The school roof was off-limits, which is why they loved it.
Arin lay flat on the cold concrete, hands behind his head, eyes pinned to the stars. The city slept below them—lights flickering, dogs barking in the distance, humanity blissfully unaware of how small it was.
Beside him, Kian adjusted the cheap telescope they'd borrowed from the physics lab and never returned.
"Saturn should be visible tonight," Kian said, excitement creeping into his voice. "If the clouds don't screw us."
"They always do," Arin replied calmly. "That's the universe's sense of humor."
Kian laughed. "You're impossible."
They'd been like this for years. Two nobodies in a school that celebrated athletes and bullies, hiding from the noise by looking up. While others dreamed of money or fame, they argued about dark energy, entropy, and whether the universe was expanding into something—or nothing.
Arin believed in order. Invisible forces holding everything together.
Kian believed in chaos. Collisions. Corrections.
"The universe isn't kind," Kian said suddenly. "It wipes mistakes clean."
Arin turned his head slightly. "Or it keeps them alive longer than they deserve."
Kian smirked. "You always defend humanity."
"Someone has to."
Before Kian could reply, the air changed.
Not a sound. A pressure—like the sky holding its breath.
Then it happened.
A streak of white tore across the stars.
"No way…" Kian whispered, scrambling upright.
Another followed.
Parallel. Violent. Brilliant.
Two comets.
They weren't falling—they were aiming.
The night exploded into light as the comets split, diverging at impossible angles, burning opposite paths through the atmosphere. The ground trembled. Car alarms screamed awake across the city.
One comet glowed deep violet, its tail bending the light around it.
The other burned pure white, so bright it hurt to look at—like reality tearing itself open.
"Did you see that?!" Kian shouted, adrenaline flooding his voice. "Two of them—Arin, TWO—"
The impact came seconds later.
A shockwave slammed into them, throwing dust into the air, rattling the metal railings. Somewhere far away, glass shattered.
Arin was already on his feet.
"They landed," he said, eyes locked on the horizon. "Close."
Sirens began to howl.
Kian's grin was wild, unhinged. "This is it. This is what we've been waiting for."
Arin looked at him sharply. "This isn't a joke."
"I know," Kian said. "That's why it matters."
They stood there, the city screaming below them, the sky still glowing from the scars the comets had carved.
Then the choice.
Two pillars of light rose from opposite directions.
The violet glow pulled at Arin's chest—heavy, quiet, immense.
The white blaze set Kian's blood on fire.
Kian pointed. "I'll check that one."
Arin grabbed his arm. "Wait. We should stick together."
Kian shook his head, eyes shining. "No. This is bigger than us. You always talk about balance, right? Then balance it."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Kian smiled—the same reckless smile he'd worn his whole life.
"See you on the other side, hero."
He ran.
Arin hesitated only a second… then turned the other way.
The forest was wrong.
Trees bent inward as Arin approached, their shadows stretching unnaturally long despite the comet's soft glow. The violet fragment hovered in a crater, not burning, not moving—just existing, heavy enough that the air itself bowed toward it.
As Arin stepped closer, the ground pressed against his boots.
Gravity intensified.
He fell to one knee, breath knocked from his lungs—not in pain, but in awe.
The fragment pulsed.
Something ancient stirred.
Not a voice. Not words.
A weight settled into him.
He saw cities from above. Crowds moving like fragile patterns. Wars starting from whispers. Humanity pulling itself apart, again and again, held together by nothing but invisible threads.
They need structure.
The thought wasn't his.
But he didn't reject it.
The fragment dissolved into shadow—and sank into his chest.
The forest went silent.
Arin stood.
The world felt… denser.
Far away, sirens faded. The stars looked smaller.
He clenched his fist—and the air bent.
On the other side of the city, Kian didn't kneel.
He laughed.
The white fragment screamed as he approached, matter around it evaporating, the ground glassed smooth. The heat should've killed him.
It didn't.
Energy poured into him like fire through veins.
He saw humanity's greatest weapons. Their experiments. Their arrogance. Worlds burned before they learned.
Errors must be erased.
Kian's smile faltered—not from fear, but understanding.
The fragment collapsed inward—then vanished in a flash that lit the night like a second sun.
When the light faded, the crater was gone.
So was the boy who had run toward it.
By morning, the news would call it a meteor strike.
By next week, the world would feel different.
By the time Arin and Kian met again, they would no longer agree on what needed saving.
Above them, the universe resumed its silence.
But it had already chosen sides.