The first real aurora hit the city three nights later.
Not the pale, thin streaks that had flickered on phone cameras, but a full, sky-filling curtain of green fire that rolled over the horizon like a wave.
We saw it from our apartment balcony.
Lily was the one who noticed first, yanking back the curtains with a startled curse.
"Mom!" she shouted. "You need to see this!"
I hurried out, heart already pounding.
The skyline was aglow.
Every reflective surface—windows, glass towers, even puddles in the street—caught the shimmering light. The aurora rippled from east to west, a living thing, tendrils curling down closer than they had any right to be at this latitude.
Ryan pressed his face to the glass, eyes huge.
"Whoa," he breathed. "It's like a video game."
Alex stood beside him, one arm around his shoulders, jaw tight.
"News says it's some kind of geomagnetic storm," he said. "Harmless. Pretty, even."
He didn't sound convinced.
My phone buzzed with a half-dozen messages at once.
Danny: sis the sky's broken lol
Claire: omg are you seeing this??? 😱
Marcus: Your countryside idea is starting to feel less crazy.
I ignored them for the moment.
The System pulsed, sharp and insistent.
[GLOBAL ANOMALY SPIKE DETECTED]
[DESCENT MIST INDEX: 37%]
[EXPECTED MIST INITIALIZATION: T - 59 DAYS]
Fifty-nine days.
The kids were still talking, arguing about whether aliens were real, if the lights could be hacked, if this would cancel school.
"Lily," I said quietly. "Ryan. Come sit."
They turned, surprised by my tone.
We gathered around the small dining table. The aurora's glow painted the walls green.
Alex sat too, eyes flicking between my face and the sky.
"What is it?" he asked.
I took a breath.
"I need you all to listen carefully," I said. "And I need you to take what I'm about to say seriously. Even if it sounds…strange."
Lily frowned.
"This is about the weird disaster-prep stuff," she said.
"Yes," I said. "And about that land we bought. And about… things I can't fully explain yet."
Ryan shifted in his chair.
"Is the sky dangerous?" he asked. "Like radiation?"
"Not exactly," I said. "But it's a sign. Of bigger changes coming."
Alex's jaw clenched.
"What changes?" he said.
I met his gaze.
"In two months," I said quietly, "the world is going to be very different. There will be…extreme weather. Power outages. People will panic. Some will get hurt. Some will get…sick. The government will say they have it under control. They won't."
Alex's eyes narrowed.
"Evie," he said slowly. "Where are you getting this?"
"Call it a gut feeling," I said. "Call it pattern recognition. Call it…something else. It doesn't matter. What matters is that we prepare. Now. Before everyone else tries to."
Lily considered.
"You're talking about like…a real apocalypse," she said. "Not just 'buy some extra water' apocalypse."
"Yes," I said.
Ryan swallowed.
"Like zombies?" he whispered, half-hopeful, half-terrified.
I hesitated.
"Maybe not the movie kind," I said. "But there will be…things. People who aren't themselves. Animals that change. We don't need to worry about the details yet. What we need to worry about is where we'll be when it happens."
Alex exhaled slowly.
"And you think," he said, "that our best bet is that land. This…Last Light Valley."
I blinked.
"You looked at the documents," I said, surprised.
"Of course I did," he said. "I may have signed blindly on your hunch, but I still read my own investments."
He drummed his fingers on the table.
"And you want to move there," he continued. "All of us. Before anything…hits."
"As soon as we can make it livable," I said. "We don't have to frame it as the end of the world. We can call it a…family project. A break from the city. But when I say it's time to go, we go. No arguments. No delays."
Lily chewed her lip.
"What about school?" she said. "My friends? Ryan's tournaments? Dad's job?"
Ryan piped up.
"I don't care about school," he said quickly.
"Ryan," Alex said automatically.
I looked at my daughter.
"I won't lie to you," I said. "If I'm right, school will…change anyway. Jobs will change. Everything will. We can cling to routine until it breaks around us, or we can step away before the wave hits."
She stared at the table, knuckles white.
"Are you scared?" she asked, not looking up.
"Yes," I said. "I've never been more scared in my life."
She glanced up, surprised.
"But I'm more scared," I added, "of doing nothing."
Silence settled, heavy as the glowing sky.
Alex rubbed his face.
"Evie," he said slowly, "I love you. And I trust you. But what you're asking…this isn't just buying some canned food. This is upending our lives on a prediction."
"I know," I said. "And if I could show you what I've seen, I would. But I can't. All I can do is ask you to trust that I'm not doing this lightly. That I would not drag our children into the woods for no reason."
Lily's mouth twisted.
"That sounds exactly like what a cult leader would say," she muttered.
I huffed a laugh.
"If I start asking you to drink anything weird, you have my permission to stage an intervention," I said.
She snorted despite herself.
The System pinged.
[FAMILY BRIEFING: PARTIAL SUCCESS]
[ALEX SHEN – ACCEPTANCE: 52%]
[LILY SHEN – ACCEPTANCE: 49%]
[RYAN SHEN – ACCEPTANCE: 76%]
[NOTE: REPETITION + EVIDENCE WILL IMPROVE COMPLIANCE]
Alex looked out at the aurora again.
"If," he said slowly, "I start seeing evidence—more than weird lights and your instincts—I'll move heaven and earth to get us out there."
He turned back to me.
"But I need that evidence, Evie. I need…something to point to when I explain this to my board, to our parents, to anyone who asks why we're suddenly running to the hills."
I nodded.
"You'll have it," I said.
Lily leaned back, crossing her arms.
"And in the meantime?" she asked.
"In the meantime," I said, "we start small. Emergency bags. Some supplies. A few weekend trips to the Valley, get used to the place. No big speeches. Just…quiet preparation."
Ryan raised his hand.
"Can I put a sword in my emergency bag?" he asked.
"Absolutely not," Alex and I said in unison.
Lily snickered.
"See?" she said. "We're fine. Mom's still Mom."
I smiled thinly.
The aurora rippled, casting shifting shadows over their faces.
In my mind, the countdown ticked.
[DESCENT MIST – T - 59 DAYS]
Time was moving.
So would we.