The old grocer squinted at him from behind the counter, like he always did when J came in.
"Stone boy," the grocer muttered, sliding a bruised apple into the paper bag. "You again. Don't you have better things to do than bother my fruit?"
"Better things than eating rotten apples? Never." J slapped a hand over his chest like he'd been stabbed. "You wound me, sir. I thought we had something special. Now you betray me with—" he lifted the apple, grimaced theatrically, "—this atrocity. One bite of this and I'll haunt this store as the Ghost of Bad Discounts."
A kid waiting in line snickered. An older woman rolled her eyes. The grocer sighed and waved him away.
J grinned like he'd won a duel and stuffed the apple into the bag with exaggerated care. "Fear not, good people," he declared, backing out of the store. "I'll risk my life for you. This apple's going straight into enemy territory."
The automatic doors closed on a chorus of groans.
Outside, the street was lit in the soft orange haze of city lamps. People rushed past, bags in hand, chattering, laughing, living. J's grin faded as his shoulders slumped. He adjusted the grocery bag and muttered to himself.
Grandma's medicine is running low again. If I can stretch it two more days, maybe I can…
The thought trailed off. He pushed it away with another smile plastered on his face, like taping a mask back on.
....
Home was a two-room apartment on the fifth floor of an aging building. Paint peeled from the walls. The elevator hadn't worked in years. J jogged up the stairs two at a time, whistling loudly to drown out the ache in his legs.
"Grandma!" he called, kicking the door open with his heel. "Guess what? You live another day because I heroically acquired groceries. You're welcome."
Eleanor Stone sat in her chair near the window, knitting something with shaky hands. Her silver hair caught the lamplight, her back bent but her eyes sharp. She looked up at him and arched an eyebrow.
"You're late, sweety," she said.
"Late? Me? Impossible." J puffed out his chest, his messy black hair sticking out in every direction, his lean frame looking anything but heroic. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and his grin—crooked, boyish—never seemed to leave his face.
"I was building dramatic tension. Food always tastes better when it arrives with a bit of Flair."
"Flair," she said dryly, setting the knitting aside. "That's what you call being useless now?"
He gasped like she'd stabbed him. "Et tu, Grandma?"
She chuckled softly. "Bring me that apple before it turns itself inside out."
J obeyed, setting the bruised fruit in her palm. She inspected it with her sharp eyes, then handed it back. "Eat it, sweety. You need it more than I do."
J plopped into the chair opposite her, waving the apple like a sword. "A noble sacrifice. Truly, Grandma, your generosity knows no bounds."
She smiled faintly, but her hands trembled as she folded them in her lap. J's grin lingered, but inside his chest tightened. He saw the weakness in her arms, the way her breath came shorter than last week.
She's fading. Faster than I thought.
He took a loud bite from the apple, chewing noisily. "Don't worry, Grandma. You'll live long enough to see me become rich and famous."
"Famous for what? Annoying shopkeepers?"
"Exactly!" He pointed the apple dramatically at the ceiling. "Every great man needs a legacy."
"Mm. Then hurry up before I die of boredom."
They laughed together, but later, when she dozed in her chair, J sat quietly by the window. Outside, the city lights stretched endlessly. People, cars, neon signs. Normal. Ordinary. Fragile.
He clenched the bruised apple in his hand. "Don't worry, Grandma," he whispered. "I'll take care of you. Always."
....
The world ended on a Tuesday night.
At first, it was subtle. A flicker in the streetlamps. The low hum of electricity cutting for half a second. J glanced out the window, confused. Then the sky split open.
A white crack tore across the stars, jagged and glowing, spreading wider until it engulfed the heavens. A low rumble shook the glass panes. The sound built, thunder layered over thunder, until it roared in his bones.
"Grandma—" He turned, heart hammering.
Eleanor was awake in her chair, eyes wide. "Sweety?"
Before he could answer, light burst through the window, swallowing the room. His vision seared white.
And when it faded—
"Grandma!"
The chair was empty. Eleanor Stone was gone.
"No, no, no, no.....!" He dropped the apple, stumbling forward, hands clawing at empty air. His chest burned as if the air had been stolen from his lungs.
Then the light took him too.
....
Darkness.
Voices screamed around him, distant and echoing, like hundreds falling into a bottomless pit. The void pressed against his skin, heavy and suffocating.
Then, silence.
And a voice. Booming, cold, inhuman.
"Half of humankind has been chosen. Welcome to Atherion. Survive to live. Conquer to Ascend. Fail, and be forgotten."
The words reverberated through his skull.
J floated in the void, arms outstretched. His body trembled. He wanted to scream, to claw his way out, to demand answers. Instead, he smirked, his voice hoarse.
"…Well. At least I didn't have to pay for the ticket."
The void swallowed him whole.
And the last thought that cut through the darkness was not of himself.
Grandma, hold on. I'll find you.