The highway was quiet the way only highways get late at night. Rain tapped a soft rhythm against the windshield.
Inside the car, the radio hummed a low, late-night talk show. Eryn's father kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift.
In the back seat, five-year-old Eryn leaned his forehead against the cool glass, fighting sleep. Streetlights streaked past his half-lidded eyes.
His mother turned, a faint smile on her lips as she glanced back at him.
"You're almost out," she said softly.
Eryn mumbled something into his toy, his fingers curled tight around it. He didn't want to sleep yet. He wanted to stay awake until home, even though his head kept tipping forward on its own.
The rain suddenly thickened.
His father frowned, adjusting the wipers as the road dipped into a darker stretch. The city lights thinned out behind them.
That was when the air changed.
It wasn't obvious—just a pressure that made Eryn's father straighten, his grip tightening on the wheel. The radio crackled once and died.
"Dear, what happened to the radio?" Eryn's mother asked.
Before he could answer, the headlights bent.
Literally.
The beams warped sideways, pulled toward a tear in the road—a cut in reality itself, stretching wide. His father cursed under his breath and hit the brakes.
Eryn lifted his head.
"Malek, we should… go back," Sophie said, her voice alarmed.
Malek nodded, shifting to reverse—then froze.
Something stood ahead of them.
It wasn't solid. Its outline shimmered like a heat haze, tall and distorted. Raindrops warped as they fell through the space around it.
"What the hell is that—" Malek began. He honked, as if it might move.
It did.
But—
The world suddenly lurched violently sideways.
Metal shrieked as the car slammed into the guardrail. Glass exploded inward. The vehicle spun, tires screaming.
Eryn screamed too, the seatbelt biting into his small frame, the impact taking the air from his lungs.
Then, the care stopped, followed by a sharp ring in the boy's ears.
Then, the smell of gasoline came in.
"Are you hurt?" His mother's voice was sharp with panic. Blood traced a line down her temple. Her hands gripped his shoulders.
Eryn sucked in a ragged breath. A gash streamed blood down his right arm. "It hurts."
The front of the car was crumpled inward. His father was slumped over the steering wheel, utterly still.
"Malek?"
Sophie shook him. Once. Twice.
But, it was futile. He was gone.
A low, distorted sound echoed from the road.
Sophie's gaze snapped toward the shimmering tear still hovering ahead. She knew she had to get her child out of here as fast as she could.
"Out," she said, her voice shaking but clear. "We need to get out."
She struggled with her seatbelt, finally unbuckling it with a yell. She unbuckled Eryn, dragging him across the seat as she shoved the door open with her shoulder. The metal groaned in protest, just enough for to squeeze the both of them out.
The moment her foot touched the ground, her leg buckled. She cried out but didn't fall.
She hauled Eryn away from the wreck, limping badly. He clutched her coat, sobbing, his ears still ringing.
Behind them, fuel pooled beneath the car, creeping toward the sparks.
Sophie's legs finally gave out. She collapsed, pulling Eryn down with her. She saw the fuel. She measured the distance they'd made—and saw how little it might matter.
She wrapped herself around him, arms locking tight. Her hands came up to cover his ears, pressing his face into her chest.
"Don't listen," she whispered urgently. "Okay? You will be fine."
He tried to look up, confused, terrified, but she held him firm.
"I've got you."
The explosion came a heartbeat later.
Heat and sound tore the night apart. The shockwave slammed into them, a roar of fire and debris.
For the boy, the world vanished into blinding white.
But it didn't end.
…
…
…
Fifteen years later
Southwest Detroit
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Eryn's alarm shuddered on the nightstand.
He groaned, rolled over, and slapped it silent.
Morning light cut through the blinds, lighting up the familiar cracks in the ceiling—cracks he'd counted more times than he cared to remember.
He lay still for a moment, chest tight with the usual, unexplained weight.
Then he swung his legs out and stood.
He didn't even remember why he'd set the alarm so early.
Then it hit him.
The interview.
And he hadn't even showered.
"Of course," he muttered, stumbling toward the bathroom.
Another job interview. He wasn't Awakened, so chances were slim. But maybe this one would be it.
Nothing had been simple since the incident that took his father. His mother had survived, but she'd never walked without a limp again.
…
Eryn stepped onto the street, buttoning his suit. The neighborhood hummed with its usual rhythm—a mix of dealers, touts, and people just trying to get by.
"Aye, what's up, my man," a voice called from the corner.
"Tryna fly again, brother. Hehe," Eryn replied without turning.
"Eryn! Another interview, sugar?" Sandra leaned against a brick wall, smiling as he passed.
"Yeah. Wish me luck," he said, straightening his tie.
A few more greetings followed. He was known here. The clean-blooded kid still trying to be the "good guy." They respected it, even if they didn't get it. They'd pull him into their world in a flash if he let them.
But that wasn't his path.
He was mentally calculating his transportation fee when a red car with tinted windows rolled up beside him.
The window slid down, revealing a familiar face, with dreads. "Where you heading, Eryn? Another interview?"
Eryn didn't answer. He just opened the passenger door and slid in. "Perfect timing, Zack."
Zack scoffed, shaking his head as he pulled back into the road. "So? Where to?"
"DIA."
"Ayy, hold up. The hell you goin' to the museum for?" Zack asked, glancing sideways. "What—you plan to find a stick from the sixteen-hundreds, say it belonged to Cadavare or some shit, and call it easy money? Don't tell me you're interviewing for security. Or cleaning. That ain't your field, brother. That ain't you."
Eryn listened with half-lidded eyes, like he was drifting toward sleep. Zack wasn't wrong. It was a security gig.
Zack glanced over. "Yo, you hearin' me at all?"
"Yeah. All ears," Eryn replied flatly.
Zack sighed. "Look, man. I know you don't want what we got. But the world's changed, blood. Sixteen years ago, if someone told me monsters would be walkin' around because of some 'prophecy,' I'd have laughed. Now? We're livin' in it."
"Where you going with this?" Eryn turned, skeptical.
"I'm sayin' you gotta change with the times. These morals you clutchin'? That's the past. Now, if you ain't Awakened or some rich bastard, you're nothing. Trash. Wake up, bro. You enjoy how you and your mama struggle? Hell no. I'm not tellin' tales—you already know this. I'm just remindin' you."
Eryn looked down. A lump hardened in his throat; his fists tightened.
"You're killin' yourself. I never wanted this route either—but reality don't care. There's no savior comin'. No miracle. No help. When you sink, nobody pulls you out. See me as your brother, Eryn. Your old man's gone. Your mom can barely move. You carryin' too much already."
Eryn stayed quiet through it all.
The museum fence came into view. Finally, he spoke. "We're close."
Zack stared, mouth slightly open—then he let out a sharp and short laugh. "Alright, man. Your life. I just hope there's a heaven for people like you."
The car stopped at the gates. Eryn thanked him and stepped out.
"Ayy!" Zack called.
Eryn turned. "What?"
"If things don't go right—don't walk out empty-handed. Don't stay safe. Stay smart," Zack said before zooming off.
Eryn shook his head and went inside.
He met the head of security, who told him to wait. They were "handling some things."
Minutes turned into hours. Evening shadows stretched across the floor before he noticed.
He had no choice but to wait. He needed this.
In the end, the interview never happened.
After hours of stillness, someone told him the position was canceled. Administrative restructuring. No apology. No reschedule.
Eryn swallowed, nodded and forced a thin smile. "Thank you."
It was fully dark when he left.
He walked slowly past the loading docks, eyes shimmering, throat tight.
He was close to breaking when a worker flagged him down.
"Hey, you mind giving us a hand? Short-staffed tonight. Just moving a few sealed crates."
Eryn hesitated, then nodded.
The first two trips were fine. On the third, the crate slipped.
The lid cracked open. A small artifact tumbled out, clinking against the concrete.
It was a black sigil, frozen mid-twirl on a stand.
He reached for it on instinct.
Then Zack's voice echoed in his mind.
Don't come out empty-handed.
His breath hitched. He shut his eyes, slipped it into his suit pocket.
Maybe I could sell it. Maybe it's worth something. Maybe—
"No. No," he muttered, pulling it back out and returning it to the crate. "I'm not a thief."
But something held his gaze. Like it was calling to him.
The runes on the stand drew him in—and for reasons he couldn't explain, he could… read them.
His hand moved on its own, tracing the metal as he whispered the words.
"Once more, the era… shall return… Darkness…"
The moment his fingers brushed the stand, something surged through him. Like something finally setting in place.
The artifact crumbled to ash.
He stumbled back. "Oh my—no, no, no. What did I do?"
"Hey! Wrap it up. We're locking up. That's the last one," someone called.
Eryn rushed over, shoved the lid closed. "A-alright," he managed, heart hammering, sweat beading on his skin.
Please, let no one have seen.
He walked home on unsteady legs, half-expecting a shout or a pointing finger, saying That's him.
He opened the door to find his mother in the living room, watching TV.
She didn't turn.
She hadn't heard him. Fifteen years ago, the explosion took her hearing.
He cleaned his face, forced a smile, and stepped into her sight.
"I'm back," he signed.
Her face brightened. "How did it go? Any luck?" she signed back.
Eryn hesitated, then shook his head.
She stood up and stepped closer, cupped his cheeks and lifted his face gently.
"It'll be fine. Keep trying. Life is harsh—but good times will come," she signed.
Eryn swallowed hard and pulled her into a hug. "I love you, Mom," he whispered into her shoulder. If only she could hear it
He helped her to her room, then collapsed onto his own bed, staring at the familiar cracks above.
He didn't even have time to think—
Before a voice echoed inside his head, and something flickered into view before his eyes.
[Compatibility Confirmed!]
[Syncing With Host]