The boy entered the classroom without making a sound—his steps light and careful, as if he feared drawing attention. He was thin, almost frail, his skin so pale it could be mistaken for that of a recently exhumed corpse. His eyes, hidden behind thick lenses, scanned the room like those of a cornered animal. Dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and he pushed it back with a trembling hand before adjusting his glasses with an automatic motion. In his arms he clutched a stack of algebra books so tightly against his chest it seemed he sought in them some form of protection from the world.

  The classroom was a pandemonium of voices, laughter, and notebooks flung open haphazardly. The floor was strewn with loose sheets of paper, broken pencils, and snack wrappers. Someone had scrawled a grotesque doodle on the chalkboard, and a nauseating smell of chips mixed with sweat hung in the air.

  Desks were arranged in chaos—some turned backward, others balanced on two legs—while students gathered in small clusters, talking about anything but the lesson at hand.

  He made his way to his usual spot—a discreet corner by the window, where he could dive into numbers and lose himself like a sailor set adrift on the open sea. But as soon as he sat down, he felt a sharp, dry impact against his head.

  Something small and light.

  A crumpled paper ball.

  Great—just another day of this.

  Muffled laughter rippled through the room, followed by mocking whispers. He squeezed his books tighter, as if the added weight might render him invisible.

  Why can’t they just ignore me? I bother no one, I don’t talk to anyone… I just want to stay in my corner.

  His white-knuckled fingers dug into the cover of his Advanced Calculus textbook, and he kept his gaze fixed on the scribbled equations before him, pretending nothing had happened.

  The door opened and the teacher entered, her gaze sweeping the room with a silent authority that made the whispers die away. She was severe, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, her eyes as sharp as razors. She carried a physics book and an air of utter disinterest in the petty complaints that usually plagued the class.

  “Quiet.” Her voice cut through the air like a whip. “Let’s see if anyone here is capable of reasoning this morning.”

  She turned to the board and wrote a long, intricate equation in white chalk, her movements swift and decisive. Then she faced the class again and leveled her stare at him.

  “You.” Her eyes paused on him. “Solve this.”

  He swallowed hard. The equation was complex—but not for him. The real challenge was the weight of those eyes, the expectations—some hoping he’d fail, others simply wanting to watch him stumble under his own anxiety.

  He adjusted his glasses again and cleared his throat before speaking, his voice coming out quieter than intended.

  “The answer is… uh… 42.7 joules.”

  The teacher raised an eyebrow, studied him for a moment, then nodded.

  “Correct.”

  But before he could savor that small victory, a voice cut through the silence.

  “Look at that—an actual walking computer… shame there’s no off switch.”

  Laughter echoed from the back of the room, sharp as a knife’s edge.

  Walking computer. How creative. Amazing how they always outdo themselves in mediocrity.

  He shrugged, folding into his chair, his eyes fixed on the scratched wood of the desk. His heart pounded in his chest, and he wished with all his might he could disappear.

  “If only I could vanish… evaporate into thin air like smoke… If I were less strange, less… me.”

  […]

  The sun beat down on the school’s courtyard with a pale, merciless light, gleaming off the rough concrete floor. The scent of sweat and dust hung thick in the air as Knox’s class dragged itself through gym period.

  Knox stood near the back of the line, awkwardly tugging at the hem of his uniform pants, trying not to look as miserable as he felt. He had never been athletic. His frail body wasn’t built for running, jumping, or competing. He knew that. But the school didn’t seem to care.

  “All right, everyone!” the teacher shouted, blowing his whistle. “Two laps around the track—no slacking!”

  “Of course,” Knox muttered. “As if my day couldn’t get any worse.”

  The students started running—some sprinting ahead as if it were an Olympic race, others jogging at a leisurely pace, chatting and laughing without a care. Knox? He could barely maintain a steady pace. His legs felt like fragile sticks; his lungs burned with effort, and sweat dripped from his brow within seconds.

  He adjusted his glasses, feeling them slip in the heat. Barely halfway through the first lap, his chest heaved as though he’d just finished a marathon.

  That’s when he felt it.

  A powerful shove to his shoulder sent him reeling. His body lost balance and, before he could react, he hit the ground hard. His knees scraped against the concrete, his palms burning from the impact.

  Laughter rang out before the pain did.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “HAHAHA! Look at the scarecrow fall down!”

  Just pretend it doesn’t hurt. Pretend it doesn’t matter.

  But it did. Oh, how it mattered.

  Knox raised his dust-caked, sweat-streaked face. Above him loomed Connor—the stereotypical school bully, tall and muscular, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

  “Sorry, Knox, I didn’t even see you there!” He laughed, and the others joined in.

  Shame washed over Knox like a suffocating tide. The mocking faces, the chorus of laughter—each one pressed on his mind like an unbearable weight. His hands trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, swallowing his humiliation.

  “Watch your step next time, Knock-knock.” Connor taunted, using his ridiculous nickname.

  Something inside Knox snapped.

  Enough of this crap!

  Without thinking, he grabbed the stray volleyball lying on the ground. His sweaty palms gripped the worn leather, and in one swift motion, he hurled it with all his strength.

  POF!

  The ball struck Connor’s temple with an unexpected, hollow thud.

  Not so funny now, is it?

  The bully staggered, caught completely off-guard. The laughter died. Silence swallowed the courtyard.

  Knox felt his blood run cold.

  Shit. What have I done?

  Connor slowly turned his head toward him, eyes blazing, jaw clenched.

  “What was that?” His voice was low, dripping with rage.

  Before Knox could react, Connor lunged—fist cocked, ready to strike—when the teacher’s whistle pierced the air.

  “HEY! Cut it out!” The teacher marched over, thrusting Connor aside with a firm shove. “No fighting here!”

  Connor panted, eyes still locked on Knox like a predator deciding its prey’s fate. Then, leaning in close enough for Knox to feel his hot breath, he hissed:

  “I’ll see you after class, Knock-knock.”

  Knox swallowed hard. That class couldn’t end fast enough.

  […]

  The lesson dragged on, a constant murmur of side conversations and the lazy scratch of pencils across notebooks. Knox fought to ignore the anxiety burning in his chest, the dread of what waited for him outside. So he clung to the only comfort he had: solving equations and tuning the world out.

  Then he saw her.

  Lucy.

  Lucy, the girl a few rows ahead. Not exactly a friend, but she’d never laughed at him—already more than 90% of the school could claim.

  She was smart. Not like those idiots who thought grades were everything. She actually thought. He could see it in her eyes. If only she knew how much he admired her.

  Taking a steadying breath, Knox leaned sideways and whispered:

  “Lucy…”

  She didn’t turn.

  He cleared his throat and tried again.

  “Lucy… could you help me rea—”

  “Shut up, Knox.”

  She must be busy with the assignment…

  Her tone was cold, cutting. His stomach churned. There wasn’t even anger in her voice—just that absolute boredom, as if talking to him was a burden. Knox froze, face burning with shame, wishing he could evaporate.

  Then the bell rang.

  […]

  The sky had turned orange, and the courtyard was more crowded than usual. Knox knew why. They were waiting for him.

  He stepped out slowly, hoping—perhaps unrealistically—that Connor had forgotten his threat. But as soon as he crossed the threshold, he saw the circle of students, vultures waiting for their prey to fall.

  Connor stood at its center, arms folded and grinning.

  Shit… they were all waiting for me.

  “I thought you were going to run away, Knock-knock.”

  The others laughed. Knox tried to swallow, but his throat felt as dry as sand. Before he could react, he felt hands shoving him into the circle.

  The group closed in around him.

  “Hey, scarecrow, ready to fly?”

  The first punch came so fast Knox didn’t even see it—just felt the blow to the side of his face that made him stagger. His glasses slid down his nose and clattered to the ground.

  The only thing he saw was the broken lens reflecting off the asphalt.

  “Uh oh! Now he won’t be able to do his little sums!” someone jeered, triggering more laughter.

  Knox tasted blood in his mouth. Connor didn’t stop—another punch, this time to Knox’s stomach. The air was ripped from his lungs and he doubled over, gasping. Before he could recover, a kick to his leg sent him down onto his knees.

  “Don’t act like that, Knox—you started it. Remember?”

  Knox tried to rise.

  Another kick.

  Now he lay on his back in the dirt, the dark sky above him spinning in circles. Voices echoed around him but sounded distant. His body throbbed, each pain point burning like embers.

  The crowd began to lose interest. To them, it was already over. Connor spat on the ground beside him.

  “Next time, keep your head down and stay in your place.”

  One by one, the students dispersed. Knox remained for a moment, breathing heavily, his chest heaving. Then, with great effort, he pushed himself up, trembling. He straightened his dirty clothes, picked up his shattered glasses, and limped home.

  […]

  [At home.]

  Knox’s house was a tiny square of peeling walls. The gate creaked at the slightest touch, and the living-room lights flickered as if begging to be replaced.

  He entered without a word—no one to greet, anyway. The little sofa was piled with old papers, and a single chair sat at the dining table. Without thinking, he went to his room: a cramped space with a single bed pushed against the wall and cluttered shelves holding stacks of math books.

  He didn’t look in the mirror. No need—he knew what he looked like.

  He collapsed onto the bed, kicked off his sneakers, and turned on his computer.

  Have they released new chapters of Heaven’s Monarch yet?

  Knox took a deep breath and dived into the pixels of his favorite novel. There, no one could touch him.

  […]

  Knox lost himself in reading.

  The screen glowed in the darkness of his room as he read line after line. Hours passed unnoticed.

  “I think this author goes a bit overboard sometimes…”

  Then the screen went black.

  Everything went black.

  The hum of the fan stopped. The hallway lights snapped off. The entire neighborhood plunged into absolute darkness.

  Knox blinked, his eyes adjusting to the pitch black. The only sound was his own breathing. Silence so deep it felt as if the world itself held its breath.

  Then he felt it.

  The ground trembled. Shelves vibrated, books tumbled. A deep rumble echoed through the city, a sound not of this world.

  Dizzy from the earlier beating, Knox staggered to the window and drew back the curtain.

  He saw it.

  Outside, the asphalt cracked, the streets convulsed. In the center of the city, something was bursting from the earth.

  A tower. Gigantic.

  A monolithic black structure, as if the very sky was being pushed upward by a titan. Its summit vanished into darkness above the clouds, its smooth metallic walls etched with glowing symbols that pulsed like a living heart.

  It was too tall to be real.

  Knox stood transfixed, his mind unable to process what he saw. Then, as if waking from a trance, the city lights flickered back on.

  The television turned on by itself.

  Every channel displayed the same image: the tower. News broadcasts interrupted all programming with footage from around the globe. Identical colossal towers rose in every major city on Earth.

  “Scientists have no explanation for the phenomenon…”

  “Governments are mobilizing military forces…”

  “Towers appeared simultaneously on all continents…”

  “What happened was not man-made…”

  Knox barely blinked. His heart pounded faster.

  Then something even worse occurred.

  A portal opened in the sky. Above the tower’s highest point, the air seemed to tear like a veil ripped apart by invisible claws. A black rift spun in twisted spirals, devouring the light around it.

  And they came.

  First came shadows. Then grotesque forms began to spill from the rift, descending like spiders on invisible webs. Creatures that did not belong to this world.

  The sky filled with screams.

  The monsters poured over the city like predators released into a pen.

  Sirens wailed.

  Knox took a step back, cold sweat trickling down his nape. Humanity had no idea what it was facing. But Knox did.

  The tower was meant to be climbed.

  And the monsters? They were its guardians.