FLASHBACK:
EXT. MANILA – NEIGHBORHOOD STREET – MORNING
The sun spills gold over narrow streets. Vendors shout breakfast specials; the smell of warm pandesal and sweet coffee drifts between houses. Children chase a worn soccer ball, their laughter bouncing against pastel walls.
INT. SOLIS FAMILY APARTMENT – KITCHEN – MORNING
The Solis apartment hums with quiet joy.
Mrs. Solis flips garlic rice in a pan while humming an old love song.
Mr. Solis sneaks bites of longganisa, pretending not to hear his wife's playful scolding.
Mrs. Solis: Don't think I can't see you stealing.
Mr. Solis: Taste testing is quality control. Our son would approve.
They share a small laugh. The photo of Arven and May on the fridge catches a beam of sunlight, their frozen smiles bright as ever.
INT. DEVEREUX RESIDENCE – PARIS – EARLY AFTERNOON
Grace's younger sister, Fritz, sprawls on the living room floor, gaming console in hand.
The sound of pixel explosions fills the room as Mrs. Devereux pours tea at the kitchen counter.
Mrs. Devereux: You've been at that game since breakfast.
Fritz: grinning Training. If Grace can fight monsters, I can at least beat a boss fight.
Mrs. Devereux: Just remember to save the world after you finish your homework.
They laugh together. For a moment, the world beyond the balcony—where soldiers sometimes march past—doesn't exist.
INT. VALDEZ FAMILY HOUSE – MANILA – LATE AFTERNOON
May's parents host a small neighborhood lunch. Kids crowd around the table, arguing over who gets the last mango slice.
Mr. Valdez plays a battered guitar, coaxing a cheerful tune.
Neighbors clap along, clinking glasses of iced calamansi.
Mrs. Valdez: Remember when May tried to sing this song and scared the cat?
The group bursts into warm laughter.
EXT. TOKYO – CITY PARK – SUNSET
College students lounge on the grass. A couple shares taiyaki ice cream, leaning against each other while pretending to study.
An elderly man folds paper cranes and gives them to passing children.
Streetlights flicker on as the sky melts from orange to violet.
INT. SOLIS FAMILY APARTMENT – EVENING
Arven's parents video call the Valdez family.
Screens flicker to life with smiles, playful teasing, and exchanged recipes.
They avoid serious topics, trading only small joys: new desserts, funny neighbor stories, a cat that learned to open doors.
Laughter fills the room, carrying into the quiet hallway outside.
Narration:
For a single day, the world remembered how to live.
Children ran. Parents teased. Sisters played. Lovers lingered beneath lazy skies.
War was a rumor. Death, a faraway echo.
These were the hours humanity fought to keep—the hours that still belonged to them.
EXT. MANILA – NEIGHBORHOOD STREET – LATE MORNING
The same street that echoed with children's laughter yesterday now carries a different rhythm.
Vendors still call out prices, but their voices carry an edge of hurry.
Uniformed soldiers check vehicles at a new checkpoint.
A faint vibration hums beneath the pavement, like the echo of a distant drum.
Inside a bakery, a young boy counts coins for bread.
His mother watches the soldiers, worry tucked behind her smile.
INT. SOLIS FAMILY APARTMENT – KITCHEN
The Solis family gathers again for breakfast, but the air feels heavier.
Mrs. Solis: They added more roadblocks near the old pier.
Mr. Solis: I saw the transports on my way home. Tanks, even.
He forces a small smile.
Mr. Solis: Probably just training.
The television flickers with breaking news: leaders calling for "readiness drills," footage of soldiers positioning artillery near the portals.
Mrs. Solis lowers the volume but not before the words possible escalation flash across the screen.
Mrs. Solis: Arven promised he'd come back. He will.
Mr. Solis: I know. He squeezes her hand. But the world outside doesn't wait on promises.
INT. DEVEREUX RESIDENCE – PARIS – AFTERNOON
Grace's sister Fritz lounges on the couch, scrolling through a social feed filled with protest videos.
Her thumb pauses on a clip of Gabriel's speech, replayed a million times.
Fritz: Everyone keeps posting theories. Some say Gabriel's one of us. Some say he isn't even real.
She glances at her mother.
Fritz: Do you think Grace can see any of this?
Mrs. Devereux: If she can, I hope she sees only this— gestures to the quiet apartment —home waiting for her. Not the fear.
They share a silent look as sirens wail faintly across the river.
INT. VALDEZ FAMILY HOUSE – MANILA – LATE AFTERNOON
Mr. Valdez tunes an old guitar while the neighborhood kids draw chalk stars on the walkway.
The television murmurs in the background about a United Nations "final contingency plan."
Mrs. Valdez sets down a plate of mango slices, forcing cheer.
Mrs. Valdez: Let's not let the news steal today.
Mr. Valdez: Agreed. Music first. Worry later.
The neighbors join in, clapping to the beat as children dance between chalk drawings shaped like portals and suns.
EXT. CITY PARK – TOKYO – EVENING
Paper lanterns sway in a soft breeze.
Students laugh over street food, but every few minutes their eyes drift toward giant outdoor screens replaying satellite images of the portals.
The screens cut briefly to static—just three seconds—then resume.
No one speaks of it, but conversations grow quieter.
INT. SOLIS FAMILY APARTMENT – NIGHT
Later, the Solis and Valdez families share another group video call.
Faces brighten as jokes trade across the connection, but lag and brief audio glitches interrupt their laughter.
Mrs. Valdez: Did you hear that? Like a—
The call freezes for a heartbeat. Everyone holds still, waiting.
Then the feed returns as if nothing happened.
They resume chatting, smiles slightly tighter than before.
Narration:
The world still smiled, cooked, teased, and played.
But beneath every heartbeat a quiet tremor waited—
a reminder that even on the sunniest day, shadows are only a breath away.
To be continued...