The golden light of evening filtered softly through the wooden shutters, casting long shadows across the small room. Outside, the quiet hum of the town mingled with the distant laughter of children, the faint clatter of carts along cobblestones, and the occasional bark of a dog. It was a world that felt familiar, safe, predictable.
And yet, elsewhere—somewhere far away, somewhere long before—the world had been anything but calm.
A city of glass and steel stretched endlessly into the sky. Streets gleamed under the afternoon sun, crowded with pedestrians moving with the rhythm of an unseen conductor. Above, massive screens flickered with moving images: advertisements, headlines, flashes of urgent news. One screen dominated the skyline, showing a man in a crisp suit, his voice confident and clear as he addressed a faceless audience.
"…a phenomenon beyond current scientific understanding. Preliminary analysis suggests it could redefine humanity's reach into space. NASA, ISRO, and the Chinese Space Agency are monitoring it closely. Though its origins remain unknown, this discovery may propel humankind into the intergalactic future we have long dreamed of. Observations are ongoing, and caution is advised…"
The city below moved in unknowing harmony. People brushed past one another, their eyes fixed on their own tasks, unaware of the words above, unaware of the events that might have already changed the course of history.
And then came chaos.
Buildings erupted in flames without warning, glass shattering like brittle ice into the streets. Screams pierced the air as people scattered in every direction, ducking under falling debris, tripping over rubble, only to leap back to their feet in the frantic drive to survive. Smoke twisted into thick columns, blotting out the sun and turning day into a sickly twilight.
Through the chaos, one man ran. His coat flapped violently, catching the wind as he dragged a woman along by the hand. She clutched her few precious belongings close to her chest—a retro-style phone, a photograph, a watch—fragile symbols of a life that had no guarantee of continuing. Their eyes met briefly, fear mirrored in both, then forward they went, propelled by the desperate determination that now defined all humanity.
Around them, the streets became rivers of people, flowing toward enormous structures built to shelter them. Towers rose like islands amidst devastation, their doors open, waiting to receive the throngs seeking protection. Yet even as some found safety, the world itself seemed intent on devouring those who lingered. Fire leapt unpredictably from building to building; steel twisted under an invisible heat; shadows of falling debris scythed through the air.
The man's grip never loosened. His wife's hand, small and trembling, remained tightly entwined with his. Around them, the cacophony of survival roared: shouts, cries, the screeching of collapsing metal, the hiss of fire. A child's scream pierced the distance, brief and horrifying, then vanished into the background of collective panic.
The man stumbled but did not fall. He caught himself against the crumbling edge of a building, dragging his wife with him as the world around them tore itself apart. Everything—the skyline, the streets, the people—was engulfed in chaos, yet he ran on. For what? For hope, for survival, for the faintest possibility that somewhere beyond the smoke and ruin, life still waited.
And somewhere, through the confusion of screams and destruction, a voice echoed. Not clear, not fully formed. Only fragments reached beyond the flames: "Help… h—e—l…" The remainder was lost, corrupted, distorted, like the final recording of someone who had already been swallowed by the world.
Then, silence.
---
The sun dipped behind the hills of Origin Town, soft evening light filling the room. Kael's eyes fluttered open slowly. The quiet creak of the wooden floor under the breeze, the faint smell of bread from the kitchen below, the gentle sway of lanterns outside his window—it all grounded him, tethered him to the present.
Yet the visions still lingered. He could feel the heat of the flames, hear the screams echoing, see the man clutching his wife as they ran for survival. Every detail was vivid, impossibly clear. Retro-style phone, worn photograph, ticking watch—they stayed in his mind as if imprinted on his memory.
He sat up abruptly, hands gripping his hair, eyes wide and unblinking. Was it real? Was it just a dream? The thought gnawed at him, twisting in his chest. The terror, the desperation, the chaos—had any of it truly happened, or had his mind pulled something from a history he could never possibly know?
How could I know about all that? he wondered. Why do I remember things that feel centuries old? Was it Earth… or something else entirely? The streets, the towers, the fire—they looked so familiar, yet foreign. His mind raced faster than his pulse, each heartbeat pounding in sync with the distant echoes of screams.
Images flashed in his mind in jagged fragments: the man's coat flapping in the wind, the wife's grip on her belongings, the city burning, the distorted voice calling for help. The words hung there, glitching like corrupted code: "Help… h—e—l…" He couldn't make sense of them, yet they pressed on his mind insistently, demanding attention.
The confusion and unease tangled with something deeper: the question of identity, of place. If all of that happened, if the past was like that… then where am I now? What is this place? How is it possible that I can see it, remember it? He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts, but the scenes persisted, relentless and vivid.
A sharp, familiar voice cut through the swirl of terror and confusion.
"Kael!"
He froze, staring toward the window. Outside, Lusia stood in her uniform, her posture upright, hair tied neatly, hands on her hips. The warm hues of sunset framed her against the streets below, her voice firm and insistent.
"Kael! Hurry! First day!" she shouted again, her tone carrying that mixture of authority and amusement he had come to know.
Reality hit him like a splash of cold water. He had forgotten about school entirely amidst the chaos of his thoughts. Heart hammering, he swung his legs off the bed and scrambled to his feet.
"I—I'll be ready in a minute!" he stammered, voice trembling slightly, still disoriented from the lingering remnants of the vision.
He moved quickly, dressing in the simplest garments available, grabbing a piece of bread in his hand, and rushing downstairs. The scent of fresh baked bread greeted him along with the faint murmur of evening activity outside.
"Kael, you've got bread in your mouth!" Lusia's voice rang, sharp but amused, as she watched him nearly trip over his own feet in haste.
He swallowed quickly, cheeks burning. "It's your fault! You didn't tell me to be ready this early!" he countered, trying to sound firm while fumbling with the strap of his satchel.
Lusia laughed, the sound warm and grounding, pulling him back from the spiraling thoughts of fire, chaos, and humanity running for survival. Together, they stepped into the street, moving with brisk steps. Lanterns swayed gently, townsfolk greeted them, the smell of roasting nuts and baked goods filled the air, and yet the past still clung to him, a shadow in the corner of his mind.
Every so often, fragments resurfaced—the man clutching his wife, the crumbling buildings, the voice corrupted by time and fire. "Help… h—e—l…" The words looped faintly, glitching like a broken recording, nagging at him even as the present unfolded before his eyes.
Kael's heart pounded, a mixture of lingering fear and the undeniable pull of curiosity. Was it truly the past? Was it Earth? Or was it something else entirely? Each question spiraled into another, faster, more insistent, and he found himself fighting to focus on the path ahead, the duties of the present.
Yet even as he walked beside Lusia, the streets of Origin welcoming and familiar, he could not shake the echo of the chaos, the desperate running, the fragile grip of humanity clinging to survival. That glimpse of what had been—and perhaps what would never be again—had left its mark.
The day moved forward regardless. Lanterns glowed faintly in the early evening, children laughed in distant streets, and the smell of sweet pastries drifted across the town square. But Kael's mind, wide open and restless, carried fragments of fire and screams, of hands clutching photographs and watches, of a voice broken and begging for help.
And still, through it all, Lusia's presence was grounding, her laughter, her nudges, her steady voice—pulling him, ever so slightly, back to the warmth and light of the present.