"My mom," I choked out suddenly.
The thought hitting me with physical force. A blow to the solar plexus that emptied my lungs.
"She's in Boston for that conference. And my dad—he's at the lab across town."
The image of my mother flashed in my mind. Her laugh as she kissed me goodbye three days ago. Promising to bring me back one of those ridiculous "Boston Strong" t-shirts I always made fun of.
My father, absorbed in his research. Probably hadn't even noticed the world ending around him until creatures with glowing eyes burst through his laboratory doors.
Aurora's face drained of what little color it had left. Like a time-lapse of a sunset accelerated to seconds.
"My sister. She's at home with my grandmother in Queens."
The system screen, the stats, the abilities—all of it seemed distant and unimportant compared to the crushing weight of knowing our families were out there.
In this new, broken world where people transformed into luminous-eyed monsters without warning. Where the very laws of physics bent to lunar magic.
Our loved ones might already be gone.
Or worse.
My fingers moved on autopilot. Muscle memory taking over as higher functions froze in panic.
I tapped my mother's contact. Her smiling face appearing on screen—a photo from last Christmas. Snowflakes caught in her dark hair, eyes crinkled with laughter.
The screen showed the call connecting. Seconds ticking by as the ringing echoed hollowly in my ear.
Each one stretching into eternity.
One ring. Two. Three.
"Come on, come on," I muttered.
My free hand clenching into a fist so tight my nails bit into my palm. Leaving crescent-shaped indentations in the flesh.
The pain was grounding. A small focal point in the maelstrom of fear.
Aurora was doing the same. Her phone pressed hard against her ear, lips moving in what might have been a prayer.
Her knuckles were white against the black case of her phone. Tendons standing out like cables under tension.
Four rings. Five.
The automated voice hit me like a physical blow. Each word precise and emotionless:
"We're sorry, but all circuits are currently busy. Please try your call again later."
I tried again. And again.
Each time, the same robotic message played back at me. Indifferent to my growing panic. To the silent plea behind each attempt.
The mechanical voice became more infuriating with each repetition. Its calm delivery a mockery of my desperation.
"It's not going through," Aurora said.
Already trying her next contact. Fingers dancing across her screen with frantic precision.
"None of them are."
I switched to texting. Typing frantically, thumbs flying across the virtual keyboard:
'Mom, are you safe? The system, these abilities—it's happening everywhere. Please respond.'
The message hung on "sending" for several seconds. A spinning circle that contained all my hopes.
Before an error message appeared in angry red text: Failed to send.
"The networks are overloaded," I said.
Trying to keep my voice steady even as something cold and terrified twisted in my stomach like a living thing.
"Everyone in the country is probably trying to call someone right now."
Millions of voices crying out at once. Digital signals crowding the airwaves until they choked into silence.
Panic multiplied by population. Overwhelming infrastructure never designed to handle simultaneous mass usage.
Aurora switched to her data. Pulling up Instagram, then Twitter, then a news site. Her thumb leaving smudges on the glass as she swiped with increasing urgency.
Each attempt met with the same result—an endless loading wheel or an error message. Digital doors slamming shut in our faces.
"Internet's gone too," she said.
Her voice cracking slightly on the last word. A hairline fracture in her composure.
"Or at least too overloaded to function."
I tried switching to data myself. Desperately searching for any connection to the outside world.
The familiar icons of connectivity at the top of my screen had been replaced by crossed-out symbols and error messages.
Nothing.
It was as if someone had thrown a switch. Cutting us off completely. Isolating us in this concrete box while the world above transformed into something unrecognizable.
"It's like the apocalypse movies," I said.
Staring at my useless phone. This rectangle of glass and metal that had been my constant connection to everyone and everything. Now reduced to an expensive paperweight.
"The ones where communication networks are the first thing to go."
Aurora set her phone down. Her hands trembling slightly.
Not from fear of combat—she'd faced that head-on, sword gleaming with lunar energy—but from the terrible helplessness of not knowing.
The warrior in her had no target. No enemy to strike down. Just the void of uncertainty stretching out before us.
"What do we do?" she asked.
A question that contained universes of vulnerability. In those three words, I heard everything she wasn't saying: 'How do we find them? How do we know they're safe? How do we navigate this broken world?'
I looked down at my own screen. At the stat page still hovering faintly in my vision behind the emergency alert.
Level 2. Five stat points to allocate.
Tools in a game I never asked to play. Rules I hadn't agreed to follow.
But rules that now governed our reality as surely as gravity. More surely, since I'd just proven gravity could be rewritten.
"We survive," I said.
My voice steadier than I felt. Drawing strength from the simple clarity of purpose.
"We figure out this system. We get stronger. And we find our families."
The words hung in the air between us. A promise, a plan, a fragile lifeline in the chaos.
Aurora's gaze hardened. The momentary vulnerability giving way to something steelier. The metallic glint returning to her eyes like the first stars appearing at dusk.
She nodded once. Sharp and decisive.
"You're right. Standing here panicking won't help them."
"We need a plan," I said.
Closing the emergency alert and focusing on my stat page. The blue glow casting a cooler light across my features.
"First, we allocate our points. Then we need supplies. Water, food."
"Weapons," Aurora added.
Her fingers flexing as if already feeling the weight of her next battle.
"For me, at least. Something physical in case my powers fail."
I nodded, understanding the wisdom in redundancy. In a world where the rules could change without warning, backups meant survival.
The emergency alert on our phones pulsed again. A second notification appearing beneath the first. The screen throbbing with urgent red light like an open wound.
ATTENTION: AVOID ALL MAJOR POPULATION CENTERSMARTIAL LAW ENACTED IN FOLLOWING AREAS:NEW YORK CITY, BOSTON, WASHINGTON D.C., LOS ANGELES, CHICAGO, HOUSTON, PHILADELPHIA, PHOENIX, SAN ANTONIO, SAN DIEGO
The list continued. Major cities across the country enumerated in cold, digital text.
"We're in one of those population centers," Aurora pointed out.
Her jaw tight.
"We need to get out of the city."
I nodded. My mind racing through options, through variables, through the thin lines of what might be possible.
"But not before we find our families."
She leaned closer to look at my stat screen. The blue glow illuminated her face, casting sharp shadows across her features.
Even exhausted, covered in dust and sweat, she looked determined.
Ready.
"How are you going to distribute those points?" she asked.
The practical question anchoring us both back to the immediate problem.
I studied my stats, trying to make sense of the best approach:
Nathaniel MorettiLevel: 2Main Class: Astral Equationist (★★★★★)
Stats:CI: 20CON: 11INT: 15STR: 12AGI: 11
Available Points: 5
"I need to understand these stats better," I said, thinking aloud. "Intelligence seems obvious—knowledge, calculations, mental ability. That's definitely important for my class."
I paused, remembering how the quill had felt in my hand. How the universe had opened itself to me like a book written in a language I was only beginning to understand.
"But Cosmic Insight..."
I trailed off.
"It's your ability to perceive and manipulate the System itself," Aurora suggested. "The higher your CI, the more you can see and change the code."
I nodded. "That makes sense. When I was rewriting gravity, it felt like I was trying to change something that actively resisted me. If my CI was higher..."
"You might have better control," she finished. "Less resistance."
"But I also need to survive long enough to use these abilities," I added.
Thinking of the zombies upstairs. Of the danger that surely waited outside.
"Constitution gives me more health, more endurance."
Aurora glanced at the warped door. "You've seen what's out there. We're going to be doing a lot of running."
"Agility," I muttered. "I need to be faster."
I stared at the distribution screen. Feeling the weight of the choice.
In normal circumstances, this would have been like picking skills in a video game. Entertaining, reversible, inconsequential.
But now, with life and death balancing on the edge of a digital stat screen, each point felt monumental.
"How would an Astral Equationist think?" I asked myself quietly. "What would maximize my chances?"
I thought about the quill. About the way reality had fractured before my eyes to reveal the code beneath.
About how I'd almost failed because I couldn't understand the equations fast enough. Couldn't process them. Couldn't control them.
I exhaled slowly and began to allocate my points.
"Two points to Intelligence," I said.
Watching as the number shifted from 15 to 17.
"I need to process information quickly, understand the code I'm seeing."
Aurora nodded.
"Two points to Cosmic Insight," I continued.
The number rising from 20 to 22.
"Better control over my abilities, less resistance when I try to rewrite reality."
"And the last point?" Aurora asked.
I hesitated, weighing the options. Strength would let me defend myself physically if needed. Agility would help me dodge, run, stay alive. Constitution would give me more health, more stamina.
"Constitution," I decided finally. "One point. I need to stay on my feet longer, endure more."
The stat rose from 11 to 12.
As I confirmed the allocation, a subtle warmth flowed through me. It wasn't dramatic—no glowing aura, no surge of power.
Just a quiet sense that something fundamental had changed.
My mind felt sharper, clearer. The faint outlines of lunar code that had started to fade back into invisibility became more distinct again.
As if my perception had expanded.