Voice of the World.
It is the natural harmonic consciousness of the planet—a phenomenon created by the combined emotional frequencies of every living being.
When it first responded to human thought, civilization began to build around it.
A world where a skill could become more than simple.
With enough effort, of course.
That is why the tone of Mr. Garrison's voice was a reliable cure for his insomnia.
"And so, as you can see, the basic harmonic wave is the foundation of all Resonance..."
Lucas was barely listening, his chin propped up on his hand.
Resonance Physics.
What was the point?
He glanced down at the simple, black band on his wrist.
It read [ARTISTIC RESONANCE: 250].
A standardized wrist device worn by every citizen starting from childhood, it measures and displays a person's Resonance Synchronization Index or RSI for short.
An overall reading that indicates that he is a stage 2 artist.
Lucas sighed softly, his mind thinking about the things that happened to him which made the reading in his band possible.
He let his gaze drift from the complex equations on the smartboard to the window, watching the dust motes dance in the afternoon sunbeam.
The teacher's voice faded.
His mind... drifted.
The image of the dusty classroom vanished.
Suddenly, Lucas was somewhere else. Sunlight streamed through a large studio window.
He could feel the rough, dusty texture of a charcoal pencil held loosely in his fingers, the satisfying scratch it made on thick paper.
Lucas felt a quiet, focused joy, a simple contentment that was as warm as the sun on his back.
He looked down at the drawing taking shape—the intricate scales and feathered wings of a dragon—and felt a swell of pride.
The memory was so vivid, so real, that he almost didn't notice the one thing that was wrong with it: it wasn't his.
Lucas was terrible at drawing.
His Artistic Resonance track had always specialized in writing song lyrics and stories, not illustration.
He couldn't even manage a decent-looking stick figure.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Mr. Hayes. Am I boring you?"
Lucas snapped back to reality.
The studio vanished.
He was back in the classroom, the faint, phantom feeling of charcoal dust still on his fingertips.
Mr. Garrison was staring at him, his patience clearly thin.
"Uh, no, sir," Lucas mumbled, his face flushing. "Sorry. Just... processing the wave theory."
A few of his classmates snickered at his answer.
Mr. Garrison sighed and turned back to the board. "As I was saying..."
Lucas let out a shaky breath, his heart hammering.
That was the third time this week. A crystal-clear memory of something he'd never done.
He felt... losing focus, like his own signal was being hijacked by a ghost.
Counting by how often the overlapping memory hit him, Lucas was pretty sure he was going crazy.
**~~**
The final bell was a relief.
Lucas walked out of Royal Woods Academy, his hoodie pulled up, trying to block out the world.
His mind was still replaying that impossible memory of drawing a dragon.
'Am I just losing focus?' he thought.
'Or am I just going crazy?'.
He was so lost in thought about his "memory" that he almost missed the greeting.
"Yo, Hayes! Heads up!"
He looked up just in time to see a soccer ball arc over his head, curving at an impossible, physics-defying angle.
It bounced off a street sign and flew into the yard of the house next to his—the Loud House.
"Whoops," Lynn Loud Jr. said, jogging up to him.
She didn't even bother with the gate.
In one smooth, effortless motion, she leaped, planting a hand on the six-foot-tall wooden fence and vaulting over it.
She landed with a soft thud, grabbed the ball, and jumped back over just as easily.
It was a casual display of Kinetic Resonance that would have earned a top score in the Applied Resonance Practicum.
She stopped in front of him, bouncing the ball on her knee.
"So, uh, you looked pretty distracted in Physics class today," she said, not quite meeting his eyes.
"You're not... moping, are you? I hate moping."
Lucas was barely listening. He was just staring. He'd always known the Louds were weird... their house was pure chaos. He'd known them since he was a kid... hadn't he?
As he tried to grasp the thought, his vision flickered, like an TV on a bad connection.
The sunny afternoon vanished, replaced by a flash of cold and gray.
It was raining hard.
A much younger Lynn Loud was on the ground, her soccer uniform covered in mud, and she was crying.
Lucas felt his own, smaller hand reach out and take hers. He felt a surge of quiet, protective comfort that wasn't his.
The vision shifted, and he was back in the present, standing in front of the older Lynn Loud.
He let out a shaky breath.
"Anyway," Lynn Loud said, bouncing the ball faster, clearly trying to cover her own awkwardness.
She had been trying to find a reason to talk to him all day, and this was her best shot.
"Mom's making her 'Loud Load' burgers tonight. We're having a backyard party. You should... y'know, come over.". She punched him lightly on the shoulder, a bit harder than she probably meant to.
"If you're not busy being weird or whatever."
But Lucas just stared, rubbing his shoulder.
It wasn't the impossible jump that had made him freeze.
It was her face.
The brown ponytail.
The aggressive, sporty energy.
He was suddenly seeing her not just as his weird neighbor, but as... "Lynn Loud Jr."
'No way,' his mind whispered. 'She looks... she looks exactly like the character from that old cartoon, The Loud House.'
His brain scrambled to make sense of it.
It was impossible.
But here she was... older, his age. And real. And... he couldn't help but notice... 'way prettier than the cartoon'.
"Uh... Hayes?" Lynn's voice snapped him out of it.
She looked annoyed, but he could see a faint blush on her cheeks. "You in there? Party. Tonight. Got it?"
"Oh. Uh, yeah. Loud House. Got it. Thanks, Lynn," he said, backing away slowly.
Lucas' mind was a complete static buzz.
'It's happening again.'
The headache that hurts like hell and is messing with his head.
Lucas took a deep breath as he gazed at Lynn, he had to get home. He had to check something. Right now.