Ablaze—that was the first word that came to his mind.

  Everything was on fire. The houses, the sky, the very street he lived on in California was a sea of orange and red. Smoke clawed at the air like some wild, choking beast, and Gopher was sprinting barefoot down the pavement, heat licking at his heels, sirens screaming somewhere far off. There was shouting, crashing, collapsing walls. He couldn’t think—he could barely breathe.

  Snap.

  He jerked awake, heart thundering in his chest like it wanted to punch through his ribs. The fire was gone. His ceiling was intact. His blanket had twisted around his legs, and he was drenched in sweat.

  Just a dream.

  He pulled in a shaky breath, grounding himself. The room smelled of old books and dog fur—not smoke. He wasn’t on fire. He wasn’t running.

  Gopher blinked slowly. The dream had felt so real.

  Seventeen, a junior in high school, and already too familiar with stress. Gopher had always been different. He found joy in things others overlooked—late-night skywatching, cataloging star systems, and digging into ancient civilizations for fun. While most kids talked about prom and parties, he was more interested in black holes and the ruins of Mesopotamia.

  He stretched, wincing as his spine popped. A flicker of blue light from his desk caught his eye—his little TV still playing quietly. He’d fallen asleep to the news.

  “Expeditions to the Proxima Centauri systems will start in August of this year.”

  He stared at the screen, eyes unfocused.

  “August,” he muttered. “Four months.”

  The thought swirled in his mind like a tethered dream. If he could just work a bit more—pick up more shifts at the restaurant, keep tutoring the freshman with the persistent cough and no calculator—he might just be able to apply for the orbital internship program. That would get him one step closer to the stars.

  His mother was still asleep down the hall. She was in the middle of her residency as a surgeon, and last night’s shift had ended only a few hours ago. Gopher didn’t have to guess what she’d done. It was in the way her hands trembled slightly when she came home, how she barely made it to the couch before collapsing. A heart transplant, probably. Or maybe a trauma emergency.

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  Life wasn’t easy, not for them. But they made it work.

  And then there was Rebel.

  The Rottweiler was curled up at the foot of his bed, still snoring like a small engine. She was more than a pet. Gopher had gotten her as a birthday gift from his father when he was seven—his last birthday with him, before his dad shipped out to Mars. A robotics engineer for the colony program. He hadn’t seen him since.

  As a kid, Gopher had thought his dad just didn’t care. The silence was heavy, loud in its own way. No video calls. No visits. Just the occasional message sent months apart.

  But with time—and maturity—Gopher realized it wasn’t that simple. His dad had made a choice. A hard one. One that Gopher didn’t fully understand until he started dreaming of the stars too.

  Still, the ache didn’t go away completely.

  Rebel was the reminder. A living, breathing connection to a man halfway across the solar system. Gopher often joked that Rebel was like his mini-dad—just more food-obsessed and a lot less serious.

  He quietly got out of bed and padded into the kitchen. It was 6:30. He always woke early—not just out of habit, but because he liked having time to himself before the world started spinning.

  Cereal for him. Kibble and water for Rebel.

  The dog perked up the moment she heard the scoop hit the bowl, thumping her tail against the floor.

  “Morning, you bottomless pit,” he said with a grin, scratching behind her ears.

  He plopped onto the couch with his cereal just in time for the theme song of Chronoblade: Rewind to kick in. His favorite show. He never missed an episode. It followed Kaen, a blade-wielding warrior who could rewind time. Gopher loved the concept. Not just for the sci-fi elements, but because he wished he had that power—to rewind, to fix, to relive.

  Rebel jumped up beside him and dropped into his lap without ceremony. He didn’t even flinch. Just kept eating, gently stroking her head with his free hand.

  Time passed quickly.

  At 6:55, he sighed and scooped Rebel into his arms. She gave a sleepy huff as he carried her over to the stairs. Instead of putting her in her crate like usual, he grabbed her leash, clipped it to her collar, and tied the other end to the railing at the base of the staircase.

  The dream still bothered him. It felt like a warning, or at least a message.

  “You’re staying downstairs today,” he murmured. “Just… in case.”

  She tilted her head, as if confused, but sat obediently by the stairs.

  Gopher threw on his hoodie, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and stepped outside. The sky was barely lit, painted in soft orange streaks. Cool air brushed against his face.

  He hopped onto his bike, glancing back at the house one last time. Rebel sat there, watching him through the front window like a little guardian.

  The world wasn’t on fire—not yet. But something was coming. He could feel it in his bones.

  Even if it was going to be on fire, he knew his dog would be alright, although an event like that would make him die mentally.

  Gopher just dismissed the thought, and decided to dwell on the manner in History class, the most boring class in the entire world.

  Still, he couldn’t resist the feeling that something was going to happen. It was still his dream, but it just felt there. A feeling that you can’t prove, but know it is true.

  And whatever that feeling led to… he was ready for it.