Steam drifted lazily through the vast marble-tiled bathroom, curling in the air like ephemeral ghosts caught in a dream.
Droplets from the rainfall shower cascaded in rhythmic succession, striking the polished floor with a hushed percussion that filled the chamber with its soothing music.
The gentle hiss of hot water was the only sound, masking the silence that lay beyond the villa's walls.
Neel Jagger stood motionless beneath the cascade, water streaming across his silver-white hair.
Normally, those metallic strands were groomed back with military precision, but now they clung damply to his forehead, gleaming like liquid mercury in the mellow amber light.
Streams of water traced the defined lines of his face, softening the otherwise sharp planes of his jaw and the intensity of his eyes. Eyes that narrowed now, alert and calculating, as a voice crackled faintly from the device perched precariously at the edge of the bath.
The high-tech phone projected a shimmering panel of light into the steam-filled air, replaying the global transmission that had just ended moments ago.
General Pedro's words, metallic and resonant, had echoed across the world, carving themselves into every heart and mind. They carried weight, like divine decree.
For Neel, they were not simply words—they were the tolling of a bell signaling an irreversible shift. Something in them reverberated against his bones, shaking loose every fragment of boyhood that had lingered within him. Tomorrow, at the stroke of midnight, the veil between past and future would be torn open.
When the transmission fell into silence, Neel's expression hardened. His jaw clenched imperceptibly, droplets gathering at the tip of his chin before falling.
Without hesitation, he shut off the water, the sudden absence of sound making the room unnervingly still. The kind of stillness that followed thunder, a silence that hummed with anticipation of storms yet to come.
Steam curled from his skin as he grabbed a towel, drying himself with swift, purposeful motions. His movements were precise, practiced, almost ritualistic—as though every second mattered. He had trained his body into discipline, but tonight it felt as though he were preparing for a ceremony rather than a simple evening.
He dressed quickly, pulling on a crisp, dark outfit that emphasized the lean strength of his frame.
His personal quarters occupied the entire second floor of the sprawling Jagger villa, a domain designed exclusively for him.
Holographic displays flickered across one wall, showcasing cosmic charts and news feeds; along another, transparent cases displayed trophies of academic and athletic achievement. Yet Neel ignored them all. The air itself seemed heavy, as though the world had changed while he had been under the water.
He checked his phone briefly before slipping it into his pocket. Notifications exploded across the screen—dozens upon dozens of messages flooding in from friends, acquaintances, and countless group chats. Each message, no matter the sender, circled around the same subject: General Pedro's transmission.
One message drew his attention, its sender name glowing in familiar bold letters:
Bella Spark:Hey, did you hear that message? I'm not the only one who heard it, right?
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Neel's lips. Even amid chaos, Bella's curiosity burned brightly—playful, almost flirtatious, as if she thrived in the storm.
Another message followed, this one from his childhood best friend:
Zade Velton:Bro, remember when we joked about UFOs last week? You think we accidentally summoned that damn ship?!
Neel chuckled dryly, thumbs dancing briefly across the holographic keyboard. To Bella, he sent a teasing response—half mocking, half amused contrary to his somewhat simple and strictly disciplined reply. To Zade, a simple narcissistic quip, brushing off the panic with false confidence.
Then, with deliberate finality, he slid the phone into his pocket. Humor aside, the weight pressing down on his chest was undeniable.
Every step he took down the polished corridor toward the family meeting room seemed to thicken with invisible gravity.
The villa's architecture was as stately as its residents: tall ceilings adorned with subtle crown molding, walls embedded with shifting digital art that could reflect moods or seasons, and floors polished to a reflective sheen.
Every detail whispered of prestige. Yet tonight, the grandeur felt irrelevant. The world outside had been shaken to its core, and within these walls, the Jagger family would need to decide their course.
When Neel pushed open the doors to the family meeting room, the scene before him was both familiar and charged. A circular table of dark oak occupied the center, its polished surface gleaming beneath a soft chandelier glow. Two figures sat waiting at the far side.
"Dad. Mom," Neel greeted, his tone both respectful and formal.
Both of his parents already sat at the table waiting for his arrival. The moment Neel entered, Laksha's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. It was the kind of smile that lightened even the heaviest atmosphere.
"Sit, Neel," Subrao instructed, his voice calm but resonant.
Neel obeyed, sliding into the chair opposite them. The silence between them hummed with tension, unbroken yet palpable.
"You've heard the message," Subrao began.
"Yes," Neel answered, steady.
"I heard it all. The Silver Galaxy.
The cultivation system. Bloodlines. The Cosmic Academy."
Laksha leaned forward slightly, her hands folded gracefully atop the table. Her voice was soft, but its tone carried unshakable weight.
"This is no mere announcement, Neel. It is the birth of an era—an upheaval cloaked as opportunity. The rifts, the monsters, the so-called Academy… they are but the surface. Something deeper is moving."
A sharp vibration interrupted her words. Subrao's phone lit up with an incoming call.
The name flashing across the display made his expression harden. He rose immediately, walking toward the tall windows at the edge of the room, and answered.
The sound of his low voice carried faintly as he spoke, but the conversation was too hushed for Neel to catch. The atmosphere thickened, charged with unseen current.
Even Laksha, normally so composed, tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as though sensing the gravity of the words exchanged.
After several minutes, Subrao ended the call. He returned with deliberate steps, placing the device on the table as though laying down a stone that carried the weight of mountains.
"That was Leader Dev," he said evenly. "He informed me that the activation of the cosmic system will begin tomorrow night—at precisely midnight. The awakening of bloodlines will follow. He will announce it to the public tomorrow."
Neel straightened instinctively, his pulse quickening at the confirmation. His fifteenth birthday was tomorrow. The words felt like destiny aligning itself to a cosmic clock.
Subrao clasped his hands together, leaning forward slightly. His gaze moved between his wife and son, calm yet burning with intensity.
"Neel. Laksha. The world has changed forever. What General Pedro declared was not only a warning. It was a summons. A demand that we prepare."
Neel's voice was low, uncertain but resolute. "So it's real? The awakening, the bloodlines… all of it?"
"Yes," Subrao confirmed without hesitation.
"Real and inevitable."
A flood of questions pressed against Neel's mind, but one broke free above the rest.
"Then what about our continent? What of the children not yet fifteen, and the elderly who cannot awaken? What protections exist for them? And the spaceship—has the government made no move against it?"
Subrao's expression remained impassive, but his eyes carried the weight of grim knowledge. "I asked Leader Dev the same. He told me our armies cannot breach the barrier surrounding the vessel. Its defense is absolute. As for the wastelands, they are now teeming with monstrous life. We deployed our strongest weapons—bombs, missiles, warheads. None of them succeeded."
Laksha's hand tightened against the table's edge. Subrao continued, his tone heavy. "Leader Dev believes the only path forward is awakening. Cultivating our bloodlines, strengthening ourselves. Only then might we purge the wastelands."
A silence stretched across the table, thick and suffocating. The chandelier above hummed faintly, filling the void.
At length, Subrao spoke again, voice low but resolute. "I do not care for philosophies of cultivation. Nor do I worship the idea of bloodlines. What matters to me is this family. I will do whatever it takes—whether it means cultivating or killing—to ensure our safety."
Laksha placed her hand gently atop his clasped ones, her eyes steady and warm. "And you will not face it alone, Subrao. Just as I have stood beside you in business, I will stand beside you in this new battle. Whatever awaits us, we face it together."
Neel, who had remained quiet, suddenly raised his hand in mock protest. "And what about me? Tomorrow is my fifteenth birthday. Which means I qualify for this awakening too. You're not leaving me out of this adventure."
Two voices answered in perfect unison, sharp and final.
"No!"
"No!"
Subrao and Laksha's rejection rang through the chamber, their intensity startling in its symmetry.
Neel's brows furrowed, his voice edged with frustration. "Why not? I've trained for years. Taekwondo, martial arts—I even mastered tridents, against your wishes. You've prepared me for danger, and now you want to lock me away when the world itself demands strength?"
His parents' gazes softened, but neither relented. Subrao's reply was calm, but iron lay beneath it. "You are our only son. Everything we have built, everything we fight for—rests on you. We will not allow you to risk yourself recklessly."
Laksha's voice trembled slightly, though her resolve did not falter. "We lost too much in the past, Neel. We will not lose you. Not to rifts, not to monsters, not to fate."
Neel exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair. He knew their protectiveness well—it had shadowed every step of his childhood. Even his training with tridents had been granted only after endless negotiation and assurances of safety.
Their fear for him was born of love, but to Neel, it felt like chains tightening around him.
He sighed, resigned yet restless. Perhaps this was the way of all parents—shielding their children from the storm, even when the children themselves yearned to step into it.
The chandelier flickered, the hum of the villa's systems blending with the stillness of the room. Beyond the windows, the night was thick and watchful. Tomorrow at midnight, the world would transform.
And in this quiet moment, the Jagger family braced themselves, bound together by love, but divided by fear.