The world, for Raymond, had always been defined by a single, immutable law: gravity. It was the force that pulled the autumn leaves in spiraling, rust-colored descents onto the rain-slicked pavement of Meridian City. It was the weight in his legs as he trudged up the three concrete steps into Meridian High, a fortress of faded red brick and echoing linoleum halls. And today, it was the anchor tied to his soul, pulling him down while everyone else seemed to be learning how to fly.
The day began not with a bang, but with the humid, metallic sigh of a locker door. The air in the hallway was a thick soup of Axe body spray, anxiety, and the ghost of yesterday's cafeteria chili. Raymond slammed the metal door shut, the clang a dull, final sound that echoed his mood. The combination lock, a tarnished bronze thing, felt cold and unyielding under his thumb.
"Your internal monologue is so loud it's giving me a headache," a voice spoke directly into his mind, a smooth, clear tone that resonated not in his ears but in the very center of his consciousness. "And for the record, the serum's placebo. You're just having a bad morning."
Raymond started, banging his elbow against the locker. "Dammit, Iris," he muttered aloud, turning.
She leaned against the lockers a few feet away, a smirk playing on her lips. Her hair, a cascade of chestnut curls, seemed to defy the very gravity that plagued him. She wore a deep emerald green sweater that made her eyes look like sun-dappled forest pools, and her smile was a knowing, intimate thing, a secret shared across the crowded hall.
"You project your thoughts like a megaphone, Ray. 'Gravity,' 'anchor,' 'soul'—very poetic, very dreary." Her voice in his head was laced with affectionate teasing. Aloud, she said, "You look like you just found out the super-soldier serum was a placebo."
"More like I am the placebo," Raymond muttered, hefting his backpack. The strap dug into his shoulder, a familiar, grounding pressure.
"Stop it," she said aloud, her smile softening. She nudged him with her elbow, a physical anchor point in the storm of his thoughts. "Big day today. Scout's coming. Aren't you even a little bit excited? Nerves? Anything?"
"I'm excited to see you and Jayden get your golden tickets," he said, forcing a grin that felt like a crack in dry clay. "I'll be your biggest cheerleader. I've already practiced my pom-pom routine."
Iris's laughter was a sound that could cut through any gloom, a melodic, genuine thing that made a few nearby students turn and smile. "You'd look terrible in a skirt. And it's not a done deal. They're just scouting. Assessing potential."
"Your 'potential' could rearrange a city block with a thought, Iris. Let's not pretend."
It was true. Two months ago, during a physics field trip to the Meridian Dam, their bus had skidded on black ice. As it careened toward the guardrail, Iris hadn't screamed. She had gone perfectly still, her eyes glazing over with a silver sheen. The bus, several tons of steel and glass, had simply… stopped. It hovered an inch from the mangled guardrail, suspended in the air as if held by the hand of a god. The groaning of metal was replaced by an impossible, breathless silence. Then, with the gentle precision of a feather landing, she had settled the bus back onto the asphalt. She had slumped in her seat, a single trickle of blood dripping from her nose, but utterly, incontrovertibly, powerful.
Jayden's awakening had been less public but no less spectacular. A week after the bus incident, a fight had broken out in the school parking lot. It had escalated, and a car was flipped, its gas tank rupturing. Someone had screamed "Fire!" as fuel pooled on the asphalt. Jayden, who had been trying to break up the fight, was caught in the center of it. Instead of running, he had turned toward the spreading pool of gasoline, a look of intense concentration on his face. He hadn't gestured, hadn't chanted. He had simply willed it. With a soft whoomp, the fuel ignited, but the fire did not explode outwards. It coiled around his legs like a pair of affectionate serpents, then spiraled up his arms, dancing between his fingertips in blossoms of orange and blue. He stood, wreathed in living flame, his clothes untouched, his skin radiating a comfortable warmth. The other students had backed away in terror and awe. Jayden had simply closed his hand, and the fire vanished, leaving behind only the smell of ozone and wonder.
Raymond had been in the library for both events. He'd been studying.
"Jayden's meeting us at the gym," Iris said aloud, linking her arm with his and pulling him into the river of students. Her touch was warm, a small comfort against the chill of dread in his bones. "He's already so cocky his thoughts are practically preening. I swear, if he starts calling us 'normies'…"
"He wouldn't."
"He absolutely would, and you know it."
They pushed through the double doors into the gymnasium. The air here was different—drier, tinged with the ancient smells of sweat and varnish. Sunlight streamed in through the high, grimy windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. The bleachers were pulled out, and a small crowd of students, the school's best and brightest—or at least, its most genetically gifted—were clustered near the center court. And there, standing with an insufferable, easy grace, was Jayden.
He saw them and broke into a wide, brilliant smile. Jayden was all sharp angles and confident lines—a jaw that could cut glass, hair the color of polished obsidian that always fell perfectly across his brow. He wore a simple grey t-shirt, but on him, it looked like a uniform. The air around him shimmered with a barely perceptible heat haze.
"There they are! The future and… well, the present," Jayden said, clapping Raymond on the back with a force that was just a little too hearty. A wave of dry, pleasant warmth spread from the point of contact. "Ready to get scouted, Iris? I hear the Hero Organization sends their best. Maybe even Vega himself."
"Don't be an idiot, Jayden," Iris said, but she was smiling. "He's already mentally designing his costume. It's mostly black and red, surprisingly subtle for him."
"Jinx it? My power is pyrokinesis, Iris," Jayden said, holding up his hand. A tiny, perfect flame, no larger than a candle's, ignited on his thumb and danced to the tip of his index finger before winking out. "I don't get jinxed; I incinerate them." He winked at Raymond. "Don't worry, Ray. When we're famous, we'll get you a job. Maybe a sidekick. 'The Human Backpack.' Has a nice ring."
The words were playful, coated in the veneer of a decade of friendship, but they landed on Raymond with the weight of stones. He felt the heat from Jayden's display, a warmth that was not meant for him. He managed a tight smile. "I'll hold you to that. Carrying your spare cape and all."
The chatter in the gym died abruptly. A side door opened, and three figures walked in. They weren't in flamboyant costumes, but their bearing screamed authority. They wore sleek, dark grey uniforms with subtle, silver piping that caught the light. The man and woman at the flanks were clearly security, their eyes scanning the room with a predatory calm. But it was the woman in the center who commanded every ounce of attention.
She was tall and severe, her hair pulled back in a tight silver bun. Her face was a map of disciplined lines, but her eyes were a startling, warm amber. She held a digital tablet in one hand, her posture ramrod straight.
"Students of Meridian High," her voice was clear and resonant, needing no microphone. "I am Evaluator Kendra Vance of the World Hero Organization. Thank you for your attendance. We will begin individual assessments shortly. When your name is called, please proceed to the auxiliary gym."
A hushed, excited whisper rippled through the group. Raymond took an involuntary step backward, melting into the shadow of the bleachers. This was their world, their moment. He was a ghost at the feast.
The assessments began. One by one, names were called. A boy who could phase through solid matter stumbled through the wall of the boys' locker room and back, looking dazed. A girl who could communicate with technology made the scoreboard flash in a chaotic light show. Each one returned with a dazed, ecstatic, or terrified expression.
Then, "Iris Bellamy."
Iris squeezed Raymond's hand, her own slightly damp. "Wish me luck."
"You don't need it," he thought back, as hard as he could, hoping the sentiment would somehow cross the void.
He watched her walk away, her emerald sweater a brave, bright flag in the sterile gym. Jayden was called next, throwing a confident smirk over his shoulder before following.
The wait was an eternity. Raymond stood, his back against the cool cinderblock wall, listening to the muffled sounds from the other room. A low, psychic hum that made the fillings in his teeth ache and the fluorescent lights above him flicker erratically—that would be Iris, pushing the limits of her telekinesis. A sudden, intense wave of dry heat that washed over the entire gym, carrying the scent of a summer bonfire and making everyone break out in a sweat—that was definitely Jayden, unleashing his fire.
Finally, the door opened. Iris emerged first, her face flushed with triumphant joy. Her eyes were shining with that faint silver sheen, and she practically vibrated with suppressed energy. Jayden followed, his expression one of cool, collected satisfaction. The air around him still rippled with heat, and Raymond could have sworn he saw a tiny ember glow and die in the pupils of his eyes.
Evaluator Vance stood before the remaining students. Her amber eyes swept over them, and for a heart-stopping second, Raymond thought they lingered on him, tucked away in the shadows. But the gaze moved on.
"Iris Bellamy. Jayden Carter," Vance announced, her voice formal. "The World Hero Organization recognizes your exceptional potential. You have been selected for provisional membership in the Hero Development Program. Congratulations. Your training begins immediately. Please gather your belongings; a transport is waiting."
The small crowd erupted in applause and whoops. Iris was beaming, tears in her eyes. Jayden was accepting back-slaps from the other powered students, a small, controlled flame dancing for a moment on his own palm in celebration.
Raymond felt the world tilt. Immediately. He knew it was a possibility, but hearing the word was like a physical blow. He pushed off the wall, forcing his legs to carry him forward as Iris and Jayden broke from the group and hurried toward him.
"Ray! Can you believe it?" Iris's words tumbled out in an excited rush. "It's really happening! They have a dormitory, and trainers, and… it's everything!" "I can't believe it! It's so real!" Her telepathic voice was a joyous shout in his mind, overwhelming his own thoughts.
"Told you," Jayden said, his grin wide. The residual heat from his body was palpable. "First stop, the big leagues. Next stop, the Guardians." He looked at Raymond, and for a fleeting moment, his bravado faltered, seeing the stricken look on his friend's face. "Hey. We'll be back. Weekends, probably. It's not… it's not goodbye."
"It's okay," Raymond said, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears, hollow and distant. "I… I knew this was coming." He looked at Iris, at the unadulterated joy in her face and mind, and he couldn't poison it with his own self-pity. He dug deep, scraping the bottom of his soul for a smile, and found one. It was weak, but it was there. "I'm really happy for you. For both of you. You deserve this."
Iris threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He felt not just her physical warmth, but a surge of her empathic joy, a golden, fleeting feeling that made his own heart ache with its intensity. "Thank you, Ray. I'll call you tonight, okay? As soon as I'm settled." "I'll talk to you in your dreams if I have to!"
He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
Jayden offered a fist bump. As Raymond met it, Jayden let a whisper of heat transfer, not enough to burn, but enough to feel like a comforting hearth. "Hold down the fort, man."
And then they were turning away, walking toward Evaluator Vance and the open side door. The other students swarmed them, a cacophony of congratulations and envy. Raymond stood frozen, a statue in a receding tide. He saw Iris glance back once, her expression a mixture of excitement and sudden, heartbreaking sorrow. He felt the faintest echo of her thought, "I'm sorry," before the connection faded like a dying star. She gave a little wave.
Then the door shut behind them with a soft, final click.
The silence they left behind was deafening. The other students began to trickle out, their chatter fading into the hallways. The janitor, an old man named Walter, started mopping the floor, the squeak of the wheels and the slap of the wet mop the only sounds.
Raymond stood there for a long time, until the sunbeams from the high windows had shifted and stretched into long, lazy fingers of gold. The gym was empty now, vast and echoing. The psychic hum was gone, replaced by a void in his mind. The comforting heat had dissipated, leaving only the chill of the institutional air.
He finally moved, his joints stiff. He walked out of the gym, through the deserted halls, and pushed open the main doors. The afternoon had cooled, and a sharp wind had picked up, tearing the last of the brittle leaves from the trees and sending them skittering like skeletal crabs across the pavement. The sky was a flat, hard grey, the color of cooled ashes.
He walked home alone. The five blocks felt like fifty. Every familiar crack in the sidewalk, every barking dog behind a fence, every humming streetlamp seemed to mock him. He was an island in the stream of the city, a fixed point in a universe that was rapidly expanding without him.
He reached his house, a modest two-story with peeling blue paint and a porch swing that creaked in the wind. He fumbled for his keys, his fingers numb with cold. Inside, the house was dark and silent. His mom was still at work. The only sound was the monotonous tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
He dropped his backpack by the door and climbed the stairs to his room. It was a museum of his old life. Posters of famous heroes like Aegis and Vega on the walls, a shelf of science trophies, a framed photo on his desk of him, Iris, and Jayden at the county fair last summer, their faces smeared with cotton candy, arms slung around each other's shoulders without a care in the world.
He picked up the photo. He traced the glass over Iris's laughing face, over Jayden's confident smirk. They were gone. They had crossed a bridge he could never follow, into a world of mind-reading and fire and glory. And he was left here. In the quiet. In the dark. In the silence of his own, un-augmented mind.
He set the photo face down on the desk.
The Divide was no longer an abstract concept. It was a chasm that had opened at his feet, deep and uncrossable. It was the space between his silent room and the distant, gleaming spires of the Hero Organization's citadel, visible from his window like a cluster of accusing fingers pointing toward the sky. It was the space between a mind that could touch others and one that was forever alone; between hands that could cradle flame and hands that could only feel the cold.
He was Raymond, the friend of heroes.
The boy with nothing.
The Zero.
And as the first cold, hard drops of rain began to tap against his window pane, he knew, with a certainty that settled deep into his marrow, that his old life was over. What came next, he couldn't imagine. He just stood there, in the gathering twilight, and let the silence swallow him whole.