Kael Faelwyn walked the cracked pavement of Rosehill Avenue like he always did—half-awake, half-aware, boots brushing through brittle leaves that hadn't been swept in weeks. The air was cold in a way that felt tired, like even the wind had given up trying.
It was the same route every morning. Past the faded mural of forgotten heroes. Past the convenience store that still sold cassette tapes for reasons no one questioned. Past the crooked lamppost that buzzed like it had a secret.
But today, something felt off. Subtle, like the wrong note in a familiar song.
He adjusted the strap of his pack—a rugged thing, weathered from years of use. Not for books. For gear. For maps. For rope and flint and a compass that hadn't been needed in the city, but never left his side. People had hobbies. Kael had outdoors. Forgotten hiking trails. Broken train tunnels. Ruins swallowed by ivy. That was where he felt awake.
The city, on the other hand, felt like static. His boots scuffed against a curb as he crossed the street, eyes flicking up to the sky. The clouds were heavy, almost metallic. Still.
His breath left a brief cloud in the air. The silence pressed in too tightly.
Then he spotted Allen waiting by the rusted bike rack in front of their usual café. Hood up, eyes on his phone, already chewing on the end of a granola bar like it might be breakfast. Kael raised a hand in greeting.
"You're early," Kael said as he approached.
"I could say the same," Allen replied, pocketing his phone. "Did the world finally bore you enough to speed-walk?"
Kael shrugged. "Felt like walking. Didn't want to sit still."
Allen gave him a sideways look. "You always say that before something weird happens."
Kael smiled faintly. "Maybe the world's due for something weird."
He didn't say what he really felt—that the air tasted different today. Like ozone before lightning. Like the earth had inhaled and hadn't exhaled yet.
But he could see in Allen's eyes that he felt it too.
The bus rolled up with a groan like it hated its job almost as much as they did. Kael grinned at the sound.
"I swear that's the same bus from last week," he said as they boarded. "I recognize the existential dread in its headlights."
Allen scanned his pass. "Statistically, it probably is."
They settled into seats near the middle. Kael bounced his leg, glancing around the bus like he was hoping something might explode just to make things interesting.
"So," Kael said, stretching his arms behind his head, "on a scale from one to root canal, how excited are you for another day of spreadsheet-induced enlightenment?"
Allen considered. "About a 3.7. Marginally better than yesterday."
"Wow. Living the dream."
"We're entry-level data assistants," Allen replied calmly. "There's not much dream involved. But it pays."
Kael smirked. "Says the guy who once considered living in a forest just to avoid a 9-to-5."
Allen didn't deny it. "The forest is still on the table."
Kael chuckled, then turned to look out the window. The buildings blurred past, colorless and boxy. A dull, endless repetition.
He frowned. "You ever think we're meant for more than this?"
Allen glanced at him. "Frequently."
"Really?"
"You're not the only one who hates the loop," Allen said. "People treat this grind like it's natural, but it's just practiced obedience. The world's designed to be predictable. Efficient. Containable."
"That's the bleakest way I've ever heard someone describe working in finance."
Allen tilted his head. "I was being optimistic."
Kael laughed, but his eyes were drawn to the sky again. The clouds were strange today—too still, too low, like they were waiting.
He squinted. Something flashed above the skyline—faint, silvery, a ripple of motion where there should've been none. It vanished instantly, leaving only clouds behind.
"…Did you see that?" Kael asked, leaning closer to the window.
"See what?"
"There was… something. In the sky. Just for a second."
Allen followed his gaze, eyes sharp. "Nothing's there now."
Kael leaned back, quiet for a beat. "Weird."
"Maybe your dream job's trying to contact you."
"Wouldn't surprise me," Kael muttered. "If anything's going to break the loop, it's gotta come from above."
The bus rattled through another pothole, jarring them both. Allen barely reacted.
"If something was up there," he said calmly, "we wouldn't be the ones to notice it first."
Kael grinned. "You saying we're not special?"
"I'm saying if we are, the universe is taking its time about it."
The office building was a slab of concrete pretending to be glass. Bland, boxy, functional. It loomed over the street like it was offended to be seen.
Kael and Allen passed through the automated doors with the practiced shuffle of people trying not to look as bored as they were. The lobby was a hushed tomb of grey carpet and plastic plants.
Kael nudged Allen as they stepped into the elevator. "Want to place bets on whether the coffee's sentient today?"
"It's never been sentient," Allen replied. "Just poorly brewed."
"That's what it wants you to think."
The elevator chimed and opened to the fourth floor: a grid of cubicles arranged like a maze designed by someone who hated joy. Kael's desk was next to Allen's, both facing a wall of colorless partitions. They sat down with a synchronized sigh.
Across the aisle, their supervisor—Mr. Loring—peeked out of his office with the haunted eyes of a man who'd once dreamed of being a poet. He raised his mug in greeting. Kael gave him finger-guns.
"You two clock in early again," Loring said. "That's either admirable or worrying."
"Routine is a slippery slope," Allen replied, already logging into his terminal.
"Routine is survival," Loring muttered, retreating into his den of paperwork.
Kael spun slowly in his chair, staring at the ceiling tiles. "Do you think if we rearranged the fluorescent lights into a summoning circle, we'd get a raise?"
Allen didn't look up. "Depends on what you summon."
"A better job."
"That's not how ritual economics works."
Kael opened the system interface, a sluggish web of nested menus and data entry fields. The screen flickered faintly. He squinted—just a glitch, probably—but something about the way the cursor blinked felt… hesitant. Like it was waiting.
"Hey," he said quietly. "Does the screen look off to you?"
Allen glanced over. "Looks fine."
Kael stared at it for another moment, then shook his head. "I think I need sleep."
"You think that every day."
Kael didn't answer. Because just before he looked away, for a fraction of a second, the screen hadn't shown a login form—it had shown something else. A shape. A tower, maybe. Sharp. Vertical. Distant.
But now it was gone.
He looked around. Everyone else was working, tapping keys, sipping coffee, scrolling through spreadsheets like nothing had happened.
But the room felt a little too still. A little too quiet. Like the air itself was listening.
And far off, in a space not yet visible, something had begun to stir.
It began with silence.
Not the regular office hush, but a weighted silence—like the air itself had forgotten how to breathe. Every screen in the office flickered. Lights dimmed, then returned, humming louder than before. No one moved for several seconds.
Then came the sound. A low, distant hum—more felt in the bones than heard. Like a song just below the threshold of hearing, vast and patient.
Kael froze, his hands hovering over the keyboard. "What the hell is that?"
Allen stood up slowly. His eyes weren't on the monitors, but the windows.
"I don't know," he said, voice taut. "But I think we should see it."
People were already drifting toward the glass. Even Mr. Loring had emerged from his office, brow furrowed. Phones buzzed with alerts. Kael glanced at his: "Breaking: Unknown structure appears over multiple countries. Stay indoors."
He didn't.
They rode the elevator down in a hush, joining a small wave of employees flooding the lobby. Outside, the world had changed.
The clouds were peeling open like fabric stretched too thin.
And in the sky, impossibly high, stood a spire.
Black stone. Seamless. Stretching up into the heavens, vanishing into the atmosphere. It pierced the clouds like a blade, humming with power Kael could feel in his teeth. Around its peak, lightning danced in slow spirals. The air smelled of ozone and something older—like rain on ancient stone.
It wasn't alone.
Across the city skyline, another stood. And another—far on the horizon. The news hadn't been exaggerating. There was one in every direction, each identical. They hadn't just appeared. They had always been there. Hiding. Waiting.
"…This is happening everywhere," Allen said, scanning his phone. "Every country. Every province. Simultaneously. All at once."
Kael could barely hear him. He was staring at the closest Tower, heart hammering.
It was beautiful.
Terrifying.
Yet somehow, he felt it's pull
Sirens wailed.
First in the distance—then closer. Emergency alerts blared from phones, car radios, and rooftop speakers. Drones zipped overhead, shouting over the growing din: "Remain indoors. Do not approach the anomaly. Stay calm."
No one listened.
Crowds spilled into the streets. Some were filming. Others were crying. A few just stood there, eyes glazed, like the sky had stolen their words.
Kael's skin prickled.
The Tower loomed beyond the skyline, unmoving, yet it felt like it was watching everything. Not with eyes. Not even with intent. Just there — vast and undeniable, as if the Earth had grown a new limb overnight and pretended nothing had changed.
A low tremor rolled through the air. Not from beneath, but above. It passed through Kael like a wave, rearranging something he couldn't name.
Allen touched his shoulder. "Something's off with the air. The pressure's wrong. It's like…" He trailed off.
Kael couldn't answer.
His thoughts were pulled somewhere else. Not away exactly — but deeper.
The crowd blurred around him. Sound thinned. His pulse echoed loud in his ears. For a moment, the Tower filled his vision. And in that stillness, something inside him stirred.
It wasn't words. Not a message. Not destiny.
Just a feeling.
Like he'd spent his entire life asleep, and some part of him had finally cracked its eyes open.
He staggered, dizzy. The pavement felt too soft beneath his feet. Allen caught him by the elbow.
"Kael?"
Kael blinked. Looked around. The world felt too sharp now — every color too vivid, every sound too distinct. A child in the crowd laughed, and it echoed like thunder.
He looked back at the Tower.
And smiled.
"…We're not meant to just sit behind desks," he said, more to himself than anyone else.
Allen looked at him. Not confused. Not alarmed.
Just quiet. Thoughtful.
The sky above the Tower began to pulse — not light, not sound, but something stranger.
And across the city, thousands of people stared up with the same expression Kael wore now:
Wonder.
Curiosity.
And a flicker of something dangerously close to hope.