—Is this the Dawn of Harmony— or the End of Balance?
HUM—subtle, pulsing, relentless.
Like something ancient slipping through the cracks of a modern night.
Shawn Mercer stood up abruptly and walked to the window.
And that's when he saw it.
Light—blinding.
High above, a perfect circle hovered in the sky. From its heart, a V-shaped beam poured downward. Rings of violet and white shimmered around it.
There was no thunder. No explosion split the sky.
Only light—and that unrelenting hum.
He stepped back.
"What the hell was that?"
A hallucination?
The college entrance exam was looming. He hadn't slept properly in days.
He stood frozen—trapped between logic and awe.
Then—a memory stirred.
He turned to the bookshelf, rifling through folders and papers until his fingers landed on a thin envelope.
Inside—an old scrap of parchment.
His hands trembled slightly as he unfolded it: a hand-drawn circle containing a V shape inside it. Coiled around the symbol was a dragon—inked in faded green, its form delicate, almost alive.
Below it, a flowing line of script, almost calligraphic:
"Change is the fundamental law, and harmony exists in the rhythm of change, where all opposites find their place."
It had been a mystery for years.
A birthday gift from his grandfather, delivered with a cryptic instruction:
"When the sky changes, open it."
At the time, Shawn had laughed. Just an old man's weird poetry.
Now?
The circle in the sky matched the drawing exactly.
The parchment gleamed faintly. The dragon shimmered.
He reached out to touch the dragon's eye.
The ink pulsed.
A soft vibration ran through his fingers.
Something was responding to him.
He reached to return the parchment—but the desk felt... distant.
The air shimmered.
The dragon stirred.
Not on the page. It rose.
A burst of white light swallowed his vision—
as if the world had been ripped open.
Something pulled him.
His awareness spiraled through a storm of shifting colors.
He tried to think—Am I still me? Am I even here?
Panic surged. He tried to scream—
but had no voice.
Only motion. Only light.
Then—stillness.
Air surged into his lungs, thin and cold.
He gasped.
Above him stretched a strange sky—violet , with silver streaks tracing the horizon.
He stared, disoriented.
The ground beneath him was smooth and hard.
It wasn't earth. Nor stone. The surface gleamed—metallic and alien.
He pushed himself upright.
The air was still. The sky silent.
As if even time had forgotten to move.
Yet beneath the silence, a sound: faint, distant. A steady rhythm, like a machine deep underground.
Ahead, space warped inward. At the center of the distortion pulsed a dim blue glow. Not bright. Not artificial.
It felt like... a signal.
Is this even real?
The air brushed his face. The ground pushed back beneath his feet.
No—this was real.
Shawn stepped forward, cautiously.
Clang!
A metallic crash shattered the stillness. Shawn froze.
Not a wall—armor. Tall. Imposing.
Figures stepped out from the shadows: towering, faceless warriors encased in gleaming alloy.
Their armor bore a faded inscription:
O.S.S.
Without warning, they raised their weapons—long, jagged spears crackling with charged particles.
What are these things? Soldiers? Machines?
One stepped forward. His armor was more elaborate, edged in dark silver. The leader.
"Halt."
His voice was sharp and clipped—each word delivered with military precision.
"This sector is restricted."
Shawn stood still, hands half-raised, heart hammering.
"I—I don't even know how I got here."
The figure paused, as if weighing something.
"You truly don't know where you are?"
Shawn shook his head. Thoughts raced.
"Is this a simulation? Am I still on Earth?"
The leader gave a short, mirthless chuckle.
"You stand before the Rift." his voice like stone dragging over steel.
"No one crosses without permission."
"The Rift?" Shawn echoed. The word sent a chill through him.
He steadied his breathing.
"Please. Just tell me—what is this place? What happened here?"
The warriors exchanged glances. The leader spoke again, his tone was smooth but impersonal—like a protocol recited a thousand times.
"There will be war.
Between modern technology and ancient truth.
Between control… and freedom."
The words landed like weights. Shawn staggered, but didn't fall.
"A war?" he whispered. "Who are you?"
The leader straightened. His presence swelled, his gaze behind the visor seeming to pierce straight through Shawn.
"We are the Keepers of Order.
The enforcers of fate.
The strongest force in the known universe."
Shawn reeled. This wasn't just a glitch in space-time.
It was something far bigger.
It had to be a nightmare.
Before he could speak, motion stirred among the warriors.
One stared at his hand, trembling.
"The sigil…" That warrior whispered, disbelief thick in his voice.
Shawn followed his gaze.
There it was—the paper. The symbol.
A perfect circle. A V-shaped crack splitting its center.
The lead warrior's stance shifted.
"He's one of them." The words were low, but laced with fear.
And then—everything broke.
Spears shot into the air, crackling with raw energy.
Shouts erupted—sharp, urgent. The warriors surged as one, their intent unmistakable.
"Meta-Origin Sect! Seize him!"
Shawn's instincts exploded into motion. He ran.
His feet hammered the surface, each step a desperate beat, breath tearing through his lungs, mind reeling.
Meta-Origin Sect? What on earth is that?
No time to think. No time to stop.
Behind him, metal clashed and echoed. Footsteps pounded, drawing closer.
There was no turning back now.
But something felt… different.
His body moved faster—lighter.
As if something ancient had awakened deep within him.
Something electric hummed through his veins.
A flash of red—in the vast, endless void.
He looked up, heart pounding—
A sun.
But not the familiar golden warmth of his memory.
This sun burned a deeper crimson, like fire held in a divine forge—primal.
And around it, turning in slow, solemn grace—
A single blue planet.
His breath caught. His chest tightened.
Earth?
Could it be Earth?
But no—The hue was off. The continents subtly skewed. The atmosphere shimmered with a strange iridescence.
And yet—it pulled at him.
Called to something buried deep in his being.
Like a forgotten melody remembered only in dreams.
He had to reach it. He had to know.
Panic twisted with exhilaration.
A fire lit inside him—pure energy—racing through every nerve.
He surged forward.
Faster.
Faster.
Then—gravity.
A violent yank.
The weight of existence slammed into him.
Air thickened, rich with the scent of wet earth, fresh rain, life.
Sound returned in a rush— Footsteps. Engines.
Shouts. Laughter—alive, undeniably human.
Impact.
The ground caught him like stone fists, sending a dull ache through his limbs. He reeled, his chest rising in sharp, uneven rhythm.
Slowly, shakily, he lifted his head.
Relief flooded him.
He drew a shaky breath, fighting the urge to sink to his knees.
He was home.
He could feel it.
But—
His eyes scanned the streets. The buildings. The people moving in the distance.
Strangeness.
It looked like Earth—but not the one he knew.
This wasn't his home.