The rain was light, the kind that fell gently enough to be ignored but steady enough to darken the pavement. The old district of Veriton buzzed softly beneath it—cars skimming across wet roads, neon signs flickering half-heartedly above corner stores and tea shops, the hum of overhead transit rails rolling past like distant thunder.
Ainsley stood at the edge of a pedestrian bridge, arms draped over the railing, chin resting on his sleeve. He stared down at the gentle swirl of runoff circling a drainage grate, watching fallen leaves spin in lazy orbits. His backpack, too large for his thin shoulders, sagged heavily behind him.
"You're gonna rust staring into puddles like that," came a voice from behind.
Ainsley didn't look. "Not if I'm already water-resistant."
Footsteps padded closer. Violette leaned against the railing beside him, silver eyes sharp despite the sleepy haze of the gray afternoon. Her hair was pulled back into a quick bun, a few strands stuck to her temple. She handed him a lukewarm cup of tea.
"Two sugars, no milk," she said. "Like always."
Ainsley took it without comment, sipping slowly. "Thanks."
"I figured you'd forget lunch again."
"I didn't forget," he said, eyeing the tea like it had betrayed him. "I just didn't remember."
Violette rolled her eyes. "That's not better."
Before Ainsley could retort, the clatter of a bag hitting metal rang out, followed by a loud, cheerful voice. "Oi! I brought noodles!"
Aldrian jogged up, rain matting his golden hair to his forehead, a paper takeout bag swinging in one hand. His jacket was open, a streak of mud running up one pant leg like he'd lost a battle with a puddle—and possibly a hedge.
"You're late," Violette said, but her tone had softened.
"I was early," Aldrian declared. "Then I got sidetracked. Some kids were chucking rocks at each other behind the transit stop. I had to supervise."
"By supervise, you mean join," Ainsley said, deadpan.
Aldrian beamed. "Naturally."
They sat on the bridge's edge, legs dangling over the traffic below, steam curling from the noodle cups Aldrian passed around. For a while, they ate in silence, the kind that only forms between people who know each other too well to need words.
Violette broke it first.
"Have either of you noticed… things feel different lately?"
Ainsley raised an eyebrow. "You mean other than Aldrian deciding to bathe in alley water?"
She didn't smile.
"Like the world's… winding up. Getting ready for something."
Aldrian slurped a noodle. "If it is, it better wait until after finals."
Ainsley tilted his head. "I've felt it too. Like there's a string tied to my chest, pulling from somewhere I can't see. It's subtle. But constant."
They all looked out at the city.
Beyond the bridge, Veriton stretched toward the horizon—layered highways, spires of habitation towers, and beyond them the low arc of the city's outer barrier glowing faintly under the clouds. Hover-vehicles blinked in and out of traffic streams, and distant maintenance drones buzzed between infrastructure panels.
Children played in puddles down below, their laughter faint and distorted.
Ainsley sipped his tea again, slower this time.
"I had a dream," he said. "Or maybe a memory. I was walking through a hallway made of stars. Every time I tried to stop, something whispered my name, and I had to keep going."
Violette was quiet for a moment. "What did it say, the voice?"
Ainsley hesitated. Then, softly: "Nothing I could understand. But it sounded like it knew me."
Aldrian leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. "I don't dream much. But sometimes I wake up with the feeling that something huge is missing. Like I've forgotten a promise I made when I was really young. Before I could even speak."
They sat in the soft rain, letting the city pass them by.
---
Later, the three of them wandered through the edge of the old arcane district—empty lots filled with rusted signage and crumbling concrete. The adults said it had once been a testing ground for experimental infrastructure. Now it was just weeds and history.
Aldrian climbed a half-collapsed stairwell while the others watched warily from below.
"If you fall again, I'm not carrying you," Violette called.
"I bounce!" he replied proudly, striking a ridiculous pose at the top.
Ainsley chuckled, tracing a line in the dust across a broken wall. "There's something beautiful about all this," he murmured.
"It's ruins," Violette said.
"Exactly. People tried something impossible here. Maybe it didn't work. But they left echoes."
He pressed a palm against the concrete. "You ever think… we're echoes too?"
They didn't answer. Not then.
---
As evening fell, the rain finally stopped. The sky remained heavy, painted in smudges of deep blue and purple, but the air had turned warm.
The trio made their way to a hill behind the school, a forgotten knoll with a single broken streetlamp that flickered whenever Aldrian got too close.
They sat under it anyway. Like always.
Violette picked grass absently. "We should make a rule," she said.
"A rule?" Aldrian asked.
"Yeah. That no matter what happens, we find our way back to each other."
Ainsley didn't speak for a long moment.
"Even if the world changes," he finally said. "Even if we change."
Violette nodded. "Exactly."
Aldrian bumped his fist lightly against theirs. "Then it's settled. When the world falls apart—we meet here. Like always."
A pause.
"And when it doesn't?" Ainsley asked.
"Then we come here anyway," Violette replied, smiling faintly.
They watched the sky as the streetlamp buzzed above them.
In that moment, nothing was strange. No powers. No destiny. Just three kids and a promise made in the dusk.
Like always.
---
And from far, far away—across systems and stars, on a planet called Earth—a boy no older than eight stood silently before a mirror of obsidian glass. His reflection did not show himself, but them.
Violette, Aldrian, Ainsley. Laughing. Growing.
The boy said nothing.
But his eyes, ancient and quiet, never looked away.