The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, painting Sera's room in soft golds and ambers. At first glance, everything seemed ordinary. Her bed was neatly made, her books stacked in slightly uneven towers on the desk, and the faint scent of coffee lingered from breakfast. Yet, for some reason, she felt… off.
She sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and noticed it—a shadow flickering near the corner of her desk. It vanished the moment she blinked. She frowned, blinking again, trying to convince herself it had been a trick of the light. The sun hadn't yet reached that corner. There was no reason for shadows to move on their own.
Shaking her head, she swung her legs off the bed and padded to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror seemed sharper than usual, the lines of her face more defined, her snowflake mark on her wrist glimmering faintly under the morning light. A subtle heat radiated from it, though she had been wearing it all night.
"You're imagining things," she muttered, tracing the delicate symbol with her finger. "Just tired."
But deep down, she knew it wasn't fatigue. Something was different. She could feel it in the air, in the weight of the silence that hung thicker than usual. Even the birds outside her window seemed hesitant, pausing mid-song as if listening for something beyond their world.
By the time she reached the street, the city felt… altered. Passersby moved in hurried, jerky motions. Phones were held tightly to ears as people whispered in hushed tones. A man in a business suit stopped mid-step, eyes widening as if he had seen a ghost, then shook his head and continued walking. A group of children in the park froze, pointing at something invisible, chattering in frightened whispers before running to their parents.
Sera's heartbeat quickened. She had seen strange things before, odd coincidences, minor anomalies, but never like this. The air felt charged, almost electric, yet there was no storm. Leaves trembled on the trees despite the calm breeze, and the sunlight seemed to ripple, bending in ways that defied reason.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her pulse, then glanced down at her wrist. The snowflake mark pulsed faintly, as if syncing with her heartbeat. Her mind flitted back to the bedtime stories her parents had told her years ago—the stories of Veyrion, of elemental rulers and chosen humans. She had always thought of them as fairy tales, comforting myths meant to lull her to sleep. Now, every word felt heavy with unspoken truth.
A sudden tremor shook the sidewalk. Sera stumbled, catching herself against a lamppost. People around her gasped and whispered, some crouching to steady themselves. Nothing on the news had mentioned anything like this. It was localized, precise, yet undeniable.
Her curiosity propelled her forward, pulling her through streets that felt both familiar and alien. Shops she had walked past countless times now seemed… different. Colors were sharper, shadows darker. A cat darted across her path, stopping mid-leap to stare at her with eyes too intelligent, too knowing, before disappearing into an alley as if it had never existed.
She shivered, though the sun was warm on her shoulders. The veil between worlds, whatever that meant, was thinner here. She could feel it like a vibration through the soles of her feet, a subtle pull urging her toward the park at the center of the city. People avoided it now, citing strange noises, sudden chills, or brief flashes of movement in the trees. Sera ignored them, drawn instead by something she couldn't name.
Sitting on a worn bench under an ancient oak, she closed her eyes. The air was thick, almost tangible, humming faintly in her ears. Then she heard it—a whisper, soft and distant, yet undeniably there. Not words she could understand, but a language that felt older than the city itself. She opened her eyes and saw nothing, yet the hairs on her arms stood on end.
The snowflake on her wrist brightened, a soft glow radiating outward. She flexed her fingers, feeling a warmth spread from her wrist to her elbow, subtle but unmistakable. Her mind raced.
Am I… connected?
A sudden commotion nearby broke her thoughts. A woman screamed, pointing at the sky. Sera looked up and froze. A ripple, like heat haze, shimmered against the clouds. It pulsed rhythmically, stretching across the sky in waves that defied physics. Planes rerouted; birds scattered in panicked flocks. People stopped and stared, some laughing nervously, others shaking their heads as if to rid themselves of hallucination.
Sera's breath caught. Her pulse raced. She could feel the tug again, deeper this time, like gravity pulling her toward something invisible. She tried to shake it off, telling herself it was a trick of perception, a city-wide hysteria—but she knew better.
Over the next hour, the anomalies increased. Streetlights flickered in odd sequences. Water fountains jetted sporadically, ice forming and melting within moments. A small group of pigeons froze mid-flight before plummeting softly to the ground. Every few steps, Sera glimpsed movement in the corners of her vision—shapes that shifted too fast to be real, shadows that lingered too long to be natural.
By mid-afternoon, a storm had begun to form, but not in any part of the sky Sera had seen before. Dark clouds swirled in unnatural patterns, moving against the wind. Thunder rolled silently, a low vibration that rattled her teeth and bones. Lightning sparked briefly across buildings, disappearing before it touched the ground.
She walked faster, heart pounding. People scattered around her, running for cover. A young boy tripped near her, clutching a strange metallic device that buzzed and hummed erratically. He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "Do you feel it too?" he asked.
Sera hesitated. "Yes," she whispered, realizing she was not alone in sensing the change. The boy nodded, then darted off as a sudden gust of wind swept the street, carrying with it a faint scent of ozone and something… older.
By evening, Sera found herself at the riverbank, the water glowing faintly under the strange twilight. Ripples moved against the current, forming shapes she couldn't identify. Her wrist burned softly, the snowflake vibrating with light and warmth. She sank to her knees, pressing her palm against it.
Memories of her childhood came unbidden—the stories her parents whispered at bedtime, the vivid images of Veyrion she had long dismissed as fantasy. But now, each tale seemed real, anchored in this moment, this inexplicable convergence of worlds.
A sudden hush fell over the city. The usual noises—the chatter of cars, distant voices, the hum of electricity—stopped abruptly. In that silence, Sera could hear the whispers again, faint but persistent. She couldn't understand the language, yet each pulse resonated in her bones, calling her, warning her, promising something she couldn't yet comprehend.
She clenched her fists. Fear battled awe, confusion battled recognition.
Something was coming. Something that would change everything. And though she did not yet know it, she was at the center of it all.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the river in streaks of fire and violet. Sera rose slowly, brushing dirt from her knees. She looked around, the city eerily still. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, stretching across buildings and streets. The veil between worlds had thinned, and though she did not yet see what lay beyond, she felt it—alive, pulsing, waiting.
Her heart raced, but her steps were steady as she walked home. Something had awakened, and Sera knew, with an inexplicable certainty, that nothing would ever be the same again.
And somewhere, deep in the folds of reality, the first tendrils of Veyrion reached toward her.