High above John Street, blue-skinned figures lounged along a rooftop, their skin shimmering faintly like moonlit water. Their laughter, light and reckless, drifted into the cool night air—a sound more at home with children sneaking past bedtime than with watchers of a battered city. Each time one giggled or jostled another, a ripple of soft blue light pulsed down their arms and legs, flickering in rhythm with their moods.

  Below, the city’s uneasy silence was broken by the distant clatter of a falling bottle and the low hum of a generator sputtering to life. The blue figures watched, amused, as the humans below manned their barricades—tense, exhausted, and so very serious.

  “Did you see that old woman with the bat?” one teased, voice bright as glass. “She’d have knocked me clear to the river if she’d caught me.”

  Another snorted, flicking their glowing toes over the edge. “The kid with the crossbow—he’s aiming for the stars, not the monsters. Next time he’ll knock the moon loose!”

  A third, taller than the rest, puffed out his chest and stomped in place, mimicking Sir Pimp’s grand, stilted walk. “For John Street!” he declared, drawing out the vowels in a mock-heroic boom. The others burst into snickers, blue light flashing across their faces.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  One did an exaggerated spin, pretending to swing Mika’s sword, then faked a stumble, barely catching himself on a chimney. “I am the night,” he intoned, and almost fell backward, setting off another round of giggles.

  Their laughter echoed out across the rooftops, but down below, someone paused—Kai, maybe, or Mika herself—glancing up with a frown, as if a chill had slipped across their shoulders.

  The youngest blue figure, eyes wide and skin flickering a nervous violet, watched the humans a moment longer, then stared at his own strange hands. A thought, sharp and cold, tumbled through his mind: What are they really? What am I, really?

  He looked at his friends, hesitating. “Hey,” he said, so quietly the others almost missed it, “what are they… and what are we?”

  The laughter died all at once. Someone scratched their head, another’s glow dimmed. The tallest’s gaze flicked east, toward the ruins of an old clocktower, where an odd, static pulse glimmered just for a second—unnoticed by anyone but him. Somewhere far off, a faint, artificial chime sounded—a noise only they seemed to hear.

  No one answered. For the first time, the blue folk had no punchline. Their smiles slipped away, and a hush fell heavier than the night air.

  After a long moment, one of them whispered, “I… don’t know.”

  The youngest hugged his knees tighter, voice barely more than a breath. “I miss Mom.”

  No one laughed. The blue glow faded, and for a while, the only sound was the wind curling between chimneys and the distant, hopeful crackle of fire below.