Chapter One – The Calm Before the Storm
The house was quiet except for the low drone of the television in the living room. A young girl sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, watching the screen with one eye and the doorway with the other. The soft glow from the TV cast faint amber halos over her features, turning her into a silhouette of concentration.
When the front door opened, she didn't jump. Only her lips curved into a grin, the kind that said she'd known this moment would come.
"Oh—you're back, brother," Serena called, her voice bright and playful, as if she hadn't a care in the world except this moment of shared mischief.
Sam stepped inside, shoes forgotten at the mat, and slid them off with practiced ease. A quiet chuckle escaped him, already knowing what she was about to say.
"Yeah," he said, light as a feather, though the world inside him felt more substantial than his words suggested.
Serena swung around on the couch, kneeling with her back to the TV, a picture-frame grin stretched across her face. "So… did you buy it?"
Sam rubbed the back of his neck, the crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Well… I might have forgotten."
Her reaction came in an instant, eyes widening in mock betrayal, cheeks puffing into a pout. "Ahh—brother, why?!" She crossed her arms, the cartoonish gravity of mock hurt weighing down her posture. "Hmph. I'm not talking to you again."
Sam laughed, unfazed, and stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders for a brief, protective squeeze before slipping away as she swatted playfully at his side.
"Hey!" Serena spun, but he was already halfway up the stairs. She slumped back onto the couch with an exaggerated pout. "Hmph."
The pout faded quickly. When she turned back toward the coffee table, her eyes landed on a small box of chocolates—her favorite. A small curl of a smile tipped her lips as she picked one up, unwrapped it, and let the sweetness melt on her tongue.
"So he didn't forget… just playing with me, again." she murmured, shaking her head with a wry little smile.
Moments later, Sam returned downstairs. His black hair was neatly combed, a faint sheen of water still clinging to it from a shower. He wore a plain white T-shirt and dark shorts, the simplicity of it underscoring the natural ease with which he carried himself. At nearly six feet, his tall, athletic frame spoke of years of training and discipline. And those black eyes—slate-dark, fathomless, as if they could swallow a room whole.
Without a word, he sat beside her and set his phone on the table.
"What are you watching?" he asked, glancing toward the television.
Serena's pout dissolved instantly. "Oh! It's this movie called Everlasting. Really interesting. Do you want to watch it with me?"
Instead of answering, she lowered her head onto his lap, eyes bright with unspoken expectation. Sam sighed softly, yet his hand moved on its own, patting her hair in a slow, gentle rhythm.
"No," he said after a pause. "I'll pass."
Still, he didn't move away. For a while, he simply sat there with her, watching the shifting images on the screen while absently combing his fingers through her long, dark hair.
"Have you eaten?" he asked at last.
Serena tilted her head enough to meet his eyes. "No. I was waiting for you."
Her pupils were a warm, living brown that seemed to glow in the dim light. They matched her lively, almost electric aura, so perfectly that Sam almost lost himself staring into them. He shook the thought away and spoke more quietly. "Gym was exhausting today. I stayed longer than usual." A soft smile softened his features. "Still, I'll make us something."
He rose with a small, practical grace and headed to the kitchen. The quiet house filled with the familiar sounds of sizzling and clinking as they prepared a simple dinner. When the meal was ready, they sat across from one another at the dining table.
Serena, as always, was a spring of energy. She chatted endlessly, thoughts spilling out in a rapid-fire stream, her words tumbling over themselves in their own rhythm. Sam listened, answering when needed, letting her exuberance fill the room.
It was an ordinary evening. Warm. Familiar.
Until the ground trembled.
The tremor started faintly—like a distant truck rumbling by. Then it grew stronger, the table shuddering as dishes rattled and clinked against the wood. Serena froze, mid-bite, the spoon hovering between mouth and plate.
Sam rose in a single, practiced movement, chair scraping back as he steadied the table with one hand. Then came the sound—low at first, then deafening—of engines roaring through the sky. Two planes, then five, then more, their thunder merging with tremors that shook the house to its core.
The television in the other room crackled, the movie breaking off with a sharp crack and a tone that screamed emergency. A reporter's face filled the screen, urgent and metallic with authority.
"Breaking news!" the reporter said, her voice tight with gravity. "Fifteen minutes ago, four gigantic rifts appeared in the skies above the United States. Behind me is one of them." The camera panned to show a wound in the heavens, crimson and shadow swirling within a rent in the fabric of the sky.
"This phenomenon is not limited to America. Reports confirm seven rifts in China, eight in Russia, and dozens more scattered worldwide. The source remains unknown. For an official response, we now turn to the President."
The image shifted to a man behind a podium, flanked by officials whose faces wore the same mask of practiced calm that never quite reaches the eyes in moments like these. His voice was measured, practiced, but a tremor of fear leaked through the surface.
"My fellow citizens… we are aware of the sudden anomalies that have appeared across the globe. Our scientists and military are working tirelessly to determine their origin and effects. At this time, we urge everyone to remain calm and stay indoors. Emergency services are being mobilized. This is unprecedented, but I am confident we will overcome."
The calm, polished cadence did little to hide the gnawing uncertainty in his eyes.
Even Serena's earlier brightness dimmed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she studied the screen, listening but not hearing fully.
The silence broke with the sharp trill of Sam's phone. He answered at once.
"Hello?"
"Sam—listen to me." The voice was his stepmother's, the tremor of panic threaded through the static. "Lock the doors and don't go out, do you hear me?"
"What? What's going on? Is that… gunfire?" Sam's voice sharpened, shifting from curious to unease with alarming speed.
"Just promise me!" she cried, distortion curling the edges of every word. "Stay inside! Don't—"
Her plea was swallowed by a roar—inhuman, animal—far louder than the engines outside. A sound that pushed into Sam's bones and left a cold ache in its wake.
"Hello?! Hello?!" he shouted, voice cracking with a blend of fear and resolve. The line went dead.
Sam stared at the black screen, the glow of the static on the TV reflecting in his eyes. No signal. The world on the other side of the glass might as well have vanished.
He turned slowly toward Serena. She hadn't moved, except for the tremble that had deepened the lines around her mouth. Her eyes were still fixed on the flickering, static-bloomed image, as if it could hold her in place.
"Serena?" he asked gently, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder when she didn't respond.
His frown deepened. "What happened? Talk to me."
Slowly, she lifted a trembling hand and pointed at the static-filled screen. Her lips parted, words a whisper, almost a vow to herself more than to him.
"T-that… I just saw…"
The room seemed to close in around them, the sounds of the city beyond the walls muffled by the tremor in the air. The terror in her eyes was real enough to make Sam's blood turn cold, and the first spark of something else—cautious wonder, perhaps, or a dull ache of fate—smoldered somewhere behind his stern, composed façade.
In that quiet aftershock, the world's edges loosened just enough to reveal a future none of them were prepared to face.