The sky was bleeding again.

  Crimson clouds rolled above the city like boiling ink, casting strange shadows across the half-flooded streets. Kael stood atop the rusted school rooftop, staring up at the swirling storm, feeling the same chill he’d felt every night for a week now — as if something just beyond the veil of his reality was watching.

  He didn’t know how to explain it. He wasn’t psychic. He wasn’t special. Just a 17-year-old student barely passing his classes, with a quiet life and an even quieter existence.

  But something was wrong with the world. And with him.

  The dreams had started a month ago. Vivid, terrifying. He’d see himself—other versions of himself—standing in strange places: a man in white robes carving runes into glass; a warrior drenched in fire and blood; a man levitating in silence, galaxies spinning in his palms. They all shared his face, his eyes… but not his soul. Not entirely.

  Until last night.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Last night, the dream changed.

  Last night, the man in robes looked him in the eyes and said:

  "Kael. The barrier is breaking. You’re the last anchor."

  And then everything exploded in white.

  Today, Kael woke up feeling… different. He noticed things—tiny details. The molecular pattern in the dew on his window. The chemical smell in his shampoo. The heat signature of his toaster. How he knew those things, he couldn’t explain.

  But he did.

  He didn’t tell anyone. Who would believe him?

  Now, as the blood-colored sky churned above, the air around Kael pulsed—just once, like a skipped heartbeat in the fabric of the world. He felt it deep in his chest.

  Then he heard a voice.

  “Kael Vireon. First of Three. Your awakening begins.”

  Kael spun around, heart racing. No one was there.

  And yet… in the center of the rooftop, a small glowing sphere hovered, pulsing with silver-blue light. It moved toward him, slowly, deliberately, like a curious creature studying its mirror.

  Kael’s breath caught.

  “This is how it starts,” the voice whispered. Not aloud. Inside him.

  “You are not alone anymore. I am Alarion — the Alchemist. One of the lives you could have lived. One of the souls you now must carry.”

  The sphere touched his chest.

  The world shattered into silence.

  Kael collapsed to his knees, eyes wide, as memories not his own poured into his mind—equations, blueprints, elemental transmutations, ancient sciences long forgotten. His hands trembled, and the rooftop beneath him cracked slightly under an invisible pressure.

  When he looked up again, the sky was quiet. The storm had vanished.

  But Kael knew.

  This was only the beginning.