Varentia Saturdays always looked unreal at this hour—like a painting that had been set to motion.
High above the hazy blue smog of the lower city, sleek monorails whispered along magnetic tracks, gliding between mirrored towers and sky-gardens suspended in glass. Advertising drones drifted lazily overhead, their displays flickering between luxury brands, university banners, and today's headlines:
"Meteorite Impact Under Investigation — Scientists Still Tight-Lipped."
Dominic Manon barely glanced at the screen. NASA news cycles were noise. Just another layer of static in a city designed to never sleep and cause panics.
He sat by the window of a private student carriage, elbow propped against the glass, sketching casually on a digital pad. The stylus danced across the screen, capturing the elegant swoop of wings—an osprey in mid-dive, frozen in luminescent motion.
"Are you even listening?" Thessa huffed beside him, flipping her tablet shut.
Dominic smirked, eyes still on his sketch. "I listen when someone says something worth listening to."
That earned a few laughs from the others in the compartment. Thessa rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. Everyone smiled around Dominic Manon. It was an involuntary response, like breathing.
He was only sixteen, but already legendary at the Royal Varentian Academy. Top of his class, award-winning in design, athletics, martial arts and tech-innovation contests, fluent in three languages, and an effortless charmer. The kind of boy teachers hated to love, and rivals loved to hate.
"Your bird's off-model," muttered Jorren, peering over his shoulder.
Dominic shrugged. "Art isn't about accuracy. It's about instinct."
He flicked the stylus, and the hologram of the osprey sprang to life—wings fluttering, it soared up and dissolved in a shimmer of gold particles. Applause followed, polite but genuine.
The train slowed, whispering into the sky-station of Highridge Estate Ward. The private district for the city's elite.
"Try not to miss me too much," Dominic quipped as he slung his school bag over one shoulder.
"Call if you bomb the piano results," Thessa called after him.
"I never bomb," he replied over his shoulder.
As the monorail slipped away, Dominic descended into the private elevator pod reserved for the House Manon residence. The world around him became quieter, greener, more isolated. A manicured paradise.
Everything here was curated. Sculpted hedges, artificial songbirds, air filtered clean of pollen and smog. A suburban dream hand-crafted for Varentia's highblood families.
But today, something felt… off.
Dominic frowned as the pod docked at the estate gate.
It was open.
Just a crack—but enough. The kind of open that didn't happen in this household.
He stepped off the platform and approached cautiously.
Thomlin, the old groundskeeper, was usually here this time of day. Always punctual. Always there with a lemon candy and a cynical comment about teenage fashion. But the guard post was empty.
"Thom?" Dominic called lightly, peering through the ornate bars.
No answer.
His steps slowed.
The drone near the hedges twitched mid-hover, then sagged gently onto the grass. Another one, by the flowerbed, blinked a red error light and rotated endlessly in place.
Dominic entered the garden.
Wisteria lined the gravel path, purple petals drifting lazily on the breeze. The air smelled clean, too clean—like the antiseptic sterility of a hospital wing. He noticed it now—the absence of certain familiar scents. No freshly baked bread. No perfume wafting from the kitchen windows. No humming from the staff quarters.
He passed the stone koi pond. The fish were still. Not dead—just... unmoving. Suspended in place, like they were afraid to disturb something.
He mounted the marble stairs and stopped at the front doors. Oak and bronze, normally sealed shut when the house was empty.
One was ajar.
Again, just a sliver. But enough.
He pushed it gently.
"Mother?" he called, half-joking, stepping inside. "I'm home early. Try to look surprised."
The silence that answered him was not empty.
It was loaded.
Like the pause between lightning and thunder.
The foyer greeted him with polished splendor—crystal chandeliers, art-lit alcoves, sleek, ancient things behind smartglass panels. House Manon was old money and tradition wrapped in modern steel.
But not a sound stirred.
"Juna?" he tried again, his voice echoing softly. "Did Father finally fire everyone because the tea wasn't hot enough?"
Nothing.
He walked in slowly, taking in the subtle disarray.
Two teacups sat on the end table. Steamless. One had lipstick on the rim. Still damp.
A chair was knocked slightly askew. The screen above the fireplace flickered—paused on the news.
"...No clear answers yet. The meteorite, which struck a month ago in the western badlands, remains under military lockdown as authorities continue their analysis. Eyewitness reports have—"
Dominic muted the screen with a flick of his finger.
The silence deepened.
He turned down the central hallway. Cool light spilled from the ceiling, reflecting in the white marble floor like ice.
Then he saw it.
A trail.
Not blood.
Not dirt.
Just… ash.
Thin, grey streaks smeared across the floor like something had been dragged.
He crouched and touched it. It flaked under his fingers.
Burnt paper? No—finer. Powdery.
A chill slid across his skin.
His father's study door stood open at the end of the hall.
He hesitated. That door was always locked when his father wasn't inside. Always.
Dominic approached slowly.
"Father?" he said, softly now.
No answer.
He stepped inside.
Everything was in its place.
Desk, chairs, bookcases, the old grandfather clock near the window ticking steadily.
Except—
The other clock.
A smaller, glass-domed antique on the shelf behind the desk.
It lay shattered on the floor, glass splinters scattered like ice. The hands had stopped at 3:17.
Dominic stared at it for a long time.
Then he looked up.
The books on the shelf had shifted slightly. A volume of law protruded too far. He reached for it—
And froze.
The silence changed.
It pressed in now, like a weight behind his ribs.
Something was very, very wrong.
He turned from the study and walked quickly back toward the foyer.
His heart was thudding. Not fast. Just loud. In that way hearts only do when the world is about to tilt.
He passed the kitchen. A pot on the stove—long cooled. The fridge hummed. A knife lay beside chopped onions.
And still, no one.
"Okay," he whispered, pacing faster. "Very funny. Everyone hiding. Excellent prank. You got me."
His voice cracked on the last word.
No one answered.
He reached the main stairwell, climbed it two at a time. The hallway above was lined with family portraits—his parents on their wedding day, his younger self holding a violin, a smiling holiday photo at the Varentia Crystal Gardens.
All watching him now. All silent.
He paused outside his mother's room.
Door shut.
He didn't open it.
Couldn't.
Instead, he turned back toward his own room—and stopped.
Something was scratched into the wall just beside his doorframe.
It was faint. Barely noticeable. As if clawed in by something dull and desperate.
"RUN"
Dominic stepped back.
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the doorknob to his room.
He pushed it open.
It was clean. Tidy. His bed made. His tablet charging. His hologram model of Varentia paused mid-construction on his desk.
But on his pillow—
Small drops of ash
Not the one he saw ealier
The kind left only by cigarettes.
He doesn't smoke.
Where did the cigarette ash come from?
He stood motionless, the silence between heartbeats stretching.
Then the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Out.
Only daylight remained now, filtered dimly through the glass ceiling above the stairwell. It cast long, twisted shadows down the marble floor like skeletal fingers reaching.
Dominic stepped out of his room, back into the corridor.
His mouth was dry.
Something scraped faintly from far below—metal on stone. Then silence.
"Father…?" he whispered.
But the word fell flat.
He returned to the foyer.
The air was colder.
He hadn't noticed it drop, but now his breath misted faintly in front of him.
Still no staff. No parents. No guards. No Thomlin.
Just him.
Standing in the empty bones of his perfect home.
And for the first time in his life…
Dominic Manon felt truly, utterly alone.
[End of Chapter One]