Once, Man possessed a great gift.

  Thanks to it, Man shaped the world according to his pleasure.

  And Man had an aspiration: to reunite with his creator.

  So he used his gift to raise a tower reaching unto heaven.

  But he did it recklessly, and the earth was paying the price.

  So God came down and confounded the language of Man.

  And Man, deprived of his strength, now shattered into a thousand fragments, dispersed all over the earth.

  He mastered techniques, sciences, arts, and ruled the world in a different way.

  But the fragmented gift was still there, scattered.

  And chance guided its restoration, leading it to reunion.

  This is a story with deep, ancient roots, which has had many protagonists… and of which I will be the last.

  The story of a great drama… of a clash between opposites… but also of an extraordinary quest. And my role in this tale began the day I arrived on Tersain…

  It’s the wind that wakes me, stirring my thick hair so that it lashes against my face. With difficulty, I begin to open my eyes. My vision returns slowly, and as it grows clearer, I realise something’s not right. Then I discover it isn’t the wind ruffling my hair: in fact, I’m upside down… and I’m falling!

  “AH…AAAAAAAAAAH!”

  Despite the pain coursing through every limb, I scream with all my might. There’s no ground beneath me. Only clouds, wherever I look. And I keep plummeting faster and faster.

  Blast… is all I can think, still dazed from having lost consciousness.

  As I pierce through the clouds, what looks like the peak of a mountain emerges from within them. Below me, the layer of cloud is opening up, letting me see something: the ground is rushing closer.

  I’m… about to… die!

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Hoddesdon (England)

  22 October 20XX

  – – – – – – – – – –

  “I’m pleased to welcome you all to this research centre.”

  The room I’m in isn’t particularly large. At least, that’s the impression it gives now that it’s filled with so many students. It’s just my opinion, but I doubt it was designed to accommodate large gatherings.

  The only good thing is that a platform has been placed at the front of the room to raise up whoever addresses the audience. Thanks to that, even I— despite the many heads of my classmates blocking my view—can see the man speaking to us.

  “Among you, as you approach the time to decide which path to take, there’s probably someone considering a career in physics… and, why not, astrophysics,” he says.

  When he introduced himself, he said he’s a researcher as well as the director of this place. Yet, according to common preconceptions, you’d never guess he’s someone in a position of authority.

  He looks to be around thirty, with black hair tied back in a ponytail and a goatee. Tall and thin, he’s dressed rather sloppily, wearing a lab coat that only partly conceals the casual clothes underneath. His speech is somewhat listless, though there’s nothing to criticise about his English, which he handles with the skill you’d expect from a London academic.

  Perhaps it’s the woman accompanying the director who lends a bit more formality to the presentation: a researcher dressed with understated elegance, with light brown hair neatly styled to shoulder length, and a pair of glasses giving her a somewhat serious look. Taken together with her composed demeanour, these features might make her seem older than her colleague. I think, however, that they’re about the same age… though I have to admit, I’m not very good at guessing people’s apparent age.

  “Maybe you imagine yourselves somewhere far away, in an observatory aimed at the stars…” the man goes on, “but you might also end up, like us, not so far from home, doing research for the University of London. It may not sound thrilling, but since your school has decided to send you here, I’ll try to spark your minds with what we’re working on.”

  Well, I’d say how this guy is dressed makes absolutely no difference. He’s free to do as he likes, as long as he makes this event interesting. In fact, I believe there’s potential for it to be far more intriguing than other career programmes they’ve already dragged my class to, now that the time is nearing for us to decide what our future holds.

  I do my best not to think about it, but at times I have to remind myself that, after all, I’m a sixth-form student.

  And yet, I still don’t have a clear idea of what I’ll do after secondary school. I’m fairly sure it’ll be university, but…

  While that thought crosses my mind uninvited, I feel a slight bump on the back of my neck. It’s a familiar sensation: I’m certain it was a paper ball. I reckon I’m acquainted enough with such makeshift projectiles to recognise one without looking.

  I pretend nothing happened. I know exactly where it came from. In fact, to flaunt my indifference, I even pretend to make sure my school uniform is still in order. The dark grey trousers, white shirt, blue blazer and tie are, of course, perfectly fine. The only ‘unusual’ thing is a badge I had to pin to my chest, indicating I’m here as a visitor. Identical to the ones my classmates are wearing, mine differs only in the name I’ve scribbled on it: Ethan Knight.

  Just as I note with mild disappointment what awful handwriting I used, I’m struck again.

  Out of sheer caution, I slightly turn my head to glance at the seats behind me. A couple of rows back, I spot three boys quietly sniggering as they stare at me.

  Of course it had to be them. I feel my irritation surge, but I refuse to let it provoke me. I’m just about to turn forward again when I notice, out of the corner of my eye, one of my tormentors’ arms moving… and something flying straight at me.

  Acting purely on instinct, I snap a hand up to shield my face. I find my fingers closing around something soft: a paper ball, caught in mid-air.

  What ridiculous luck. Let’s be honest, I’m not at all precise with these kinds of moves; the fact I managed it is pure chance. Still, I’ll admit it’s a small satisfaction, if those three idiots saw me do it.

  Now, though, what should I do? Throw this projectile back? I’m tempted… but in the end, I decide against it. I’d cause myself more trouble than them.

  So I let the ball drop ostentatiously to the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of annoyance on their faces.

  Looks like I’ve annoyed them.

  Meanwhile, the director of the research centre has kept talking to the students. And now, in a tone slightly more emphatic than the flat one he’s used so far…

  “What would you think if I told you we’ve recently noticed… anomalous distortions of the light coming from other celestial bodies?” he asks. “Alterations that appear to be caused by gravitational fields… you know what I’m talking about, I presume.”

  Of course I do. I love this sort of stuff!

  I clutch the notebook and pencil on my lap more tightly, feeling my interest grow.

  “And yet, there are no significant masses in the regions where such fields should be generated,” he continues. “Who knows what it could be. Any ideas?”

  No sooner has he asked than a hand shoots up: one belonging to a sturdily built boy. As usual, Leopold jumps right in. Not that he’s trying to show off… I think. He’s just made that way.

  “Dark matter?” the boy suggests.

  “Ah, yes… that’s a good idea,” the director nods. “Anything else?”

  I feel a wave of unease as I hear this exchange. Indeed… it’s that sense that something doesn’t quite add up in Leopold’s suggestion… mixed with a bit of annoyance that the researcher hasn’t corrected him.

  Yes… I know why my classmate’s idea doesn’t sit well with me. But that’s not really the point. This whole distortion thing is so intriguing. An alternative explanation for their existence has also occurred to me. Though… well, this is veering into sci-fi territory. No way am I going to make a fool of myself by bringing it up in front of everyone.

  But it’s so interesting, I’m afraid I’ll forget it. Who knows, it might prove useful someday… perhaps if I ever feel like writing a sci-fi story.

  So my pencil moves quickly, jotting down my thoughts. I’ve learned over time that it’s best to write certain things down right away; because, unlike when I reason step-by-step, sudden insights like this can slip out of mind almost immediately.

  ???

  It had to happen. It’s always like this. For me, the time has come to pay for my rebellion.

  In front of me, in one of the research centre’s bathrooms, stand the three boys who were throwing paper balls at me earlier. One of them, whom I like to call the ‘pack leader,’ is far too close. He looks rather threatening as he presses one hand against the wall behind me, trapping me—although without touching me—in the narrow space between himself and the wall.

  “Hey…” he says, his eyes seeking mine. “Were you ignoring us before?”

  I don’t meet his gaze. Nor do I answer. Even though I expected to be their target as soon as the break in the presentation started, I have nothing ready to say in return.

  “You look down on us, don’t you?” the boy persists. “Who do you think you are? You’re rubbish at school… what mark did you get in maths yesterday?”

  Look who’s talking. Justin—this classmate of mine—is hardly good at any subject. The same goes for Elvin and Chaz, the two with him.

  “Could you at least leave me alone here?” I reply, shifting sideways to slip free of his invisible grip. “I’m not in the mood to listen to you.”

  As I speak, I still avoid looking Justin in the eyes. My irritation is rising, and I don’t want it to show in my gaze. I am aware what I just said won’t help calm things down; however, the agitation of being in this situation—just another in so many years of high school—made me blurt out something different from my usual responses.

  “Not in the mood?”

  Justin seems taken aback by my reaction.

  “Hey, what are you on about?” he adds, anger edging into his voice.

  Suddenly, he moves behind me. For a moment, I think he’s about to punch or slap me. Because of that, I make no effort to protect the notebook I’ve been clutching… which he now snatches from my grasp.

  I barely manage to turn around before Justin has bent and rolled the notebook up. Then he raises it and brings it down hard on my head.

  “Today you feel like answering back?” he exclaims. “What’s got into you? Do you only do this when we’re not at school?”

  Stupid troglodyte. He lost control of his emotions the second his pride was even slightly challenged—especially by me, who never usually puts up any resistance.

  But today, I’m not inclined to indulge his ‘fragile’ wounded ego. Not at all. I don’t know why… maybe, as he said, we’re not on school grounds, so I feel freer to act as I please.

  And it’s been several days now that I’ve been at the end of my tether.

  “Give it back…” I protest, reaching out to try to grab the notebook.

  Justin pulls it away from me. I see the amusement on his face, mingled with the irritation he’s venting. That anger only heightens mine, as though I’m absorbing it from this idiot. Damn it… the thought of being influenced by someone like him annoys me even more.

  I want that damn notebook back. I want it now. Almost without realising it, my right hand clenches into a fist. It’s completely unlike me… but driven by emotions, my body and mind are gearing up to fight and take back what’s mine.

  Before I can do something I’d surely regret, however… someone behind Justin plucks the notebook from his hand.

  “Huh?”

  With that exclamation, Justin turns. And there he is, right behind him: the man with the ponytail who was talking to us about astrophysics just moments ago. It’s him—the director of this research centre—who has taken the notebook. He must have just walked into the bathroom.

  “Are we having fun here?”

  The scientist asks that with an almost bored… or maybe annoyed? expression. His current emotions are not easy for me to read.

  One thing’s certain: this guy is really tall. I hadn’t fully noticed until now. From that height, the angle at which he’s looking down at Justin makes him seem even more intimidating than simply being an adult would.

  And that clearly rattles the three bullies.

  “Oh, well…” Justin begins, smiling nervously. “We were just messing around, you know, among classmates!”

  Yeah, right.

  “Ah, youth… so entertaining,” the man comments, without returning the smile. “Do you lot often torment your classmates?”

  “What? No, it’s not torment,” Justin replies, even more flustered now. “Anyway, it’s him who never reacts.”

  He says it, pointing at me. I can only stare at him, bewildered. Faced with this odd scene, my own irritation is ebbing away.

  “Oooh… I see,” the director says, nodding repeatedly, as though he’s grasped the whole situation. “Great reasoning: if he doesn’t fight back, it’s your duty to go after him, right? Hm…”

  All of a sudden, I catch it: a very swift change in the researcher’s expression—so slight it’s almost imperceptible. If I had to describe it, I wouldn’t even know exactly what it was. But it’s enough to warn me that something’s about to happen.

  “So why don’t you lot disappear…”

  Right as he says it, his face twists into a disturbing grimace. It’s not a smile… not a flash of anger… it’s pure, simple menace. Even though I sensed it coming, I can’t help feeling a chill.

  The same effect comes from his voice—normal in tone, yet filled with sinister undertones—as he finishes:

  “… BEFORE I HAVE AN ENLIGHTENING LITTLE CHAT WITH YOUR TEACHERS?”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Justin and his mates fall silent. None of the three dares to talk back. Whatever I’m feeling, they must be feeling it tenfold, since they’re the direct target of his menace.

  So, as if in perfect unison, they turn away and start leaving.

  As he does, Justin passes by me. In that moment…

  “Feel protected now, do you? Huh?” he mutters under his breath, without stopping.

  Then he walks past, exiting the bathroom with the others. But his message was loud and clear.

  Will I have to pay for this too?

  Honestly, I don’t really care right now. I just feel exhausted, having come so close to actually fighting to reclaim what’s mine. ME, who’s never had anything to do with violence.

  My eyes drift to a mirror by the bathroom sinks. Gazing back are two pale green eyes: my own. From my reflection, I spare only a brief glance to see if my blond hair is still in order, before noticing how my face—which I’d describe as gentle and somewhat boyish—looks far too drained and worn.

  C’mon… pull yourself together, Ethan.

  Then I remember I’m not alone.

  I look over at the director. He seems to have lost all interest in the bullies. His eyes are on my notebook, which has opened in his hands. He appears to be reading what’s written there… looking somewhat intrigued.

  It only lasts a few seconds, during which I remain still, both confused and embarrassed. Then, the man seems to realise my attention. He gives me a half-smile, then closes the notebook and hands it to me.

  ???

  What just happened earlier?

  Seated on a small sofa in a recreation room of the research centre, I keep recalling the scene I’ve just been involved in. After getting me out of trouble, the director left without saying a word. It was such a strange situation that it left me feeling disoriented, now distracting me from what I’m doing: reading a scientific article on my smartphone.

  It’s something I like to do during idle moments like this. I don’t have any specific preference for topics; I just pick up whatever I come across.

  In this case, it’s a newly released piece of news about the discovery of a new species of bacteria in the polar regions. I think I’ve heard it mentioned on TV recently as well.

  Ah, but I’m too distracted to take in what I’m reading. My gaze wanders away from my phone… and ends up on one of the other people in the room. Lizzie: a student with a long plait, smiling as she chats with another classmate of mine.

  Watching her makes my heart beat a little faster, and I can’t help feeling a vague sense of wellbeing mixed with a hint of melancholy.

  “Do you like that girl?”

  Suddenly, that question reaches me, and someone sits down next to me. It startles me so much that I nearly jump. I feel a burning wave of embarrassment as I realise it’s the man with the ponytail. He’s holding a steaming cup, which, from its smell, I assume contains tea.

  “Eh? Wha…?” I stammer, my brain stalling in agitation. “No…”

  “It’s hardly a crime,” the researcher remarks, before taking a sip from the cup in his hand. “Why not go and talk to her?”

  He clearly hasn’t believed my denial. Well, obviously—I wasn’t convincing at all. The unexpected situation hasn’t given me time to hide my emotions.

  “… it just doesn’t seem appropriate.”

  Worse still, that’s what I end up telling him. But why am I even answering? And what have I got to do with this guy, anyway? Did I really just say that to him? Am I going mad?

  Calm down, Ethan… calm down!

  As I address myself, I draw in a long breath. It’s obvious I’m not myself today. I’m acting in a highly unusual way. What a day…

  Meanwhile, the director just sits there, quietly sipping his tea, as though we’re having a perfectly ordinary conversation.

  “Mmmh… you’ll have to do something if you’re interested in her,” he muses, not looking at me. “And as for those second-rate bullies from before… you can’t let yourself get pushed around by people like that.”

  “I find it easier to put up with it,” I explain.

  It’s strange. Perhaps it’s this man’s calmness, combined with the informal vibe he gives off… but I don’t feel all that uncomfortable being honest with him.

  Very unusual. But then, he did go to the trouble of defending me earlier. I appreciate that, especially because he doesn’t seem to be implying that I’m to blame for Justin’s ‘attention’ just because I never fight back. It’s something I hear often enough from my teachers, as if it were an excuse not to step in and put a stop to that boy’s bullying.

  “Putting up with things is an option, but you have to consider how much you’re giving up by doing so,” the director says. “If you put up with everything, you’ll end up having everything taken away from you.”

  Silence. I really don’t know how to respond to that statement. I don’t feel he’s lecturing me; it’s more like he’s inviting me, as an equal, to consider his point of view.

  Faced with that attitude, my mind can’t help but grasp the meaning his words seem to convey.

  “Tell me, anyway…” the man adds after a while. “How are you at physics?”

  What an… odd question. True, I’m talking to an astrophysicist, but…

  “So-so…” I reply, a note of shame creeping into my voice. “Mathematical formulas aren’t my strong suit.”

  “Ah, nor mine,” the director admits, giving a half-smile. “I’ve got Susan for that—she’s good at it…”

  He says this with a nod of his head towards the door of the room we’re in. There she is: the woman who’d been with him earlier during the presentation.

  She’s talking to another young man, who’s also wearing a lab coat. Their expressions look quite serious.

  “You had some interesting notes in your notebook.”

  Suddenly, the director says this to me. Then, for the first time since this conversation began… he looks directly at me. And I feel the weight of his full attention.

  “Not many, mind you…” he goes on. “But there were some stimulating ideas. Why didn’t you mention them when I asked for your thoughts on the light distortions we’re studying?”

  Ah… so that’s what he was reading in my notebook earlier. How embarrassing!

  “They were just random thoughts…” I say, shifting my gaze away from him.

  My notebook is resting on my lap. I open it, to check what I wrote:

  ‘It can’t have been dark matter: it would’ve been detected. Put like that, it’s as though invisible planets appeared and created new gravitational fields in the solar system. But those would’ve been discovered, too.’

  Yes, it’s as embarrassing as I remembered. And yet… this man doesn’t seem to see it that way. I didn’t detect even a hint of amusement or sarcasm in his eyes.

  And now…

  “Thinking outside the box isn’t bad at all,” the researcher declares. “There are far too many people who only do what common sense dictates, never pushing things a bit further.”

  Just then, he seems to notice something. Following his gaze, I see that the woman he’d mentioned before is beckoning him over.

  In response, the man stands up.

  “Keep cultivating that offbeat mindset…” he finishes, starting to walk away. “It could come in handy one day.”

  I watch him go. I have no chance to comment… nor would I know what to say.

  Meanwhile, the director joins his colleague and the man she was speaking to.

  “Nathan,” I hear her say, even though she’s a few metres away. “The growth of the light distortions has suddenly increased. And it keeps intensifying.”

  I sense a wave of tension emanate from the director.

  Has something happened? I wonder. But isn’t the break about to end shortly?

  No sooner do I think that than, all of a sudden, the lights in the room flicker. Immediately afterwards, with a very strange sound, they all switch off at the same time.

  We’re left in darkness.

  ???

  The research centre that hosted my class was built fairly recently, just outside the town of Hoddesdon. Nothing remarkable: it’s a small building in the countryside, with aerials of various shapes and sizes dotting its roof and courtyard. From what I’ve gathered, there aren’t many people working there; not that anyone would expect much, given that it’s funded by the meagre grants allocated by the universities.

  Probably for that very reason—and who knows how—about half of the lights in the building suddenly burned out all at once.

  Under these circumstances, the staff had to call off my class’s visit. Still, I suspect there’s more going on behind the scenes, judging by the exchange I inadvertently overheard between the researchers called Nathan and Susan.

  That doesn’t change the outcome: our entire class gets to go home. And so, here I am, leaving the research centre along with the other students.

  Let’s hope it doesn’t rain…

  Above us, banks of clouds appear to have rolled in from the sea, darkening the sky in a worrisome way. Considering that the sun is on its way down, it’s so dim that it had become rather difficult to do anything inside the building without artificial light.

  Just for a moment, my gaze drifts to Lizzie, walking a few metres away with the same friend from before. In that instant, the director’s advice springs to mind. Then I shake my head and, without speaking to anyone, head for the post where I’ve secured my bicycle.

  Usually, you couldn’t say I have a keen eye for detail… at least, not when it comes to the world around me. By sheer chance, though, this time I immediately notice that something’s off.

  The bike’s front tyre is flat.

  Oh, no…

  I crouch beside it, searching for damage, though I’m unlikely to spot anything without a thorough inspection. I’m fairly sure, however, that the inner tube is punctured.

  Is that just a coincidence?

  Prompted by a sudden hunch, I lift my eyes, looking for someone. Sure enough, I spot a boy getting into the car his parents have come to pick him up with: Justin, who smirks as he returns my gaze before disappearing behind the door.

  No… of course…

  Just as I thought. He simply couldn’t let go of the shame of being interrupted while tormenting me, could he?

  ???

  Darker and darker, the clouds filling the sky have begun to stir. First distant, then increasingly louder, rumbles of thunder start rolling across the countryside around me.

  Suddenly, lightning flashes overhead, accompanied by the characteristic, tearing noise.

  I wonder how things got to this point.

  That thought crosses my mind as I push my bike along the road that, passing through Hoddesdon, will lead me home. With a flat tyre, cycling is impossible, and even just moving the bike like this is fairly cumbersome.

  There’s no one else around. Most of the cars that brought students home have already passed, so the road is now quite still. Or it would be, if not for the foul weather.

  The wind blows fiercely, dragging along the leaves fallen from the trees. Still, I press on, exposed to the gusts scouring the surrounding fields.

  That guy… what was it he said? That I’d end up having everything taken away? And what could anyone possibly take from me? I’m no good at school… I practically have no friends… and my life in general is anything but interesting. I can’t even interact with people without coming across as odd or suspicious. Like earlier, for instance: the director was kind to me, yet I didn’t even think to thank him properly as I should have done.

  I lift my gaze to the stormy sky, my ears filled with the wind’s howl. The clouds are black as pitch, illuminated here and there by the occasional lightning strike. Visibility is so poor that I’ve switched on my bike’s light just to keep moving.

  Hmm… seeing myself like this, I definitely look rather resigned… as though I’ve given up on the idea of living in anything but this pathetic state. And yet… that’s not how I feel at all!

  I clench my teeth involuntarily. A sudden wave of annoyance rushes through me, triggered by those reflections. It quickly subsides, however, as I call upon calm to steady my mind.

  Still, I don’t feel like complaining. If I did, anyone worse off than me would rightly want to kick me. No… better not to dwell on it too much. And I’ve got no shortage of distractions to help me…

  I smile to myself.

  … including talking to myself, the way I’m doing now.

  My phone’s ringtone reaches my ears. Without stopping, I pull the device from my pocket and accept the incoming call.

  “Hello?” I reply. “Oh, yes, perfect!”

  Speak of the devil…

  ???

  Meanwhile, inside the research centre, the scientist named Susan enters the director’s office. The clacking of the astrophysicist’s keyboard is audible even from outside. Obviously, the man is in front of the computer, his forehead furrowed as he works. Many other rooms in the building are still without lighting, but luckily for him, this one was spared.

  On the wall behind the researcher hangs a poster of an atom, surrounded by a constellation of scribbled notes haphazardly attached with adhesive tape. The desk, for its part, is in an even worse state. The director is a man as industrious in his work as he is untidy.

  “Nathan,” Susan says, cautious to disturb her colleague. “They’re reporting anomalous electrostatic build-ups in several parts of the country.”

  The astrophysicist doesn’t even glance away from the screen. A completely regular occurrence, especially now that an increase in electromagnetic anomalies has been noted.

  “I’m not interested,” he replies. “I only deal with the distortions.”

  “The thing is… these build-ups line up exactly with the increases in the light distortions.”

  To reinforce her point, the researcher turns towards the man a tablet PC she brought along, displaying a series of graphs. But there’s no longer any need. Upon hearing those “magic words,” Nathan has already raised his gaze to observe his colleague.

  After a few seconds…

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  The rumble of very close thunder arrives from outside. At the same time, a peak appears on the graphs on Susan’s tablet.

  They’re signs—still unrecognised by her, the director, or anyone else—that something is gathering beyond the clouds above the building: vast energies largely undetected except for their indirect effects, which researchers like Nathan and Susan are monitoring from their labs.

  ???

  Yet another flash of lightning splits the clouds, casting a brief but intense glow over the landscape, which for an instant becomes covered in sharp, grotesque shadows.

  The book I ordered at the bookshop has arrived early… if I hurry, I should be able to pick it up on the way!

  I think this gleefully, right after ending the call.

  If all goes well, that spoiler about Z1 winning the war will turn out to be false. Damn, it still bothers me! I hate it when people spoil…

  A particularly intense flash dazzles me, accompanied by a chilling noise. A lightning bolt has pierced the sky right above me. And it’s not the only one.

  More forks of lightning form through the clouds, casting continuous flashes over the landscape.

  I should have asked someone to pick me up.

  Half out of pride, half because I didn’t want to trouble anyone, I decided not to bother my parents. But I’m starting to regret it.

  I need to hurry. It’s really about to rain here.

  I don’t even finish thinking it before an extraordinarily strong gust of wind hits me. I plant my feet on the ground, almost fearing I might be knocked over.

  ???

  Inside the research centre, the Cartesian charts on Nathan’s computer suddenly vanish.

  “Dammit!” the director exclaims. “What happened?”

  While he and Susan try to get the software running again, it isn’t long before another researcher comes into the room.

  “Communications are down,” he announces. “We’re cut off.”

  “What? Why?” Nathan exclaims.

  “I heard a nasty noise from above,” the newcomer says. “I think the wind’s taken down the transmission aerial.”

  “… damn it!”

  Making no secret of his anger, Nathan jumps to his feet.

  “Damn university with its paltry budget… they always do everything on the cheap!”

  In the midst of that outburst, he reaches a coat rack, putting on a coat that was hanging there.

  “Nathan!” Susan intervenes, alarmed. “Where are you going?”

  “To salvage whatever can be saved!” he replies, leaving the room. “We can’t stop collecting data now!”

  “… what?” she bursts out. “Have you seen what the weather’s like…?”

  Her words fall on deaf ears. A few minutes later, Nathan is stepping out onto the research centre’s terrace. At once, impetuous air currents batter him, forcing him to lift his arms to shield his eyes.

  Even so, he can see it: the fallen aerial.

  Let’s hope it’s not badly damaged…

  Braving the foul weather—which fortunately still hasn’t turned into a full-on downpour—Nathan makes his way to the site of the mishap. Then, grabbing the damaged equipment, he pulls it upright with great effort.

  The object is heavy, its weight poorly distributed, making the task extremely difficult for someone of the director’s build. Nonetheless, bracing with his entire body, Nathan at last manages to set the aerial straight, aiming it towards the darkness of the clouds.

  Alright… now, though, it needs to be ensured it won’t fall down aga—huh?

  By sheer chance, the scientist’s gaze has gone to what is visible from the research centre’s terrace. In that moment, his eyes widen.

  What on earth is that fool doing out there in a storm like this?

  A few kilometres away, there’s a faint glow, as though someone were holding a torch. Under a flash of lightning, Nathan soon distinguishes the source of the light: a boy with a bicycle, trying to press on along the road to Hoddesdon.

  ???

  Moving amidst the gusts has become an immense struggle. Above me, the frequency of the lightning strikes increases rapidly. It reaches the point where a new thunderclap explodes every few seconds.

  As I shield my face from the dust carried by the wind, I can almost feel my bones shaking. My eardrums are suffering, irritated by the continuous, intense noise. Yet none of this stops me… until, at a certain point, the currents grow even fiercer. Then I find myself no longer able to move forward. Almost at the same moment…

  … suddenly, I feel every hair on my skin stand on end. Not figuratively: it’s actually happening, like when an electrostatic charge runs through your body.

  What the hell…?

  ???

  “Nathan! Come back here!”

  Susan’s voice: the woman has arrived on the research centre’s terrace. But the director pays her no attention at all.

  The man’s gaze has slowly risen from the boy with the bicycle up to the sky overhead. He can’t help but stare wide-eyed in awe. Because what he’s witnessing is a sky brimming with an indescribable amount of electric discharges—something he has never encountered, not even in the worst of storms.

  Flows of luminous energy seem to concentrate particularly above the area where that boy with the bike can be seen. A phenomenon that, at this very moment, that same boy is now looking up at as well.

  ???

  Alarmed, I lift my face to the sky; as though a premonition, sparked by the electricity coursing through my body, had led me to search above for its cause. And at that moment, as if it had been waiting for nothing else… it dazzles me: a great light. One of overwhelming intensity, as if the bolts filling the clouds had merged into a single one, flooding my field of vision.

  I have no time to do… anything. To act, to think… nothing at all.

  Because, an instant after that dreadful flash appears, it hits me: all that radiance… and a huge mix of sounds, tremendous sensations… and pain.

  The terrifying power of a lightning bolt.

  ???

  Immense, a fearsome lightning strike has descended from the sky. Straight onto the figure of the boy with the bicycle. Powerless, Nathan can only watch that dramatic spectacle, his eyes burning from the fierce light.

  Meanwhile, he still hears Susan calling him:

  ?Nathan! Come!?

  At last, along with the researcher who reported the antenna problem, she reaches the director. Since he persists in ignoring them, the two scientists grab him by the shoulders, pulling him to drag him to shelter. However, that doesn’t stop Nathan from continuing to stare at the lightning’s point of impact. In fact, no… his attention goes beyond that, to what is visible in the background.

  Because there, above the horizon, the clouds are rapidly parting, as if pushed by impetuous gusts of wind. Beyond them, the dark evening sky is emerging… along with something else. A sight even more astonishing than the lightning bolt… one that makes even the other two researchers freeze, eyes wide, reflecting a greenish glow.

  The glow of spectral luminous streaks, which have appeared against the black backdrop, where they dance sinuously, beautiful… and unnatural.

  ???

  I can barely manage a scream as a tremendous energy seems to surge into me. And yet, even in these mad circumstances—while my body is struck by electricity—for an instant I feel something strange. As though something deep inside me suddenly clicks into place.

  I have no way of seeing or knowing what’s happening within me. I have no way of perceiving the anomalous glint that, for a split second, flickers in my irises. But I do glimpse a distorted light… or rather, a chaos of flashes coiling around me, bending as if to seize me and drag me into… a tunnel? A shaft?

  Something so instantaneous and absurd that I could easily believe I imagined it. Especially because, the very next moment…

  … I lose consciousness.

  ???

  In the future, the words Nathan and Ethan will use to talk about the events of that day will be almost complementary.

  “I certainly didn’t have a long career behind me,” the astrophysicist will say. “Still, I’d seen a few surprising things… albeit only as theoretical data in books and in my doctoral research. Never, however, had I experienced anything like what I witnessed that day.”

  “I would have loved it… oh, how I would have loved it…” Ethan will say, in turn, “if some extraordinary event had burst into my life all of a sudden, giving me a chance to chart a new course. Never, though, would I have expected anything like what happened to me that day.”

  “The day the sky was torn apart by thousands of lightning bolts… and the aurora borealis appeared above us with such splendour it seemed unreal,” Nathan will say.

  “The same day I was torn from my everyday life and thrown onto a path that, without me yet realising it… had already begun long, long before,” Ethan will reveal.

  “The very same day…” the astrophysicist will conclude, “that a strange boy, with whom I had exchanged barely a few words, disappeared without a trace.”

  ???

  When, after long seconds, the lightning finally dissipates… all that remains on the road through the countryside is a bicycle. A charred metal carcass, illuminated by the eerie glow of the auroras… without anyone beside it to claim its ownership.

  Raindrops begin to fall onto the bike’s blackened frame.

  The resolution of the most primordial of errors

  may be in the smallest of its fruits.

  The seed that lies there in waiting

  holds the potential to become like the tree from which it’s born.

  For multiplicity is appearance.

  Unity is abstraction.

  What each calls reality

  is merely the gaze of a single eye

  observing itself.

  The gift has been returned.

  The time of indeterminism begins.

  ahead of Royal Road?

  You can find them on my website:

  See you in the next chapter!

  Tonkipappero) for her wonderful illustrations!