Damien Hayes was halfway through wiping a table when he realized something was wrong.
Not in a dramatic way. No alarms. No shouting. Just a quiet sense that the rhythm of the room had slipped.
The lunch rush should have ended already. It always did. Instead, the diner felt tighter by the minute. Customers were snapping. Staff were short-tempered. Plates clattered louder than they should have.
"Table seven's still waiting," Chris said as he passed, irritation clear in his voice. "And four's asking for a manager again."
Damien nodded and grabbed the plates.
As he turned, he glanced out the window.
The birds were gone.
Not startled. Not flying off. Gone completely. The power lines were empty. The stray cat that lived near the dumpster wasn't there either.
Damien paused.
Years in the military had taught him one thing well: when small patterns break at the same time, something bigger is coming.
A woman at a nearby booth rubbed her arms. "Is it colder in here?"
"No," her husband said. "You're imagining it."
Damien felt it then.
Pressure.
Not physical, not exactly. More like resistance in the air when he breathed in. His chest felt tight, as if his lungs had to work harder for the same amount of oxygen.
The floor vibrated.
Just barely. A low hum, steady and constant. Glasses on the counter rattled once, then stilled.
Someone laughed nervously. "Did anyone else feel that?"
The air shimmered.
It wasn't heat. It wasn't light. It was like looking through clear water that wasn't there a second ago. The space between objects warped, subtle but undeniable.
Damien froze.
This isn't stress, he thought.
This isn't a panic attack.
People were staring now. Conversations died mid-sentence. A child began to cry. Somewhere in the kitchen, a pan hit the floor and no one reacted.
Then pain hit.
It came from the inside.
Damien dropped the plates as something burned through his chest, sharp and invasive. It felt like hot wires being forced into his body, spreading outward along paths that didn't exist before.
He hit his knees.
All around him, people collapsed. Some screamed. Some went rigid and silent. The pain was indiscriminate—no pattern, no mercy.
Damien clenched his teeth and forced himself to stay conscious.
Breathe.
Don't panic.
Ride it out.
The pressure intensified, then abruptly vanished.
The diner disappeared.
Damien found himself standing in darkness.
Not falling. Standing.
There was no ground, yet he was upright. No air, yet he could breathe. Around him, people appeared—first the diner's patrons and staff, then more. Hundreds. Thousands. Faces from every direction. Strangers. Children. Elderly. Entire crowds forming in silence and confusion.
Then the sky lit up.
The solar system unfolded before them.
The sun burned brighter than any image Damien had ever seen, swollen and unstable. The planets drifted, their orbits distorting as something unseen pushed outward.
No one spoke.
The sun expanded.
Planets collided. Shattered. Melted. The debris spiraled inward, drawn together into a single, glowing mass.
Time stopped meaning anything.
The light faded.
Where Earth had been, something new formed.
A planet far larger than before, its surface alive with unfamiliar landmasses and glowing veins that traced across continents. A massive moon settled into orbit beside it, equally altered.
Damien felt it then.
A presence.
Not a voice. Not a being.
An awareness pressing evenly against every mind at once.
You are alive.
The thought did not echo. It simply existed.
You have not been harmed.
A pause.
You have been moved.
Images followed—land reshaping, oceans stabilizing, forests erupting into existence at impossible speed.
The world you knew has ended.
This world is now Rhyldar.
Mana flows freely here.
It is part of the environment.
It is part of you.
No comfort followed. No reassurance.
You will adapt.
Or you will perish.
The presence withdrew.
The darkness collapsed.
Damien slammed into solid ground.
Air tore into his lungs, cold and sharp. He gasped as another wave of pain surged through him—shorter this time, focused, like something settling into place.
Then it stopped.
He lay on damp soil, heart hammering.
Above him stretched a forest unlike anything he had seen. Trees rose hundreds of feet into the air, their bark faintly luminescent. Leaves shifted without wind. The air hummed softly, charged.
Around him, people cried, shouted, or stared in silence.
Damien pushed himself to his feet.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't temporary.
Whatever Genesis was, it was over.
And whatever came next would not wait for them to understand it.
Somewhere deeper in the forest, something moved.
Damien clenched his fists and scanned the trees.
Survive first, he thought.
Questions later.
The new world did not care if they were ready.