The cosmos stretched out in silence—an exhausting, ancient void where light seemed to exist only as a distant memory. There was no sound, no shape, no time that could be measured. And yet, something moved.
From the depths of that darkness, a small flicker of light emerged—trembling, erratic. And despite its glow, it wasn't merely a simple spark. Its light was irregular, faint, like a flame on the verge of going out.
The shape was alive. More than that, it had wings attached to its fragile body—torn, riddled with jagged holes, as if they had been pierced again and again until nothing remained but remnants of what they once were. Every flutter was a desperate effort; every movement, a battle already lost against inevitable collapse.
The creature was fleeing—not from a place, but from something. Something hidden in the depths of the cosmos, beyond light, beyond all understanding. Something that didn't need to be seen to be feared. The moth descended without control, spinning over itself as the glow around it dimmed little by little. It tried to correct its course, forcing its broken wings, as if it could still reach a specific point—an intended destination… but its body no longer responded.
Then, the darkness changed. A thin blue band appeared before it: Earth's atmosphere. As it pierced through, it burned. Air became fire, and the night sky tore open with a fleeting trail, like one meteor among thousands. But this was no natural phenomenon. With the last fragment of consciousness it had left, the moth beat its wings one more time, clinging to an impossible impulse. Its light flickered.
And went out.
Unconscious, defeated, its body fell in a steep dive. Below, a city continued its nightly routine: artificial lights, glowing screens, towering buildings, and millions of lives unaware of what had just arrived. No one looked up. No one stopped. The moth slipped through the urban air unseen and collapsed in the heart of the city.
The screen glowed with saturated colors. A vertical video filled the entire view: a young woman with impeccable beauty, flawless skin, and a practiced smile spoke with exaggerated enthusiasm into the camera. Behind her: warm lights, decorative plants, and a background carefully designed to look "natural."
"Vibes are everything, guys," she said, gesturing lightly with her hands. "If you're surrounded by bad energy, your life is going to stay bad. It's simple. The universe responds to what you project."
Hearts floated endlessly up the screen.
"And enough with the victim mentality," she continued. "Progress is possible if you want it badly enough."
The viewer count climbed. In the comments, hundreds of messages appeared every second.
"Queen!!!"
"Say it louder for the people in the back"
"You're an inspiration"
"That's how you say it"
Amid the digital noise, a few messages managed to push through.
"That makes no sense."
"Not everyone starts from the same place."
"Talking like that is ignorant."
They didn't last long.
"Look," the influencer said, her brow tightening for barely a second before her smile returned, "if you don't like what I say, just keep scrolling. I'm here for the ones who actually want to change their lives."
Her followers finished the job.
"If you don't like it, leave."
"You're probably poor and bitter."
"Work harder and stop crying."
The livestream continued a few seconds longer—unchanged, as if nothing had happened. Then the screen went dark all at once. In the black glass, a young face appeared in reflection: chestnut-brown hair, slightly messy; freckles scattered across his skin; eyes attentive, restless, almost anxious. Nineteen years of expectations packed into a single look.
Aiden lowered the phone slowly. Beyond the apartment window rose the luxury condominiums—modern towers that seemed to never sleep, wide balconies, spotless windows reflecting the sky as if they belonged to another world, one not everyone could access.
That was the place.
"That…" he murmured, barely audible. "That's the goal."
He stared a few seconds longer, unmoving, as if looking hard enough could shorten the distance between them. As if wanting it with the right intensity would be enough to cross that invisible line.
"I'm going to get there," he told himself. "No matter what it takes."
Then the silence was interrupted.
A sharp, precise sound.
Beep.
Aiden turned his head and looked at the digital clock.
"Shit."
The time blinked with cruelty that felt almost personal.
"Late again…"
He grabbed his backpack and rushed out of the apartment. He took the stairs two at a time, crossed the lobby without greeting anyone, and pushed the door out to the street. The city received him without warmth. On the sidewalks, bodies wrapped in cardboard slept beside illuminated buildings. A man screamed at a closed storefront, hurling insults at no one in particular. Farther ahead, two men shoved each other violently while a small group watched from a distance—still, indifferent.
No one intervened.
No one seemed surprised.
Aiden moved through it all with his gaze unfocused, lost in his own thoughts, until something finally pulled him out.
A child.
He sat on the ground, leaned against a dirty wall, holding an empty cup with both hands. He wasn't begging. He wasn't reaching out. He was only watching people pass. Aiden stopped. He walked closer, dug into his pocket, and dropped a few coins into the cup. He hesitated for barely a second… then set his lunch beside him.
"Don't give up," he said, forming an awkward, but honest smile.
The child looked at him, startled. Then he smiled.
Aiden walked away without looking back.
The child kept watching him as he disappeared into the crowd, still smiling… until several figures stopped in front of him. They were teenagers—too focused on what the child held in his hands. There were no words; only the echo of iron as the cup struck the pavement, a dry metallic sound cutting through the city's constant noise.
Aiden paused for an instant.
He turned his head, searching for where the sound had come from. His eyes swept the sidewalk, the crowd, the shifting shapes moving among people. He saw nothing. The city's noise swallowed everything again. Aiden took a slow breath and kept walking, vanishing into the streets, unaware that the metallic echo was all that would remain of his gesture.
When he reached a nearby plaza, the sound changed. It was no longer the city's scattered murmur, but a single voice multiplied by hundreds. A crowd pressed toward an improvised stage: raised signs, waving flags, overlapping shouts. At the center, under white spotlights, a man in a suit spoke with a steady voice, amplified through speakers that distorted every syllable.
He was tall, fair-skinned, with blond hair neatly combed into place. His posture was straight, almost flawless, and his presence commanded attention without needing to shout. When he smiled, it was in a strange way—not wide or exaggerated, but contained, calculated… and yet, reassuring.
Aiden didn't know why, but seeing him made something inside him loosen.
"They abandoned us!" the man shouted. "The ones who swore to protect us turned their backs on us!"
The response was immediate. Applause. Cheers. Raised fists.
"But hope doesn't die!" he continued. "As long as one of us is still standing, this place will not fall!"
Aiden stopped at the edge of the plaza.
"I won't give up," the man proclaimed. "I won't keep watching the place where I was born sink. I'll give my life if I have to!"
The crowd erupted. Aiden watched in silence. He saw exhausted faces, desperate eyes, people clinging to every word as if it were a lifeline. He didn't know whether to believe him. He didn't know whether to doubt him. He only knew that smile—calm, firm—seemed to tell them everything would be fine. He looked away and finally kept walking. The speech faded behind him, drowned out by the city's noise… and by something harder to name.
Elsewhere in the city, far from plazas, spotlights, and promises, a group of men moved with urgency.
They weren't dressed to stand out: dark hoodies, low caps, ordinary backpacks. From far away, they could have passed for workers heading home or hurried pedestrians. And yet, something about them didn't fit.
Their movements were too precise. Too coordinated.
"Hurry up," one of them muttered without raising his voice. "It's almost time."
Another stopped only for a moment and opened his backpack. From inside, he pulled out something carefully wrapped: a compact, metallic package, heavy for its size. Thin wires slipped out from beneath an opaque casing like artificial veins.
"How many left?" he asked without looking up.
"Four points," the first replied. "All different. That's how it has to be."
One package was placed with precision behind a false wall in a shopping center, among bright displays and artificial music that hid any suspicious sound. Another was tucked beneath bleachers at a recreational center, where children's laughter and excited screams filled the air. The third was buried shallowly in a crowded park while families walked by carefree and street vendors offered hot food.
The last was left in an ordinary neighborhood, between old houses and narrow streets, where no one seemed to look twice at anything happening around them.
"There's no margin for error," one of them whispered. "Once it starts… there's no going back."
Aiden sat by the classroom window, elbow on his desk, gaze drifting beyond the glass. Outside, the world seemed to move with a freedom the inside of the room didn't have. Inside, the steady murmur of students blended with the teacher's voice as she wrote with chalk on the board.
"As we've already seen," she said, "the world is currently divided into five main districts."
Aiden barely listened.
"Each district has its own ruler and its own internal laws…"
On the board, a stylized map appeared: five large regions clearly outlined, separated by firm lines and different colors.
"Outside these limits," the teacher continued, "lies what's known as Zone Zero."
A faint murmur ran through the classroom.
"For reasons that still aren't entirely clear," she added, "that region has never been successfully explored and remains strictly restricted."
Aiden wasn't looking at the map.
He was looking at his phone under the desk, holding it in one hand as if it were a secret shared only with himself.
Five views. Five.
"Five…" he thought, a knot of frustration tightening in his chest. "I'm never going to get anywhere like this."
He swiped and opened his last live again, staring at the number as if insisting could change it, as if looking long enough would make it grow.
It didn't.
"If nobody sees you, you're nobody," he told himself. "That's how this world works."
He sighed, letting the air escape slowly.
"What am I supposed to do? Keep posting into the void?"
"Aiden."
The teacher's voice yanked him out of his thoughts.
"Are you paying attention?"
A few soft laughs rose between desks.
Aiden looked up, startled for barely a second, then formed a calm, almost automatic smile.
"Of course, miss."
She watched him closely and crossed her arms.
"Then tell me," she said. "What's outside the districts?"
Aiden blinked.
"Uh…" He looked at the board, tracing the map's lines, then smiled again. "The unexplored zone."
The teacher held his gaze a few seconds longer, as if trying to see beyond the smile.
"Try to listen more," she said at last. "This isn't just theory."
Aiden nodded. "Yes, miss."
But as soon as she turned back to the lesson, his attention dissolved again—slipping back into a world where numbers mattered more than maps, and being seen meant existing.
In the hallway after class, Aiden walked beside one of his friends, a boy with a laid-back attitude and a teasing grin.
"You're unbelievable, you know that?" his friend said. "You never pay attention, and you still always get away with it."
"Natural talent," Aiden replied, shrugging.
"Or luck," the other laughed. "Hey—about what the teacher said… have you heard stuff about the unexplored zone?"
Aiden glanced at him.
"Another weird story?"
"They say planes disappear there," his friend continued, dropping his voice dramatically. "That there are strange lights. People go in… and never come back."
He made an exaggerated gesture with his hands.
"Apparitions. Shadows. Things that shouldn't exist."
Aiden laughed.
"If that were real, my numbers would explode," he said. "Imagine doing a live from there."
"You're insane," his friend replied. "You'd vanish."
"Probably," Aiden admitted. "Maybe it wouldn't be such a great idea."
They both laughed as they walked down the hall, oblivious to everything.
In a wide room filled with screens and holographic maps, a group of scientists moved at a brisk pace, escorting a man in a dark suit. The atmosphere was tense, heavy with murmurs and layered data.
"The anomaly happened a few hours ago," one of them said, pointing at a projection. "Something fell from the sky. We can't identify it clearly."
"It interfered with all satellites in the area," another added. "We lost signal for several seconds. We've never seen anything like this."
Andrick walked with his hands behind his back, listening in silence. His expression was serious, almost tired.
He stopped.
He studied the screens for a few seconds, then sighed slowly.
"I understand your concern," he said at last. "But we have far more urgent problems."
The scientists exchanged looks.
"Our world is falling apart," Andrick continued. "People starving, violence in the streets, districts on the brink of collapse. We can't afford to distract ourselves with things outside this planet."
"But sir…" one tried.
"Focus on what matters," he cut in. "On saving what can still be saved here."
He turned and walked away.
In the distance, a screen displayed a discreet headline:
"ANDRICK, NEXT DISTRICT LEADER."
The water was cool. Aiden floated on his back in the condominium pool, letting the day's fatigue fade little by little. The city's distant hum barely filtered through splashes and laughter, softened by the water. He closed his eyes.
What a day… he thought. Exhausting.
Images returned without permission: class, the teacher, his friend's voice teasing him in the hallway. Maybe I should pay more attention, he admitted, though the idea felt empty almost immediately. Is that really going to get me anywhere?
He opened his eyes and looked at the sky, darkening between the silhouettes of buildings. I don't think school is going to get me to my goal. He shrugged. Better to relax.
He sat up and started swimming from one end of the pool to the other. Nearby, a group of kids played without a care, splashing each other and laughing. Aiden threw some water at them.
"Hey!" one protested.
The response was immediate: a shower of splashes soaked him completely.
"Come on!" Aiden laughed. "That's not fair."
He joined in without thinking, splashing and laughing, his mind blank for the first time all day. And then it happened.
Something fell into the water.
It was barely a flicker on the surface: a small moth, exhausted, wings broken and soaked, floating for a few seconds before the currents formed by movement dragged it along. No one noticed. The moth spun slowly, weak, drifting closer and closer.
Aiden was laughing, mouth open. Time seemed to stretch. The water shifted. The current pushed it. Aiden saw it for barely an instant before he felt it.
"What—?"
The moth vanished into his mouth. Aiden dipped under and immediately surfaced, coughing hard, spitting water as he tried to breathe.
"Ugh!" he spat. "What was that?"
He pressed a hand to his chest, breathing fast.
"That's disgusting…"
The kids stared at him, confused, not understanding what had happened. Aiden finally caught his breath and let out a nervous laugh.
"Well… I guess free protein."
He shrugged, brushing it off.
"I'm out."
He climbed out of the pool without giving it another thought, leaving behind calm water and laughter. Without knowing it, his life had just changed forever.
Aiden closed his bedroom door carefully and dropped his backpack into a corner, forgotten. The room sat in a quiet dimness, lit only by the city's orange glow filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls.
"It's so late…" he murmured.
He fell onto the bed and brought a hand to his stomach. The strange sensation was still there, persistent, like an unpleasant echo.
Weird… I can still taste it.
He grimaced and turned onto his side, staring at the ceiling.
"And my stomach… feels off."
He stayed like that a few seconds, motionless, listening to the silence.
"If I still feel like this tomorrow, at least I can skip school."
The thought pulled a faint smile from him—more fatigue than humor. He sat up on the edge of the bed. The silence grew heavier, almost uncomfortable. His expression shifted.
"I have to try harder," he told himself quietly. "There's no other way. If I want to reach my goal… I can't keep going like this."
When he lifted his gaze, his eyes landed on a shelf in front of him. A worn photograph sat there, slightly bent with time. Two adults smiled at the camera, with two small children between them. A whole family. An image frozen in a moment that no longer existed. Aiden stared at it for a few seconds that felt longer than they should have.
He sighed.
"That… can be tomorrow's problem."
He fell back, reached out to turn off the light, and closed his eyes. The room sank into darkness while the city stayed alive beyond the window—unaware of everything.
A prerecorded broadcast played from a stage lit by harsh spotlights, dominating a packed plaza. Raised signs, overlapping shouts, expectant faces. At the center, Andrick spoke with a firm voice, amplified through speakers. He was tall, fair-skinned, with blond hair carefully styled. His posture was straight, confident, and his smile—strangely serene—seemed to carry calm even amid the chaos around him.
"In my administration there will be no exceptions," he declared. "No special cases."
The crowd erupted in applause.
"Everyone will be equal under the law."
His gaze swept across them as if he saw each person one by one.
"We will not allow this world to sink into chaos."
The cheers rose higher, drowning out any doubt that might have existed.
Far from there, where neither spotlights nor promises reached, the atmosphere was different. An industrial space, dark, with concrete walls and cold lights that barely illuminated the interior. A group of armed men waited in silence. In front of them, an individual wearing a plague mask studied a map spread across a metal table.
Four points marked in red.
"Everything ready?" he asked in a low voice, eyes still on the map.
"Everything," one of the mercenaries replied. "No interference."
The masked man slowly lifted his head. On the wall, a digital clock advanced second by second.
8:59.
8:59:30.
His fingers tightened slightly. Elsewhere in the city, Aiden slept deeply in his room, unaware of everything. His breathing was slow, steady. Then something shifted. A golden glow began to gather around him—first faint, almost imperceptible, like a light hesitating to exist. The air vibrated softly. The glow grew, wrapping him completely, closing around his body until it formed a luminous cocoon.
Objects in the room began to rise slowly: books, clothes, a chair that trembled before lifting off the floor. The digital clock on the nightstand vibrated insistently.
In the plaza, Andrick raised his fist.
"Let's build a better tomorrow."
The applause was deafening.
The clock hit 9:00 on the dot.
In the industrial space, the masked man formed a small smile.
"Now."
Explosions tore through the city.
One blast after another. The shopping center. The park. The recreational complex. The neighborhood.
Fire. Screams. Chaos.
Meanwhile, in a silent room, a golden light pulsed with force—like a heart that had just awakened.