The glow from the old man's lamp buzzes faintly, throwing long, thin shadows across the street. The rain has slowed, each drop glowing blue as it falls like the sky itself is leaking light.
Ethan, Jay, and Lila stand frozen before the crate. The book sits between them silent now, but alive somehow, its metallic cover rippling with faint fractal patterns.
Jay (half-whisper):
"Okay… weird. Probably just reactive tech. Like one of those emotion sensors from the market."
The old man chuckles a low, broken sound that seems to come from somewhere behind his voice.
Old Man:
"You think this is new tech? Boy, this thing is older than the grid itself. It remembers the world before the circuits sang."
A passing mag-vehicle hums by, spraying a wash of mist. The light from its undercarriage flashes across their faces — and for a split second, Ethan thinks he sees symbols flicker across the book's surface, matching the shapes in the sky above.
Ethan:
"Guys… it's syncing."
Lila:
"With what?"
He doesn't answer. He can't. The hum is inside his chest now, vibrating faintly in his ribs.
The old man leans forward, his one organic eye suddenly sharp and knowing.
Old Man:
"The Earth has started to dream again. And when she dreams… she chooses her messengers."
The book pulses once bright then goes completely still. The sound of the rain fades. Even the air feels held in place, like the city itself is listening.
Jay:
"Okay. Nope. We're leaving. This is giving off major pre-apocalypse energy."
He grabs Ethan's sleeve, tugging him back, but Ethan hesitates his hand hovering just above the book.
Lila (softly):
"Ethan…"
For a heartbeat, his fingertips brush the cover. It feels warm — too warm. The metal moves slightly beneath his skin, as if alive.
Then — a faint whisper. Not in sound, but in thought.
A word that doesn't quite make sense.
A feeling that does.
The old man's smile widens.
Old Man:
"Ah. It knows."
Ethan (startled):
"What did you say?"
Old Man:
"Not me, boy. It spoke to you."
Lila steps forward, but before she can say anything, the old man closes the book with a sharp clap — and the street's sound rushes back all at once. The rain, the hum of cars, the chatter of distant voices — everything alive again.
He slides the book into a worn satchel and looks at them one by one.
Old Man:
"When the time comes, it will find you again. Keep your eyes open — for the signs. They'll start small… in the places you least expect."
And before any of them can reply, a passing transport drone glides between them — and when it's gone, the old man is too.
Only the faint smell of ozone remains.
The three stand in silence.
The neon from the street signs flickers.
Somewhere, far above, the aurora shivers again — faint, but watching.
Jay (quietly):
"Tell me that just happened."
Ethan:
"It happened."
Lila:
"Then… what's coming next?"
Ethan looks up at the sky, where lines of light twist faintly between the clouds, like circuitry forming in the heavens.
Ethan:
"I don't know."
The city hums. The rain falls.
And somewhere in the electric heart of the world — something ancient stirs.
The three of them stand frozen as the old man's final words echo through the mist.
A drone hums past overhead, scattering blue rainlight across their faces.
Jay (backing away):
"Okay, that's it. Guy's lost it. We're outta here."
Lila:
"Yeah. Selling old books and talking about chosen ones? Probably some street prophet. Let's go."
Ethan looks back once — but the old man's corner is empty now.
No crate. No lamp. Just the faint outline of rain drying on the pavement where he'd sat.
A chill runs through him.
Ethan:
"Right… yeah. Mad old guy. Totally."
They start walking faster. None of them speak again until the street splits — one way toward Lila's housing block, the other toward Jay's sector.
They say quick goodbyes, their voices awkward, forced.
And then Ethan's alone.
Ethan walks alone, the city humming faintly beneath neon reflections and blue rain droplets. Vendors are packing up their stalls. Miss Han waves at him from her noodle stand.
Ethan (smiling):
"Evening, Miss Han."
Miss Han:
"Evening, Ethan. Long day?"
Ethan:
"You could say that."
Further down the street, two men unload crates from a freight carrier, nodding as he passes.
Old Worker:
"Back from the Academy, eh? Still training to control the stars?"
Ethan (grinning):
"Not yet, sir. Just trying to pass math."
The street smells of fried food and damp concrete. Children chase a sputtering toy drone. Clothes hang from rails outside apartments, fluttering in the misty rain.
Ethan climbs the stairs of his three-story building, greeting neighbors on each landing:
"Evening, Mrs. Onu."
"Hey, Ethan. How was school?"
By the third floor, he reaches his apartment. The door slides open with a soft hiss, and warm light spills out.
Inside: Home
His aunt Mara looks up from the kitchen counter, a towel over her shoulder.
Aunt Mara:
"There you are! How was school?"
Ethan:
"Long. The new teacher's strict… feels like he's training us for something bigger than exams."
Across the small living room, his two cousins are occupied:
Rin, twelve, immersed in a holographic video game, her visor glowing as her fingers trace mid-air controls.
Tariq, sixteen, scrolling through live streams on his tablet, talking quietly with his dad — Ethan's uncle by marriage, a tall man with gray-streaked hair and a calm voice.
Tariq:
"Dad, the orbital fields glitched again near the upper stratosphere. The Spirit System monitors are lagging."
Cousin's Dad:
"Same every month. The system bends, it doesn't break. They've been patching it since before you were born."
Rin yells at her game. The small apartment fills with overlapping sounds: laughter, the clink of bowls, the hum of the city from outside.
Ethan sets his backpack down, watching the scene. The normalcy is grounding, but something feels slightly off. He glances at his hand — no mark, yet under the light he thinks he sees a flicker of the symbol beneath his skin.
Aunt Mara:
"You okay, Ethan?"
Ethan:
"Yeah… just tired."
She nods, returning to her cooking. The family chatter continues games, streaming discussions, dinner preparations — a comfortable hum against the faint pulse of the city outside.
Ethan sits at the table, the old man's words echoing faintly in his mind:
"When the time comes, it will find you again."
Thunder hums softly over Sector Nine, the city breathing quietly around them, as if aware of the seed of change already planted.