The silence pressed down like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. My breath caught, muscles taut, every nerve alert, waiting for the stillness to shatter. Then, cutting through the quiet, Jaks's voice sliced in—calm, steady, unyielding.
"What are you doing now with them, Luna?"
I fixed my gaze on Luna's face. Her lips tightened into a thin line, a subtle furrow creasing her brow. Her eyes darted away, guarded and unreadable. No answer came.
Something unsettled the air—an invisible tension I couldn't place.
Then Aria's voice, soft but firm, broke through.
"Don't talk to Jaks like that. It's not good."
She didn't name him outright, but the respect in her tone was unmistakable. Watching Aria, I saw her eyes soften whenever they rested on Jaks—a quiet reverence, a protective warmth. He was more than a presence to her; he carried a weight of history and trust no one else shared.
In that moment, I understood how special he was to Aria—how his arrival brought her a fragile comfort I couldn't reach.
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" Flashback from Luna perspective "
Morning light spilled gently through the curtains, but sleep slipped away. I lay still, eyes closed, pretending rest, though I knew Jaks wasn't asleep either. His restless presence hummed beside me, silent but palpable.
Suddenly, he shifted, sitting on the edge of the bed. His face was shadowed, unreadable—something flickered in his eyes, but he said nothing. Before I could ask, he slipped away quietly. I didn't press him; his silence was a wall I couldn't breach.
Unease coiled tighter in my chest. I slipped out into the cool morning air.
Outside, the world seemed untouched, safe. But smoke curled in the distance, the acrid scent of burning wood thick in the air. Ruins lay scattered—homes destroyed, lives shattered—but I had no time to mourn. I had to find Jaks.
I moved swiftly, scanning the streets until I spotted him—still, distant.
Passing by, familiar faces caught my eye. Lily cradled Ember, whose pale face twisted in pain. She clung to life by a fragile thread—a miracle or curse that a normal human survived such wounds.
Nearby, Aria lay unconscious, her wings unfurled and radiant but her strength drained. Yet her resilience shone through, fierce even in weakness.
I recalled my own wings' return—the searing pain, the near-blackout, the struggle to move on Earth afterward.
I pushed the thoughts aside. All I wanted was to heal.
Jaks's voice cut through the quiet again—calm, distant. "I don't have permission to help them."
His face was unreadable, neutral. No anger, no frustration—just cold detachment. I wanted to know why he refused. I knew he could help, but he chose not to.
"Why?" I whispered.
"There's nothing for us to do for those losing hope and will," he said steadily. "Let's go."
Beneath his words, I sensed care—but also a barrier. He was neither healer nor destroyer, caught in a neutral space.
But I refused to accept that. I pressed him, pleaded until he relented.
"You may help them a little—enough to keep them alive. Nothing more."
Relief bloomed in my chest.
Jaks stepped back. I moved to Ember—her breath shallow, face pale and strained. Lily clung to her, exhausted. Aria lay nearby, unconscious.
I placed my hands over Ember's wound, pouring all my energy into healing. Slowly, color returned to her cheeks, her breathing steadied. I glanced at Aria—still unconscious, but flickers of memory stirred beneath the surface.
For now, that was enough.
________________________________________
My eyes swept the area. The place felt wrong—uneasy, unsafe. I checked carefully; no one was near.
A sharp pain gripped my chest. I clutched it as the transformation began.
Blood raced, heart pounding wildly. My back shuddered as wings burst forth—heavy, massive, yet familiar. I thought of Jaks, who denied me the ability to appear normal. Instead, I bore six enormous wings, black and gold, spanning nearly twenty-six feet.
The pain was fierce but bearable, echoing the first time I grew wings on Earth.
At last, I spread my wings wide, casting a vast shadow over the ruined landscape.
Everything seemed normal again. I gathered Lily and Ember in one arm, holding them close. With my other hand, I gripped Aria's back, just below her wings. Her wings leaned toward the land, not hindering my movements.
I unfolded my massive wings, crushing nearby buildings as I prepared for flight. With a powerful thrust, I soared into the high sky.
I glided carefully, minimizing noise, but the cracking air and heavy wingbeats echoed around me. Aria's wings remained lifted earthward, unobtrusive.
After some time, I descended onto a rooftop, gently setting everyone down. I transformed back into my human form, exhaustion washing over me.
I sat close to Lily and finally slept, clean and calm.
________________________________________
" Returning to the present "
Fierce determination rose within me. I wanted to help them. But how could I guide Aria if Jaks wouldn't let me?
I glanced at Aria's face. Her eyes flickered with something—fragments of memory, faint but unmistakable. She remembered us. She remembered Jaks.
Lily sat nearby, her gaze distant and blank, lost in her own turmoil.
Then, a soft voice broke the silence. "Luna, can you guide me now? So I can heal Ember."
It was Aria.
I looked toward Jaks. He said nothing, his expression unreadable. But something shifted inside me—I realized now I could help.
I turned to Aria, my voice steady."Here's how you can heal her."
I explained carefully, "To heal Ember and fill the gap in her body, you need something compatible. We're not like them, so you can't use your own essence."
Aria interrupted, eyes sharp with urgency. "How do we find something compatible?"
I met her gaze. "We need living human or monster flesh. That's what can bond with her."
She hesitated, then asked quietly, "How do we get it? What do you want?"
I paused, weighing my words."Do you want Ember to live like a normal human? Or do you want her to gain some ability—something to help her survive in this new world?"
The rooftop hummed with distant city sounds, but the weight of the question pressed down on us all.
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The scene shifted to an unknown and unfamiliar place. The landscape was barren and harsh—vast stretches of cracked stone and dark earth stretched endlessly. There were no trees, no greenery—only a heavy, dark air that felt thick and oppressive. This place was not Earth; it was something alien and foreboding.
As the view widened, a large settlement came into focus. Towering, strange structures rose from the ground, their shapes unlike anything familiar. Around these structures moved tall humans—some standing six to nine feet tall. Even the infants had wings, but these wings were stark and unsettling: two large, membranous appendages without feathers, resembling discarded flyers or tattered sails.
The language they spoke was harsh and unfamiliar, echoing through the strange environment. Their way of life was equally bizarre. Their houses were inverted—entrances located beneath the main structure, opening downward into the dark earth below. This upside-down architecture was the norm here, creating a surreal village where gravity seemed defied.
Windows punctuated the upper parts of the houses, offering glimpses of the strange world beyond. From beneath the ground, hot air and smoke rose in swirling currents, filling the atmosphere with a fiery breath. Large monstrous creatures roamed among the inhabitants, their bodies marked with vivid red patterns. These beasts breathed fire, adding to the dangerous and otherworldly nature of the environment.
This place was a harsh, fiery realm where survival demanded strength, adaptation, and resilience beyond anything known before. The air itself seemed alive, rising from the depths below, carrying with it the heat and fury of this alien world.
Above this unsettling landscape, a particular scene unfolded in the smoky sky. A boy with small, delicate wings struggled desperately, held captive by several others of their kind. They gripped his wings firmly from both sides, pulling him back and forth with cruel force.
The boy fought to free himself, reaching out with trembling hands, but their hold was relentless. His hair was light dark, almost ethereal, and his eyes a blurry shade of gray, reflecting fear and desperation. The bullies spoke harsh words in their native tongue—unintelligible to outsiders—but the threat was unmistakable.
"Your father is going outside the TRSJ area crack to research. Who knows, your father might already be dead. You have no mother, and you are the weakest one on our whole planet. I don't understand how Jukia, a human like you, can be so weak when we are from the same race. Even a Darcon is stronger than you."
Their words cut deep as they continued to bully the boy relentlessly.
Suddenly, a group flew down from above, their wings beating steadily against the smoky air.
"Hey, Kairo, and the rest—don't do something childish. You're already 21, so why are you behaving like 15-year-olds?" one called out, voice firm but calm.
One of the bullies sneered, "Uncle Dain, we are not bullying him. It's just a punishment for being weak. I don't think Uncle is going to stop us."
Another voice, calmer and more authoritative, interrupted, "Oh no, I'm just saying—behave like adults. It's strange that our world is connected with another world. For now, don't act recklessly."
With that, the newcomer turned and flew away, leaving the tense atmosphere hanging in the smoky air.
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The bullies exchanged cruel grins. One sneered,"Let's toss this garbage into the other world. What do you say?" Their laughter was sharp, echoing around Jukia like a cold wind.
Jukia's wings trembled as he struggled, voice barely above a whisper. "Please... just leave me. I'm nothing to you. No one cares about me." His eyes flickered downward, avoiding their gaze—the weight of hopelessness pressing down on his small frame.
They glanced at him with a mix of disdain and amusement, then began dragging him toward the TRSJ crack. His weak flaps were no match for their grip.
"Don't worry," one said with a cruel smirk.
"We'll carry you there. No one's strong enough to stop us."
As they neared the crack, the air thickened—heavy and suffocating. Jukia's breath hitched, his chest tightening with each ragged inhale.
Why does this keep happening? My father's always away hunting for the clan. My mother... she died because of the clan's king. No one talks about it. She never cared much for me, but she was the only one who saw me as human. Now, after she's gone, it's like I don't exist.
I've tried—everything. But nothing changes. The world feels like it's closing in. I'm so tired. Maybe this is the end. Maybe they'll just throw me away.
The crack loomed ahead, revealing a strange, alien landscape. Jukia squinted against the harsh light that stabbed at his eyes—bright, almost beautiful, but painfully intense. The air burned his lungs, thick and heavy, but the others seemed unfazed.
A cluster of clansmen had gathered around a large pool near the edge. And there—standing tall and silent—was his father.
Jukia's throat tightened. He didn't want to meet his father's eyes, but a desperate part of him longed for recognition, for help. His shoulders sagged, the weight of uselessness settling deeper.
No one noticed them as they crossed the crack. On the other side, the world shifted—an alien environment that clawed at their senses and strength. The air was thick and heavy, unlike anything they had ever breathed.
Jukia's body went limp; he collapsed unconscious before he even hit the ground. Around him, others struggled desperately to maintain control. Wings flapped erratically, but the strange atmosphere robbed them of balance. One by one, they lost stability, crashing hard onto the barren land.
Groans and gasps filled the air as they lay sprawled, faces pale and eyes fluttering. The oppressive environment weighed on them, sapping their strength and will.
A weak voice broke the silence—Jukia's, barely audible, trembling with fear and confusion."Ahh... what's happening? This... this is strange. I don't know what to do... I think... I'm going to die today."
From somewhere in the distance, faint sounds echoed—unfamiliar and haunting.
In his fading consciousness, a desperate thought flickered through Jukia's mind: If I survive this... I'll leave them all behind. Start over. New life. New name.
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The village lay quiet, untouched by time. Four years had passed, yet it looked much the same as in 2026—simple, unchanged, almost frozen in place. Narrow dirt paths wound through clusters of trees, their leaves whispering softly in the morning breeze.
A man, around 48, though his frame was thin and his face marked by years of hard work, pedaled steadily on his bicycle down the dusty lane. His clothes were worn but clean, and a gentle smile softened his weathered features. The familiar creak of the bicycle blended with the morning sounds of the village.
As he passed his home, his wife stood by the doorway, carefully sliding the iron gate closed behind her. The gate's latticework cast long shadows on the ground. She moved slowly, her face lined with fatigue, yet her eyes held a quiet resilience. Neither spoke, their routine a silent acknowledgment of the strange times they lived in.
The man continued on to his shop, a small building with a metal shutter door. He dismounted and pulled the shutter up with practiced ease, revealing shelves lined with everyday goods. He began arranging items meticulously, his movements steady and methodical.
Once the shop was ready, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the news. His kind eyes softened as he watched a video of children playing in a distant city, but the smile faded as headlines flashed warnings of environmental chaos and growing dangers worldwide.
Outside, the sky darkened unexpectedly. A jagged crack appeared silently across the clouds—no sound, just an eerie stillness. Villagers stopped in their tracks, eyes wide with alarm. Some scrambled toward their homes, others raised phones to capture the unsettling sight.
The man's gaze lingered on the crack, concern deepening in his eyes. The world was changing, and even here, in this quiet village, nothing would remain the same.
As the camera shifted back toward the crack, a figure came into view—standing motionless close to the jagged opening. The person was clad in a strange suit, unlike anything seen before. The armor seemed crafted from a fusion of organic and technological materials, resembling the sinewy texture of a monster's body intertwined with sleek, high-tech plating that gleamed faintly under the dim light.
The suit pulsed subtly, as if alive, its surface shifting with an eerie rhythm. The figure's posture was calm but commanding, exuding an aura of power and mystery.
The camera zoomed out slowly, the tension building with each inch. The figure was not alone. Nearby, a group of similarly clad individuals stood—each suit unique yet sharing the same unsettling blend of beast and machine.
The environment around them was ambiguous—at first glance, it resembled Earth's forests, but the air felt charged with an otherworldly energy. The fractured sky cast strange shadows over the gathering.
This place could be Earth, or perhaps a world caught between realities—distinct from Jukia's world but connected by the mysterious crack.
The scene lingered on the group, the weight of their presence heavy in the air, hinting at the looming convergence of worlds.
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