The sky above Manila had never seen a perfectly symmetrical lightning bolt until today.
It split the atmosphere with a clean, vertical line, like a divine editor hit backspace on reality. And down below, on the roof of a convenience store in Quezon City, Amihan Reyes held a half-eaten fishball skewer and muttered, "That can't be good."
A gust of wind tugged at her hoodie though there wasn't supposed to be wind. The air felt like an app crashing in the middle of a system update. Data, dust, and destiny were all glitching.
She dropped her fishball.
"Hoy!" she scolded the air, as if it personally offended her. The wind blew again, harder this time, and her tsinelas slapped against the concrete as she stumbled backwards. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but when she checked, every app was frozen. Her lock screen flickered like static on a CRT TV.
Then, a voice—not external, but within her head.
"Cultural vessel identified: PHILIPPINES."
"Designation: Stormweaver."
"Reality Surge Imminent."
Amihan squinted at the skyline.
"What do you mean surge? I haven't even passed Calculus."
A bolt of lightning crashed just meters from her, launching her into the air except instead of falling, she floated. Slowly. Like gravity had decided to take a smoke break.
.
.
.
Six Hours Earlier -- Mexico City, Mexico
Luz Rivera was in a graveyard, which was not unusual for her.
What was unusual was that the marigolds were dancing.
Not just rustling in the wind. No. Dancing. Coordinated. Rhythmic. The petals undulated to a beat only she could hear.
She looked down at her notebook, where she had been writing verses for a tribute poem. The words had rearranged themselves: "She who sees the dead, shall raise the forgotten."
"Oh, heck no," she whispered. "No more horror movies before bed."
Behind her, skeletal shadows flickered between gravestones. Not threatening. Almost... supportive? One of them gave her a thumbs-up.
Then came the voice.
"Cultural vessel identified: MEXICO."
"Designation: Calavera."
"Surge Synchronizing in 5... 4..."
The flowers exploded upward in a burst of golden light. Luz screamed then immediately apologized to the spirits.
.
.
.
In a Dojo in Kyoto, Japan
Kaijin Kitsune was halfway through stealing a ceremonial fan when the statue beside him blinked.
"I wasn't going to keep it," he told the blinking fox spirit. "Just... you know. Study its... emotional value."
The statue blinked again. Then its eyes glowed, and the voice echoed through the hall:
"Cultural anomaly: Detected. Role: Observer. Disruptive influence probability: 97.8%."
Kaijin grinned.
"Yokai love me."
.
.
.
Three days later ... the Bermuda Triangle but floating. Ten humans hovered in stasis, mid-air, surrounded by floating debris, confused seagulls, and a glowing obelisk that was definitely judging them.
A disembodied AI voice pulsed from the obelisk. "Welcome, chosen. You have been summoned to Neutral Point Zero to prevent total collapse of Earth's cultural timeline. Please remain calm as your cognitive alignment stabilizes."
No one remained calm.
0:00:00 – Day One of The Oddity
Amihan landed first. Or rather, was dropped.
She crashed onto a floating piece of tile that looked suspiciously like someone's lost bathroom floor. It spun in mid-air as she scrambled to her feet.
"What the—where am I?! Is this... am I on hold with the afterlife?!"
Then another person was flung into existence beside her. A boy with fire-patterned sleeves and a mate gourd clutched protectively to his chest.
"¿Dónde estoy?!" he yelled, already defensive.
"You tell me, mate guy!" Amihan snapped.
"Mateo," he said. "Argentina."
"Cool. I'm Amihan. Philippines. We're... what, in a flying... thing?"
A third person landed with surprising elegance: a girl in a red dress, eyes already glowing.
"Luz," she said calmly. "Mexico. I think we're inside a glitch."
"Of course you're calm," Amihan muttered. "You're dressed like an apocalypse diva."
More arrivals followed:
A British girl who appeared with a cup of tea already in hand.
A guy in a hoodie made from programmable LED panels.
A large, glowing eagle that turned out to be a dude from Indonesia.
An Indian girl chanting Sanskrit and levitating with her eyes closed.
A Canadian boy holding a snow globe, whispering, "Sorry," just for existing.
A Spanish woman riding what could only be described as a ghost-bull.
And finally, Rami from Algeria, who arrived walking on air like he'd been there the whole time and simply decided to participate now.
The Meeting
They stared at each other, floating in an undefined skyspace, occasional fragments of landmarks blinking into view—Big Ben, a Mayan temple, a jeepney, an obelisk made entirely of QR codes.
"Okay," said Amihan. "So this is a multiverse orientation. And we're...?"
"The cultural vessels," Luz said, deadpan. "Chosen by the Atlas Engine."
"Is that the floating soap dispenser?" Jax (the American) asked, pointing at the obelisk.
"Looks more like a social credit scanner," Ellie (UK) replied, sipping her tea.
"Why us?" Adi asked, his flames fluttering gently. "Surely there are monks more qualified."
The obelisk lit up again.
"Chosen for optimal cultural variance and peak personality instability. Compatibility with chaos: 97%."
There was a pause.
"You mean we were picked because we're weird?" Mateo asked.
"Affirmative."
Everyone started yelling.
The obelisk spun, revealing a shimmering map.
"Your first task: Stop a timeline merger in Paris. The Louvre is currently absorbing Egyptian time relics at a rate of 0.6 seconds per hour. Reality tear projected in 12 hours."
"I'm sorry, what?!" Amihan shouted. "We just got here!"
"I haven't even unpacked," muttered Noah.
"I didn't pack," said Ellie.
The obelisk chimed again.
"Teleportation commencing. Hold onto your cultural anchors."
They looked around, confused.
"What's a cultural anchor—"
WHOOSH.
Ten streaks of light shot across the sky.
One voice trailed behind:
"I SWEAR IF I LOSE MY TSINELAS—"