "Thank you again. I really appreciate your help."
She wobbled suddenly, legs giving out beneath her. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and she pitched forward. Reflex took over—his arms caught her before she hit the ground. Her body pressed against his chest, warm but fragile. He gritted his teeth, holding steady despite the ache twisting through his ribs and bruised muscles.
"Easy now," he warned quietly. "You've been hurt. It'll take time before you're steady again."
Her voice trembled, quick and anxious. "I—I'm so sorry!" She pulled away, Kealix he held firm, refusing to let her fall again.
"It's fine," he said, voice steady despite the pounding in his head. "No harm done."
She wasn't like the others here—most would sell you out for scraps, betray you in a heartbeat. But Alora… there was something different. Calm. Shaking, yes, but beneath that a strange grace, a quiet strength that cut through the chaos like a soft light.
He helped her walk, holding her hand to help with balance, steady and strong. She leaned on him, legs trembling but refusing to give out again.
Her voice dropped to a more quiet tone, uncertain in her words. "Your… your physique is quite impressive. Do you… train often?"
A tired smirk tugged at his lips. "I guess I do."
He'd never thought about how he looked. Training was just a way to stay sane in Rah'dull's suffocating grind, a distraction from the dull ache of the city. Vanity didn't factor in. The strength was just a bonus.
Nox was built like a fortress—broad, massive, impossible to miss. Kealix was different. Lean. Compact. Efficient. Easy to underestimate, especially with clothes on.
But now, bare-chested, the truth of his conditioning was clear even to him.
Clothed before, but now missing his entire shirt, the truth of his conditioning was impossible to ignore. His back stretched wide, muscles taut and hard. Pectorals firm beneath his skin. Arms—especially forearms and biceps—coiled with restless power, ready to snap. Shoulders, a little narrower than Nox's, but still solid, still strong.
"Listen," he said, voice rough, turning to Alora. "If you can walk, we need to move. Even slow, it's better than waiting."
She nodded, eyes serious, and he knew she understood. Whatever had broken this place wasn't finished yet.
Kealix clenched his jaw, scanning the wreckage around him. Pain throbbed beneath his skin, dulling but fierce. He searched for his friends, relief tightening his chest when he spotted Joshua and Nox crouched in the corner, helping others up.
He took a step.
One.
Then two.
Three.
Then—fire.
By the fifth step, a searing blaze tore through the right side of his face, raw where his eye should have been. It wasn't just pain—it was a brand from the sun itself, pressed deep into his skull. Blinding. Burning. Wrong.
"Fuck—fuck, really?" His voice rasped, ragged, laced with agony. The world spun, shifting under him. His hands hit the floor as he dropped to his knees, his breath shallow and uneven.
Joshua spun toward him. "Kealix!" His voice cracked, urgency sharp as he dropped beside him, fingers snapping near his face. "No time for this! Come on! We have to leave and fast!"
"Leave him, Joshua! He's in pain!" Nox snapped, voice cold and hard. He crouched, hand hovering near Kealix's shoulder, uncertain whether to reach out or stay back.
But Kealix couldn't answer. The pain clawed through his brain—white-hot fire licking at his thoughts. Fists clenched tight, nails digging into palms. Breath hitched, shaky, broken.
Seconds stretched, they felt endless.
And still, the pain didn't fade.
Then—something else. A soft glow pulsed from the left pocket of his torn cargo pants. The tarot cards. They shimmered with a strange, illuminating light, pulsing in time with the agony slicing through his mind.
Kealix didn't notice.
The agony swallowed everything whole. It tore through his skull like molten glass, burning behind the empty socket where his right eye used to be. Breath came in shallow gasps, fists digging into the cold floor beneath him.
Then—just as suddenly—it eased. Not gone, but fading enough to claw back thought. To draw a shaky breath. He lifted his head slowly, vision blurred, balance unsteady.
Alora was there, already at his side. Her arm slipped through his, fragile but warm, she held him up steady despite the tremble in her limbs.
"Thank you," he rasped, voice rough and gravelly.
Blink. Blink again.
Then freeze.
He could see.
But nothing looked the same.
Each person flickered with a strange color—an otherworldly glow painting their outlines in living light. Nox burned navy blue, calm and steady. Joshua's shimmer glowed deep orange, like coals ready to flare. And Alora… violet, flickering soft and quiet but alive.
"What the hell is today even…" His lips moved in a low mumble. He shook his head, disbelief tight in his throat. "I swear…"
Strange, yes. But after everything else? This barely made the top five on the weird shit list. So he shoved it down and turned back to the others.
Minutes passed. One by one, the students rose. Some leaned heavily on friends. Others trembled, hunched, fragile. But they stood. Alive. And that was enough.
Kealix drew a slow breath, voice steady and sharp as he cut through the low murmur:
"Alright, everyone. We need to get out of here. Now."
Silence dropped. All eyes snapped to him.
"We're splitting into groups. We will move out at the same time. Each group needs a leader—the strongest, or the most stable. Their job: guide the rest."
"…and help when needed. Groups of three or four. Even if you're shaky, you should be able to walk. Just stick together and help each other."
He scanned the room again, seeing faces but also something else, something new—colors. Each color unique. Some shades shared tones—reds, greens, blues—but every glow flickered with its own rhythm, a fingerprint of light.
He didn't know why he could see them. Didn't know how. But none of that mattered. Questions could wait. Survival couldn't.
"Any objections?" His voice cut through the heavy silence—sharp, loud, clear. It carried a natural authority he hadn't planned to show but couldn't hold back.
No one answered.
And just like that, without ceremony or vote, the role settled on him. Leader. Like it or not, it found him.
"I have one."
The voice snapped through the tension. A girl stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes flashing with anger and a smug edge. Her color flickered stormy purple—brooding, fierce.
"This layout sucks," she spat, glaring hard. "What's stopping the 'leader' from ditching their group? And who made you boss? Who voted for you?"
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Kealix met her gaze, face blank, unreadable.
"Since I'm one of the few who's actually stayed calm and rational," he said, voice ice-cold, "the logical conclusion is that someone like me should lead."
He didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. His words carried his message and a clear purpose.
She scowled, fury flashing.
"Like hell! I'm calm too. I can think just fine," she snapped. "So why do you get to act like a dictator? We're not your soldiers!"
Kealix sighed inwardly.
She's going to be trouble…
He opened his mouth to respond, but another voice cut in firmly from the side.
"Enough."
A young man stepped forward—maybe twenty-one. His color burned deep red—steady, focused, like coals still smoldering. Black hair framed dark brown eyes that took in the scene before speaking.
"Right now, it doesn't matter who the leader is," he said plainly. "What matters is whether they can get us out alive. That's all anyone should care about."
The girl whipped around, venom in her tone.
"And who the hell gave you permission to speak?!"
Before he could speak, Kealix raised a hand—his voice sharp and cold.
"Then how about this," he said, eyes scanning the group. "If you don't agree with my plan, you're free to go. I'm not forcing anyone. You want to do it your way? Be my guest. But screw up out there, and there's no second chance."
Silence swallowed the room.
Uncertain glances flicked between faces. After a tense beat, five students—including the girl with the purple color—turned and walked away without a word.
Kealix watched them leave, his face unreadable. No call, no plead, no warning.
They'd made their choice.
"Alright, everyone still here," his voice held steady, firm. "Form groups—three to four. Don't waste time. We need to move."
Calm under pressure, but his urgency laced every word.
Students shuffled, some pulled toward friends, others grabbed whoever was close. Tension thick, but cooperation sparked.
Then—
A sound sliced through the air.
Faint at first. A low hum, like distant thunder—but wrong. Twisted. Alien.
It came from the rift.
Kealix snapped his gaze to the fractured tear, pulsing and distorted. The hum warped into a howl—unnatural, defying all reason. Not machine, not beast, not element.
Then came the roar.
A brutal, guttural bellow that shook the walls, rattled glass and bones. Deep, demonic, strange—a sound no human was meant to hear. Not a predator. Not a beast.
Something else.
Something far worse.
Not small. Not subtle. And definitely not staying on the other side.
Cold clenched his blood. The roar hammered his chest like a shockwave, primal instinct screaming at his mind.
That wasn't a warning.
It was a promise.
His jaw clenched tight. He forced his body to stay still, though around him students froze, fear was thickening the air.
"Move faster!" he shouted, eyes locked on the rift. "Get into formation. Stay together. Whatever's out there—it won't wait for us."
In that moment, the truth slammed into him: the clock had run out.
It wouldn't be just them anymore.
They were about to share this world with a monster.