Quinn stood frozen in shock.
Outside the cafeteria window, rushing toward the school like a tidal wave, came the aftermath of the explosion—an unnatural surge of violet mist, dust, sparks, and rolling clouds of darkness. It looked as if the air itself had been split open.
"Quinn, get down!" Riley shouted, voice cracking with panic as the wave barreled closer.
What's happening to me?
Why can't I move?
Move—please move—
Before Quinn's body could respond to the frantic messages in his mind, the shockwave reached the school.
"Quinn!" Riley yelled. He threw himself forward, arms wrapping around his best friend in a desperate attempt to shield him—
THRUMF!
CRACK!
They hit the ground hard. Quinn's head struck a jagged piece of broken tile, and Riley let out a sharp gasp of pain as the shockwave slammed through the building with devastating force.
Everything went dark.
Both boys fell unconscious almost instantly.
---
Days Later
Quinn surfaced from darkness into a blinding haze of white light and antiseptic cold. The world felt distant, wrapped in cotton. A soft, rhythmic beeping pulsed beside him. He tried lifting his head, but pain surged through him, dragging him back down.
His eyelids fluttered open. The world was a blur—bright, foggy, unreal.
And then he saw it.
A rectangular, blue-tinged screen floating in the air above him—like a hologram—covered in faint symbols he couldn't understand.
"Huh…?" Quinn whispered, rubbing his eyes.
When he opened them again, the screen was gone.
For a moment, he couldn't remember why he was in a hospital bed.
Then everything slammed back into place.
The cafeteria.
The tremor that made the air scream.
The wave swallowing Riverside School.
Riley's voice—terrified—calling his name.
Quinn's heart lurched. "R–Riley?"
A nurse entered quickly, startled by the sudden sound. Her voice was soft—too soft. The kind of softness that tried to cushion something painful.
"You're awake. Good. Just… don't move too fast, okay?"
Quinn swallowed hard. "My friend. Riley. Is he alright? Is he—alive?"
She hesitated just long enough to shatter him.
Then she nodded.
"He's stable. He made it."
Relief hit Quinn so sharply he almost broke into tears.
But something in the nurse's expression wasn't relief.
It was sympathy—the kind given when someone survives, but not unchanged.
---
Two Days Later
They let Quinn visit Riley.
His friend lay in the bed beside his, propped up by pillows. His breathing was steady, but his left arm and leg were covered in sterile bandages and support braces where surgical work had begun. His face—usually full of life—looked pale, quieter than Quinn had ever seen it.
Quinn's hands shook as he stepped closer. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Man… I'm really, really sorry."
He wasn't expecting a response.
So when Riley croaked, "Bro… keep it down," Quinn nearly jumped out of his skin.
Riley's single open eye glinted with tired mischief. "I'm trying to heal, not listen to you deliver some tragic monologue."
Quinn let out a shaky, tear-tinged laugh. Riley smirked—weak but real.
"Good," Riley muttered. "You still look ugly when you laugh."
Something cracked and healed inside Quinn at the same time.
---
The World Outside Had Changed
The disaster at the Nexus Foundation had wounded the world.
Satellites flickered offline. The global power grid collapsed and rebooted in unstable bursts. The sky shifted color unpredictably, unsure whether it should be morning, evening, or something entirely new. Entire regions reported sudden waves of heat or cold, pressure surges, bursts of static strong enough to stall cars or knock out radios.
News anchors tried—and failed—to hide tremors in their voices.
Scientists contradicted themselves before their last statements finished airing.
Governments held press conferences filled with calm words and panicked eyes.
A week had passed.
Nobody knew what truly happened.
But Quinn did know one thing:
If the wave reached Riverside School, it reached everywhere.
And if it reached everywhere…
Where was Grandma?
Every moment he wasn't sitting beside Riley, he stared at the TV or repeatedly dialed emergency hotlines that always ended with the same message:
"All channels are currently overloaded."
He barely slept. Barely ate.
The steady beep of Riley's monitor was the only thing grounding him.
So when Riley finally sat up without wincing, Quinn immediately stood.
"You shouldn't move yet," Quinn said quickly.
Riley rolled his eyes. "Dude, I've been lying down for a week. I'm turning into a loaf of bread. Let's go."
"You just got fitted for prosthetics—"
"And they're awesome," Riley interrupted, flexing his new mechanical fingers with the enthusiasm of someone testing a new gadget. "Bro, I'm practically a cyborg now. Fear me."
Quinn stared. Riley nudged him with a grin.
"Hey. Stop acting like the world's ending because of me. What happened wasn't your fault."
How can you say that? Quinn thought. If I hadn't frozen… maybe you wouldn't—
"You lost—"
"Yeah," Riley said softly, cutting him off. "I lost things. But I'm still me."
Quinn looked down, throat tight.
Riley placed his hand on Quinn's shoulder—steady, reassuring.
"Let's find your grandma."
And that was it.
Two boys—one bruised on the inside, one forever changed on the outside—stepped out of the hospital into a world still trembling from the aftershocks.
Above them, the sky swirled with faint, shimmering streaks—like auroras someone had painted wrong. Streetlights flickered uncertainly. Buildings showed fractures like scars. People walked with fear tucked behind tired eyes.
Quinn felt it deep in his bones.
Something fundamental had shifted.
Something hidden had woken.
And whatever had stirred on that terrible day…
It wasn't finished.
Not even close.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack, glanced at Riley beside him, and breathed out slowly.
"Let's go home," Quinn said.