The world split open in a breath of color.
When the light of the portal faded, Boog felt the air change first — thick, humid, and alive with noise. The scent of iron and rain, of roasted food and exhaust, clung to him like invisible dust. His boots sank into something soft — grass, real grass, trembling beneath the weight of another world.
He raised his head slowly.
Neon lights carved the night sky into ribbons. Towers of glass shimmered like polished wands, each reflecting thousands of moving stars — the lights of cars, screens, and hearts beating in rhythm below. Earth. This was Earth.
A faint ache ran down his wrist where the bracelet of selection glimmered faintly beneath his sleeve. The metal pulsed once, then fell quiet — as if whispering, Not yet.
Behind him, the other two stumbled through the final shimmer of the portal.
Jonk was the first to curse. "Hell's teeth, it's bright," he muttered, shielding his eyes with a grin that carried more bravado than comfort. His hair — wild, auburn, streaked with ember dust — caught the glare of a passing taxi. The driver honked, swore, and sped off.
Donk laughed softly. He looked less like a wizard and more like a lost college student: soft eyes, pale blond hair, the edges of his white jacket glowing faintly with the residual aura of the portal. "I think they call that a car, Jonk."
"Then the car's got an attitude," Jonk replied, tossing his hands in mock surrender. "I just got here, and already the locals want me dead."
Boog sighed. "Maybe try not talking to moving metal beasts."
The sound of the city rolled over them — horns, chatter, music leaking from open windows, the mechanical hum of modern life. It was overwhelming and beautiful in equal measure.
They stood at the edge of a small park surrounded by high-rise apartments. In the center, a fountain murmured under the dim glow of blue LEDs. Around them, people moved — humans — oblivious to the arrival of three beings from another world.
"Rule one," Boog said, voice calm. "We blend in. No spells, no auras, no magic until necessary."
Jonk stretched, lazy and defiant. "Define necessary."
"When someone's dying," Boog said dryly.
"Or when someone's cute," Jonk muttered.
Donk elbowed him lightly. "You're impossible."
"And you love it."
Boog ignored them both, eyes sweeping across the park. His training took over — mapping exits, tracking energy patterns, cataloguing everything alien and familiar. Earth felt wrong in rhythm but right in pulse. He could feel magic here — faint, quiet, buried beneath years of disbelief — like an old song no one remembered the words to.
"Where do we start?" Donk asked, voice low.
"The Queen said we'd know," Boog murmured, glancing at his bracelet again. "When we're close to them."
As if in answer, a faint shimmer crawled across the surface of his hand — a glow so subtle it could've been mistaken for reflected light. His breath hitched.
For a second, he heard something — laughter. Not his, not Jonk's, not Donk's — human laughter, light and close enough to touch. He turned sharply toward the sound.
But it vanished.
The glow faded.
Boog's jaw tightened. "We spread out. Same area, but different directions. Stay in range. If your bracelet reacts, send the signal."
Donk nodded immediately. Jonk shrugged. "If I find my guy first, don't get jealous."
"You won't," Boog said without looking back.
And just like that, they split — three shadows weaving into the tapestry of Earth's night.
Jonk found himself drawn toward noise — music, specifically.
The street opened into a cluster of small bars and neon signs in Thai script. He couldn't read them, but the rhythm was universal — laughter, glasses clinking, life spilling over into the dark. A crowd had gathered near a dim corner where a young man sat on a stool, guitar in hand.
The melody was raw, imperfect, but every note bled emotion. The boy's voice — soft yet cracked with feeling — sank straight into Jonk's chest like flame into tinder.
He stopped walking.
His bracelet pulsed once.
His throat went dry.
The boy sang of loss, of chasing dreams across oceans, of waiting for something he couldn't name. When he looked up, eyes briefly catching Jonk's through the crowd, something in the universe clicked.
A pulse of crimson light rolled under Jonk's skin, brief and wild.
The boy blinked — as if he'd felt it too. But then the moment passed, and he returned to his song, unaware that destiny had just brushed his shoulder.
Jonk exhaled shakily.
"Guess I found my spark," he whispered.
Donk wandered the quieter streets — where the world felt slower, the air cooler. He stopped when he saw a small flower shop still open, the glass walls fogged with the breath of countless blooms.
A man stood inside, sweeping the floor. His hair was dark, his movements calm. The faint glow of a pendant around his neck drew Donk's attention — it was shaped like a star.
When the man turned toward the window, his gaze met Donk's for the briefest second.
And Donk's bracelet trembled.
A faint warmth seeped into his hand — gentle, nurturing, the opposite of Jonk's fiery spark. It felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Donk smiled softly to himself. "So it begins."
And Boog —
Boog walked into the heart of the city, where glass met sky. His bracelet had gone cold, but his instincts told him he was close to something — or someone.
He turned a corner and stopped dead.
A boy stood in the rain, trying to shield a stray dog with his jacket. He was drenched, shivering, but smiling — that kind of smile that didn't need a reason. The kind of smile that made Boog's pulse forget itself.
Then it happened.
His bracelet ignited — gold lightning threading across his veins, faint but undeniable. The dog barked, startled by the glow.
The boy looked up.
Their eyes met.
And the rain stopped.
Literally.
Droplets hung suspended midair, frozen by an invisible force. The world fell silent except for the hum of Boog's heart.
Then — blink — everything returned. The rain continued. The boy blinked in confusion, unaware of the miracle that had just occurred.
Boog stood still, breathing hard.
His hand ached with light.
His destiny had just looked him in the eye — and didn't even know it yet.
By dawn, the three wizards found each other again at the edge of the park.
No words were needed. Each had seen something. Each carried a glow in their palm — faint, uncertain, but real.
Boog looked toward the horizon where the city was waking up, and whispered,
"Earth is dangerous."
Jonk smirked. "Dangerous and beautiful."
Donk nodded, eyes distant. "And ours to love — if we can survive it."
The first rays of sunlight split the sky — gold, crimson, white. Three colors. Three destinies.
And somewhere, their lovers dreamed of them, unaware that magic had already begun to move.