The city of Harmony did not breathe; it hummed.
From the wide, sun-drenched avenues to the perfectly manicured parks, everything was in its place. The streets were so clean they looked polished. People moved with a rhythmic, unhurried grace—a slow-motion dance of a society that had forgotten the meaning of stress.
Near a storage bay, a delivery worker pushed a massive metal cart. It was laden with steel crates that should have required a forklift to move, yet he pushed it with one hand while whistling a tune. Nearby, a group of children played. One child tripped, his small foot catching on the curb. The heavy cart tipped, crashing onto the pavement with a thunderous clang that echoed off the pristine buildings.
The world paused for a heartbeat.
A girl, barely seven years old, walked over. Without a hint of strain, she gripped the edge of the iron cart and heaved it upright. The metal groaned, but she didn't even break a sweat. No one cheered. No one looked surprised. The children went back to their game, and the worker continued his stroll.
The city exhaled, and the peace remained unbroken.
In my bedroom, the light was soft and curated. I stretched instinctively, my muscles tightening with a sudden, surging heat.
CRACK.
I froze. The wooden frame of my bed groaned, a fresh splinter yawning open where my weight had shifted. I didn't panic; I just felt a dull, familiar annoyance.
"Again..." I muttered.
I knelt on the floor, my fingers finding the warped wood. With practiced, careful control, I pressed the frame back into place. The oak yielded like wet clay under my touch until the line was straight again. I sat on the edge of the mattress, waiting for the restless vibration in my bones to settle. Then, I stood.
The kitchen was filled with the scent of toasted bread and the soft humming of my mother. My father sat at the table, his eyes fixed on a thin glass tablet, while my sister, Elara, spoke at a mile a minute.
"—and then she said it wasn't fair at all! Can you believe it?"
I reached for a glass of water, my mind still half-stuck in the strange dream I'd had of a purple sky. My grip tightened unconsciously.
Snap.
A thin, jagged crack raced up the side of the glass. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room. My father's eyes snapped up instantly.
"Careful," he said. His voice was calm, but there was a hard, firm edge to it. "You don't know your own strength, Kael."
I loosened my grip, my face heating up with embarrassment. "Sorry."
Elara giggled, poking at her breakfast. "He never does! He's like a bull in a china shop."
My mother smiled, but as she handed me a plate, her eyes lingered on mine for a second too long. There was a shadow in them—a flicker of something that looked like mourning, or perhaps, warning. "Eat before it gets cold," she said softly.
The walk to school was a display of effortless power. I watched construction workers tossing heavy stone blocks to one another like they were pillows. No one shouted instructions. No one struggled. It was a performance of "Harmony," a world where the laws of physics seemed to suggest that nothing was truly heavy.
At the school gate, the Teacher stood with a radiant, fixed smile. "Good morning. Remember—harmony is strength."
"Harmony is strength," the students replied in a perfect, chilling unison.
I repeated it, too. But my voice hit the air a fraction of a second late. I noticed the delay—the way my words didn't quite mesh with the collective. No one else seemed to care, yet the pressure in my chest began to grow.
By midday, the sensation was a dull roar. Sitting in the classroom, the teacher's lecture became a distant mumble. My heartbeat grew loud—Thump. Thump.—vibrating against my ribs like a trapped bird. My fingers gripped the edge of the desk, the wood beginning to complain.
Then—snap. The world rushed back. The teacher was still talking. My classmates were still writing. No one had noticed. I exhaled slowly, my lungs feeling like they were filled with lead.
Later, in the courtyard, I sat with Kenji. The campus was beautiful, the faces around us relaxed and glowing with health.
"Honestly," Kenji said, leaning back. "Why would anyone want more than this?"
I looked around at the white stone and the smiling masks. "I don't know," I said.
Kenji frowned, his eyes searching mine. "That's a strange thing to say, Kael."
The silence that followed was heavy. We ate quietly, but for the first time, we weren't sitting side-by-side. We were worlds apart.
School ended, and the walk home felt longer than usual. The sun was beginning its descent when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a message from Elara about dinner.
Instead, there was no name. Just three words that made the world tilt on its axis:
Emergency. Come home.
The pressure in my chest didn't just throb—it exploded. I didn't think about "Harmony" or "Strength." I just ran.