“…Adam?”

  I hear Alex. I want to acknowledge her, but I feel stuck in place. My head turns slowly, despite using all my strength to pull myself free of the dissociation.

  My eyes rake across the room at a snail’s pace, finally landing on the view from the window.

  At first, it doesn’t register. Nothing looks different—not exactly.

  But the sky is perfectly clear. Too clear. Stars blaze brightly, impossibly vivid against the darkness. I’ve never seen the Milky Way from here before. Not like this.

  I blink once, twice, the sound of my own heartbeat loud in my ears.

  There are no lights. No street lamps. No headlights. No glowing windows from buildings across the street. Just darkness punctuated by countless, silent points of light. The city is quiet. Completely quiet. No engines, no sirens, no voices.

  And then I realize what Alex must have already seen:

  The cars—stopped mid-intersection, doors hanging open. Figures standing motionless, staring upward, heads tilted at identical, unnatural angles. Phones dropped carelessly on the sidewalk, glowing faintly before flickering into darkness.

  Alex squeezes my hand tighter as we get to the bottom of the rusty fire escape, her eyes scanning the motionless street. She doesn't say anything—but she doesn’t have to.

  Something’s wrong. More wrong than what we can see.

  I strain to listen.

  It isn’t silence. It’s... pressure. A low hum, too deep to be heard, but somehow still there—vibrating faintly behind my eyes, crawling down my spine, settling like static in the back of my skull. Like standing too close to an old speaker with nothing playing.

  She squeezes my hand again. Her fingers are ice-cold. I follow her gaze upward.

  The sky, which moments ago seemed peaceful, albeit off, now feels like a lid closing over the Earth. Like we’ve suddenly become the insects trapped inside, lid slammed shut.

  My pulse throbs in my ears. That static hum vibrates through my chest, and somewhere deep in my stomach, I can’t shake the sensation that this moment—this quiet—might be the loudest the world has ever been.

  Alex drags her gaze to the unmoving figures on the street and whispers, “What do we do?”

  A flicker of movement catches my eye—across the street, near the corner where a single streetlamp flickers once, then goes out for good.

  I swallow. “Hey, God’s wrath, or Freddie Kruger? Which apocalypse are you picking?”

  “Shut up,” Alex murmurs, her voice shaking but edged with a smirk, “I’d definitely choose Freddy.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out as a shaky exhale.

  The figure steps forward—hood pulled low, posture calm in a way that doesn't match the moment. Everyone else is frozen, but not this one.

  “Adam Harper,” Her voice is soft, melodic—like a lullaby sung in the wrong key. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Alex catches the question in my eyes and shakes her head. Definitely not someone we know, but she knows me.

  The woman’s face comes into view—elegant, almost ethereal. Her lips are curve in something that might be concern, might be amusement. Her eyes reflect too much light for a night this dark.

  “You don’t remember me,” she says, stopping just shy of us. “But you have to trust me. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  My laugh slips out before I can stop it—half nerves, half disbelief. “That’s exactly what someone who is here to hurt us would say. And just so we’re clear: when it comes to fight or flight, I pick fight. Every time.”

  “Fair,” she says calmly. “But if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t be here trying to save your life.”

  I let out a half-scoff, half-chuckle—but Alex’s eyes narrow.

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

  Wait—are we taking her seriously? I wasn’t. But if Alex is? I probably should be. Weird, unexplainable things are her territory. I just do the tech.

  “Who are you?” she asks, her voice sharper than mine had been.

  The woman hesitates. “Your only real option. But you can call me Thalia. What’s happening—it isn’t natural. Well, not in any way humans would recognize. It’s deliberate. And there’s no way you two survive this without me.”

  “Deliberate? For who?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

  She glances up at the skyline—slow, cautious.

  “The Ygh’thari. Ancient entities from beyond this reality. You might call them witches.”

  Oh, be so fucking for real right now.

  The word shouldn’t land the way it does. Instead of ‘one of Lex’s friends who makes really good tea,’ it hits like a dropped piano. Heavy. Specific. Ancient.

  “…Witches,” Alex echoes, carefully neutral.

  “Space witches?” I repeat, voice sharp with disbelief.

  Thalia’s mouth twitches—like she wants to scold me.

  “Cosmic,” she says instead. “They aren’t mortals with cauldrons. They’re beings so far outside our understanding, calling them gods wouldn’t be too far off. They can sculpt star systems, reset entire civilizations…”

  She lets that hang in the air.

  “And this is what they do? Show up, break everything?” I snap back.

  Thalia nods once. “To them, it’s a test—an experiment. Humanity’s faced smaller resets before, but this time they’ve escalated. The power collapse you witnessed—no electricity, no communication—a controlled shutdown. They’re gauging how quickly you’ll unravel if they strip away technology and drag you back to the dark ages.”

  She glances at the street. “Soon, people will crack. They’ll turn on each other. If we don’t act, the next wave will make this look merciful.”

  “Merciful,” I echo, eyes drifting to the frozen silhouettes outside. The word feels hollow. “Yeah, can’t wait to see what they call cruel.”

  Alex hadn’t moved in minutes. Her silence wasn’t shock—it was calculation. I can tell.

  Thalia exhales. “They’ve orchestrated a thousand apocalypses on a thousand worlds. This is just the opening act.”

  She looks between me and Alex, something flickering behind her eyes. Regret? Nostalgia? Guilt?

  “Unless we stop them.”

  I blink, still stuck on the phrase that started all this.

  “So, not just witches. Evil space witches. Right.” My eyes flick to Alex, scanning her face for any clue what the hell we’re supposed to do with that.

  I already don’t know shit about witches. And I sure as hell haven’t leveled up to space witches.

  “And how do you know about these ultra-cosmic space witches?” I ask, arms crossing on instinct. “You expect me to believe you’re more in tune with this kind of thing than my girl right here?” I gesture—too dramatically—toward Alex, my girl right here, and her face says it all.

  …Ew. Cringe. (Affectionate.)

  I don’t know what came over me—getting all pick-me-brand macho-man about it. I know Alex can handle herself. I’m not some dude who thinks women need guarding.

  But c’mon! This woman is standing here, acting like she knows me, like she’s got insight into some cosmic secret I don’t—while Alex is right here? Yeah. That wasn’t gonna fly.

  Her expression shifts—sad, maybe. Almost guilty. “I was one of them. Once. But not anymore.”

  “How convenient,” Alex says.

  Thalia doesn’t flinch. “I understand your skepticism. But I didn’t come here to explain. I came here to help.”

  I exhale slowly. “Why us?”

  Her eyes lock on mine, and there’s something unsettling in them—something ancient. “Because you’re not who you think you are, Adam.”

  Oh, here we go again.

  “I’m a guy with a podcast and a dead laptop. That’s it.”

  “You’re a man that is running out of time to wake up.”

  Those words. Wake up. They feel… familiar. Uncomfortably familiar.

  Alex steps in front of me, sharp and solid. “Okay, there are space witches. That’s cool and all, but if you think we’re about to follow some cloaked stranger spouting vague mystical bullshit without receipts, you’ve got me confused with some YA protagonist from 2012.”

  Thalia doesn’t blink. “I don’t expect you to follow,” she says, voice low. “I expect you to listen… and if you do that, then you’ll follow. Not because you trust me but because this is only the first wave, and what’s coming next will make all of this look like a break from whatever horrors are about to be unleashed upon this earth.”

  The static hum in my skull swells—just a little. Enough to make my eardrums buzz and my skin crawl.

  Alex looks at me, eyes asking: Do we trust her?

  I look right back at her with the same energy: Girl, why the hell are you looking at me? I’m the math guy. Cosmic space magic is your department.

  Her eyes narrow to say: And she’s your friend, apparently.

  My eyes roll in response. When they meet hers again, she hasn’t even blinked.

  Like watching a goddamn master, dude.

  Everything in me wants to say no, of course we don’t trust the Great Value Guardian Angel.

  But there’s something there...

  I don’t trust her. But I recognize her. From where? I have no idea. But my gut is screaming that something big is coming.

  My throat is dry. The words feel like they belong to someone braver. “We’re listening.”

  Thalia’s smile is serene and… haunting. “Good. Then we need to move. If they sense I’m helping you—if they even suspect—you won’t survive the night.”

  She turns, not waiting for a response, walking back toward the dark street like she’s never once had to question if people will follow her.

  Alex leans close and whispers—her warm breath against my cool skin giving a brief moment of reprieve from the chilly evening wind. “You know this is a terrible idea, right?”

  “Yup,” I mutter. “Top-tier terrible.”

  Still, we follow the mystery woman into the night.

  Above us, the stars shift slightly—like something just turned its attention our way.