Morning came too easily.
Sunlight slipped through the cracked edges of the window, stretching across the floor as if nothing had happened.
As if the sky had not split open the night before.
As if the world had not held its breath.
Shango sat on the edge of his bed.
Awake.
He had not slept.
The house was quieter than usual.
Too quiet.
From the hallway, he could hear his parents talking in low voices.
Not arguing.
But close to it.
"…I'm telling you, it wasn't normal," his mother said.
"I know what I saw."
"And I'm telling you we don't know what it was," his father replied, calmer, but firm.
"Jumping to conclusions won't help."
A pause.
"…You looked at him," his mother said.
"You saw it too."
Silence.
Shango looked down at his hands.
Still normal.
No light.
No crackling.
Nothing.
"Shango," his father called from the hallway.
"Get ready. You're going to school."
School.
For a moment, the word didn't make sense.
"…Alright," he replied.
His voice sounded normal.
That bothered him.
He stood slowly.
Every movement felt… measured.
Controlled in a way he couldn't explain.
As he walked to the bathroom, he passed the broken section of the wall from the night before.
It had been patched.
Quickly.
Poorly.
Like someone wanted to pretend it never happened.
The mirror stared back at him.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same person.
But something was off.
He leaned closer.
Nothing changed.
Yet the feeling remained.
Shango turned away.
Outside, the street was louder than usual.
Groups of people stood in clusters, talking over each other.
Phones still out.
Videos still playing.
"…I'm telling you, it tore open, like a rip in the sky—"
"No, it was lightning, just some weird storm—"
"That wasn't normal lightning!"
Shango walked past them, hands in his pockets.
Head down.
Listening without looking.
"…government experiment—"
"…end times—"
"…aliens—"
He almost smiled.
Almost.
None of them were even close.
A faint tingling ran across his fingertips.
He froze mid-step.
It came and went in an instant.
No one else noticed.
Good.
He kept walking.
The closer he got to school, the louder it became.
Students gathered in groups, more animated than usual.
No one talked about homework.
No one talked about classes.
Only one thing mattered.
"The sky cracked, I swear!"
"You're lying—"
"Check the videos, it's everywhere!"
"You think it was a cultivator?""At that scale? Impossible.""Unless it was someone at the peak…""No one at that level would even be here."
Shango walked through them like a ghost.
Unseen.
Unbothered.
But not unnoticed.
A girl standing by the gate paused mid-conversation as he passed.
Her eyes followed him for a second too long.
"…Do you feel that?" she asked quietly.
Her friend frowned. "Feel what?"
She hesitated.
Then shook her head.
"…Nothing."
Shango didn't look back.
But he heard it.
Inside the classroom, the noise didn't settle.
Even when the teacher walked in.
"Alright, that's enough," the teacher said, trying to regain control.
"I know everyone has seen the news, but we still have a lesson to—"
A sudden flicker cut the lights.
The room went silent.
Then they came back on.
A few students laughed nervously.
"Power issues," the teacher muttered. "Let's continue—"
The lights flickered again.
Longer this time.
Shango's grip tightened around his desk.
A faint hum filled his ears.
Low.
Steady.
Familiar.
Not yet.
His breath caught.
The lights burst.
Glass shattered overhead as the bulbs exploded, plunging the room into sudden darkness.
Screams followed.
Chairs scraped.
Someone fell.
In that split second of chaos—
Blue light flickered.
Not in the room.
On him.
Shango's eyes widened.
He forced his hands down, pressing them against his legs.
Stop.
The hum faded.
The light vanished.
Emergency lights kicked in moments later, dim and red.
The classroom slowly came back into view.
"What the hell was that?!" someone shouted.
"Everyone stay calm!" the teacher snapped, though his voice shook.
Shango sat still.
Too still.
No one was looking at him.
Good.
But across the room—
The same girl from the gate stared at him.
Not confused.
Not scared.
Certain.
Their eyes met.
For a brief moment—
The air between them tightened.
Then she looked away.
As if she hadn't.
As if she shouldn't.
Shango exhaled slowly.
Something was wrong.
Not just with him.
With everything.
Far above—
Beyond sight—
The watchers did not blink.
"He's adapting faster than expected."
"Then we move sooner."
"Not yet."
A pause.
"Let him believe he's still human."
Back in the classroom, surrounded by noise and confusion—
Shango sat in silence.
Because deep down—
He already knew.
That wasn't going to last.