The floor of the Great Palace in Paradox City was a masterpiece of polished obsidian, but to Jamil bin Abdullah, it felt like a cage.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
The sound of his boots echoed through the cavernous hall, a rhythmic intrusion into the heavy silence of the night. Jamil was a man built like a fortress—six feet three inches of raw muscle, skin as pale as marble, and a thick, dark beard that commanded respect. As the King of the Mizan World, he was a man who held the fate of millions in his palm, yet tonight, his own hand was trembling.
He stopped at the center of the hall. The room was one of a hundred in the palace, each representing one of the one hundred circular zones of Paradox City. Outside, the city spiraled outward in massive concentric rings; Zone 1 sat at the heart, a perfect circle spanning 10 kilometers, while the subsequent zones wrapped around it like the ripples of a stone
dropped in a dark pond.
"Yakoob," Jamil's voice boomed, deep and heavy, vibrating through the stone walls.
Moments later, a man appeared from the direction of the Room of the 55th Zone. Yakoob, the King's dream interpreter and scholar, looked every bit the man of knowledge he was—forty-five years old with light brown skin, piercing blue eyes, and hair a mess of black curls. He had been deep in the ancient histories of Mizan, but the urgency in the King's ,
voice had pulled him away instantly.
"You summoned me, my Liege?" Yakoob said.
"The dream, Yakoob," Jamil said, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. "Are you certain? Will it truly come to pass".
Yakoob sighed softly, his expression grave. "The signs are written in the stars, Maharaj. But the exact moment... that remains hidden in the veil".
The King's legs nearly gave way. He began to shake, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Yakoob reached out, concerned. "My King, are you alright?".
"I... I need air," Jamil stammered, waving him away. "Go back to your studies. I must go to the roof. The walls are closing in on me".
Jamil ascended to the palace roof, stepping out into the cool night air. It was 9:45 PM. Below him, Paradox City was a shimmering sea of neon and glass—soaring skyscrapers that seemed to pierce the very clouds. But Jamil didn't look at his kingdom. He looked up.
High above the Apex Solar System, the void was screaming. Thousands of stones—vibrant, terrifying, and ancient—were tearing through the vacuum of space toward Mizan World. There were stones of volcano red that pulled others toward them like magnets; stones of transparent glass that blinked in and out of existence; and a golden-yellow stone that pulsed, shrinking to the size of a grain of sand before expanding to the size of a mountain.
A dark pink stone, no larger than a finger ring, zipped between them like a frantic insect.
Suddenly, the sky didn't just darken; it broke.
A thunderous crack shattered the silence of the night. Jamil watched in horror as the sky itself seemed to part like a wound—a celestial chest opening to receive the falling stars. The clouds turned a bruised, violent red, illuminating the entire city in a bloody hue.
"Plan B," Jamil barked as Yakoob rushed onto the roof, both men paralyzed by the sight of the heavens opening. "Yakoob, activate Plan B. Now!".
five kilometers away, on a balcony overlooking the neon sprawl, Aziz exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke.
At thirty-three, Aziz was the King's manager—a man who had climbed from poverty through sheer, grinding will. He looked at the luxury around him and felt only bitterness. Why do they have it all? he wondered, thinking of the elites. Are they better? Or is the universe just unfair?.
His thoughts were cut short. An invisible force suddenly seized him, yanking him off his feet. Aziz lunged for the iron railing of his balcony, his knuckles turning white as he screamed for help. But the force was absolute. His grip failed, and he was launched into the sky, spinning through the clouds until he saw the impossible: the sky opening its chest.
From that celestial rift, the stones poured in. One, a glowing volcano red, locked onto him. Before Aziz could scream again, the stone slammed into his left eye. There was no blood, only a surge of heat. When he opened his eye, the world was tinted red. He wasn't falling anymore. He was hovering.
In Zone 51, Gully 23, the world was much smaller. Mizan, twenty-five years old but with the soul of a teenager, was hunched over his gaming console. His room was a chaotic mess of discarded clothes and old photos.
"Mizan! Dinner is ready!" his mother, Rukaiya, called from downstairs.
"In a minute, Ma!" Mizan yelled back, eyes locked on the screen. "I've been playing for four hours to beat this guy... you're dead today, you're definitely dead!".
A heavy thud shook the ceiling.
Dham. Dim. Dham..
Mizan froze. The sound was too heavy for a person. "Who's there?" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear. No answer. The thuds grew louder, more violent, until the ceiling began to splinter.
He backed away toward the east side of his room, watching in terror as a five-foot crack appeared in the plaster. With a final roar of collapsing timber, the ceiling gave way. Through the dust, a golden-yellow stone descended.
It was beautiful. It pulsed with light, shrinking and growing before his very eyes. Mesmerized, Mizan reached out a hand. The stone danced away, dodging him, until suddenly, it lunged. It flew straight into Mizan's open mouth and disappeared down his throat.
"Did I... did I just eat a that stone ".
Mizan stared at the object that had shattered his sanctuary. It was a golden-yellow stone, jagged and pulsing with a light that didn't belong to this world. It hovered in the center of the dust-filled room, mocking the laws of physics. One moment it was as small as a grain of mustard, and the next, it swelled into a massive, heavy boulder that seemed to warp the air around it.
Mesmerized, Mizan reached out. He didn't know why; perhaps it was the gamer in him, reaching for a legendary item, or perhaps the stone was calling to his very blood.
"Come here..." he whispered, his hand trembling as he reached for the glow.
The stone didn't just move; it danced.
It darted left, then right, playing with him like a predator. Then, in a blur of golden light, it lunged. Mizan didn't even have time to scream before the cold, hard weight of the stone forced itself into his mouth and slid down his throat.
The silence that followed was deafening. Mizan clutched his stomach, his eyes wide with horror. "Did I... did I just eat that thing?".
Then, the world tilted.
His feet left the splintered floorboards. A gasp escaped his lungs as he drifted upward, his body suddenly weightless as a feather. "What is happening? Ammu! Abbu! Help me!". He was four feet in the air, flailing his arms like a drowning man in an ocean of empty space.
But the stone wasn't finished.
Just as quickly as gravity had vanished, it returned with a vengeance.
His body became like lead, slamming him down onto the floor with bone-breaking force. Dhopash! The impact rattled his teeth. But before he could crawl away, he was yanked upward again, his head nearly striking the ceiling, only to be dropped once more.
Up. Down. Weightless. Crushing.
On the final drop, his temple struck the edge of his fallen bedframe. The world splintered into sparks of gold and then faded into a cold, dark void. As Mizan lay unconscious amidst the wreckage of Zone 51, the golden light beneath his skin began to settle, claiming him as its own.