Kael didn't scream, but only because Ren was still asleep on the floor, cocooned in a tangle of blankets. That, and because his voice had locked up somewhere between his lungs and his spine the moment he saw the glow.
The shard—his shard—was pulsing.
A deep, throbbing light, like embers caught in a wind that hadn't quite arrived. It wasn't bright in the traditional sense. It didn't flood the room. Instead, it bled light in tendrils. Thin, deliberate. Alive.
He took a step forward, drawn despite himself. The box was open, but he was sure—absolutely, completely, cosmically sure—he hadn't opened it.
He reached toward it slowly, as if speed might shatter the moment.
The instant his fingers brushed the surface of the shard, the world... shifted.
Not exploded.
Not shattered.
Shifted.
It was like turning the dial of a radio just enough to hear a different frequency, a different layer of the world.
He could feel the electricity in the walls like pressure against his skin. The dust in the air shimmered with invisible lines. The floor creaked beneath him, but the sound painted a shape in his mind—something like a sigil, something like geometry dreaming.
Kael gasped and snatched his hand back.
The light vanished.
The shard went still.
And yet... he could still feel it. Like the world had opened its eyes and hadn't blinked yet.
Behind him, Ren shifted in his sleep, mumbling something about pizza and dragons.
Kael sat back against the edge of his bed, heart thudding in the rhythm of a war drum. He clutched his hand to his chest and stared at the shard.
This wasn't just magic.
Magic was wishful thinking and fireballs.
This was structure. Blueprint. Code.
This was language.
And he had just spoken one word.
Later, at school, the air felt wrong.
Too crisp, too defined. Like someone had turned the resolution of reality up a notch and Kael's eyes hadn't caught up yet.
People moved with too much intention. Every blink, every breath, felt deliberate, rehearsed. It made his skin crawl.
He passed Delra in the hallway between periods. She didn't say anything, just gave him a look that was halfway between sympathy and warning.
He didn't like it.
He didn't like any of this.
But he couldn't stop thinking about it.
At lunch, Ren poked at a cup of noodles like it had personally insulted him. "You okay?"
Kael nodded. "Just... a weird dream."
Ren frowned. "You were talking in your sleep last night. Said something about 'light folding into lines' and then started snoring like a dragon with allergies."
Kael blinked. "I did?"
"Yeah. Should I worry?"
Kael hesitated. "No. Probably just… stress."
Ren wasn't convinced, but let it go. For now.
That night, Kael didn't try to sleep.
He waited.
Waited for the house to go quiet. Waited for Ren's soft snores to settle into rhythm. Waited until the moonlight cast sharp shadows on the attic ceiling.
Then he opened the box again.
This time, the shard glowed instantly.
No hesitation. No warning.
Kael touched it.
And the world shifted again.
But this time, he didn't pull away.
He leaned in.
Closed his eyes.
Let the world speak.
And it did.
Not in words. Not in sound.
But in patterns.
Heat. Pressure. Lines of tension like invisible strings stretching across the air.
He reached out—not with his hand, but with his intention—and plucked one.
A tiny crackle, like static discharge. A spark.
The light dimmed.
He opened his eyes, heart pounding.
Nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
He looked down at his fingertips.
They glowed.
Not brightly. Not like the shard.
But faintly. Silvery veins of light beneath the skin, like lightning had kissed his bones.
They faded after a few seconds.
Kael sat there for a long time.
When he finally moved, he whispered aloud:
"I just Sparked, didn't I?"
No answer.
Just the faint hum of something ancient, sleeping no longer.
He didn't know what to call what happened the next day. An attack? An encounter? A mistake?
All he knew was it began at the bus stop and ended with him bleeding behind a dumpster.
It started simple. Normal.
Too normal.
He was alone, which was already strange—Ren had left early for a science club thing, and the usual crowd of tired teens was absent.
He felt the pressure before he saw the man.
Dressed in a plain grey coat. Pale gloves. Bald, clean-shaven. Forgettable face. Eyes like glass marbles.
The man stepped up beside him without a word.
Kael's skin crawled.
The man didn't look at him. Just spoke, softly.
"You've Sparked."
Kael said nothing.
"You can feel it, can't you?" the man continued. "The lines. The shift."
Kael's instincts screamed run.
Instead, he said: "Sorry, I don't talk to strangers. Especially not ones who sound like haunted librarians."
The man turned his head, slowly. "You're still too raw. But you're bonded. That much is clear."
"Cool. So is my toaster. It glows too. Are you going to talk weird riddles to it next?"
The man's eyes narrowed.
Then he moved.
Fast.
Kael barely dodged.
A gloved hand missed his throat by inches.
Kael stumbled back. The man followed, expression unchanged.
Another swing. Kael ducked.
Then—instinct.
Kael reached.
The line of pressure. The thread. He didn't see it, but he felt it.
He plucked it.
And the man staggered.
Just for a second. Like someone had unplugged him.
Kael turned and ran.
He didn't stop until he was behind a bakery two blocks away, crouched behind a dumpster, lungs burning.
Blood ran down his arm from a shallow slice on his shoulder.
He pressed his hand against it, breathing hard.
The man hadn't followed. Or, if he had, Kael had lost him.
He looked at his hand.
The glow was gone.
But he could still feel the line. The connection. Faint, but there.
He had defended himself with it.
Untrained. Instinctual.
He had used a sigil thread.
Whatever that was.
And the man—he'd known.
Kael sat there until the sun rose.
And all he could think was:
What the hell have I gotten myself into?