The night the sky burned, Oliver Vale was awake.
He had never been a good sleeper. Even as a child, he preferred the quiet hours after midnight when the world softened into whispers. The town of Greyford lay silent outside his bedroom window—empty streets, dim streetlights flickering like tired fireflies, and the distant hum of wind brushing through old rooftops. Most people found comfort in sleep.
Oliver found clarity in darkness.
He sat cross-legged on the floor beside his bed, sketchbook open, pencil moving slowly across the page. He wasn't drawing anything specific—just shapes, fragments, symbols that appeared in his mind without reason. He had been doing this for months now. Circles inside triangles. Lines that twisted like veins. A strange emblem that kept repeating itself.
He didn't know why he drew it.
Only that he had to.
The clock read 2:17 a.m.
The air felt… wrong.
Too still.
Too heavy.
Oliver paused mid-stroke. His pencil hovered above the paper. A faint ringing filled his ears, like the echo after a loud sound, though nothing had happened.
Then—
A flash.
White.
Blinding.
His entire room lit up as if lightning had struck inside the house.
"What the—"
He scrambled to the window.
The sky wasn't dark anymore.
It was glowing.
Not sunrise. Not lightning. Something else.
Cracks of golden light stretched across the heavens like fractures in glass. They spread silently at first, thin glowing veins tearing through the stars. Then the sound came—a low, deep hum that vibrated through the walls, through his bones.
It felt alive.
Oliver's chest tightened.
The air outside shimmered like heat over asphalt. Clouds twisted unnaturally, spiraling toward one point directly above the old abandoned watchtower at the edge of town.
And then he saw it.
A shape.
Descending.
Not falling—descending.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like something choosing where to land.
His heart began hammering.
"No way… no way…"
It looked like a star at first, but brighter, denser. Gold light poured from it in streams, like liquid fire. The closer it came, the clearer it became—a sphere of light wrapped in spinning rings, ancient symbols burning across its surface.
The same symbols.
The ones in his sketchbook.
Oliver's hand trembled.
"That's impossible…"
A sudden pulse exploded outward.
BOOM.
Every car alarm in town screamed at once. Streetlights shattered. Windows rattled violently.
Oliver stumbled back from the glass, ears ringing.
The sphere struck the ground near the watchtower in a burst of radiant energy that lit the entire horizon.
Silence followed.
Deep. Unnatural silence.
Even the crickets had stopped.
For several seconds, Oliver just stood there, breathing hard.
Then something inside him moved.
Not fear.
Not curiosity.
Something stronger.
A pull.
Like gravity had shifted direction.
Like his body belonged somewhere else.
Near that light.
"No," he muttered. "This is stupid. Stay home."
But his legs were already moving.
Greyford at night felt different when you weren't supposed to be outside.
Every shadow looked deeper. Every sound felt closer.
Oliver slipped out the back door quietly, hoodie thrown over his T-shirt, shoes barely tied. The air outside carried a metallic smell, sharp like electricity.
The glow near the watchtower still flickered against the sky.
He followed it.
Past empty houses.
Past the closed bakery.
Across the small bridge near the dried river.
With every step, that strange pull grew stronger.
His chest felt warm.
His pulse matched the distant hum in the air.
"Why me…?" he whispered.
He didn't even know what he was walking toward.
But stopping felt impossible.
After fifteen minutes, the old watchtower came into view—a crumbling stone structure from colonial times, fenced off and abandoned for decades.
Tonight, the fence had melted.
Actually melted.
The metal drooped like wax.
Oliver swallowed.
The ground beyond it glowed faintly gold.
Burn marks spread outward in perfect circles, as if something enormous had pressed into the earth.
And in the center—
It was there.
The sphere.
Smaller now.
About the size of a car.
Floating a few inches above the ground.
Rings of light rotated around it slowly, humming.
Symbols drifted across its surface like living things.
Oliver's breath caught.
"It's real…"
Every instinct screamed to run.
But that pull—
It dragged him forward.
Step by step.
Until he stood only a few feet away.
The heat wasn't burning. It was warm. Gentle. Like sunlight.
His heart slowed.
The humming changed pitch.
It almost sounded like… a voice.
Not words.
Just emotion.
Lonely.
Waiting.
Oliver raised a shaking hand.
"I don't know what you are," he whispered. "But… you're not here to destroy us, are you?"
The sphere brightened.
A soft pulse touched his skin.
His vision blurred.
Images exploded behind his eyes.
War.
Cities burning.
Dark shapes tearing through the sky.
Armored figures fighting back with weapons made of light.
And one symbol shining above them all—
The same one he had drawn his entire life.
Then—
A single word formed in his mind.
Clear.
Ancient.
Vanguard.
Oliver gasped and staggered.
"What does that even mean—"
The sphere split open.
Light poured out.
Before he could react, something shot forward and struck his chest.
Pain.
White hot.
Like lightning ripping through his veins.
He screamed.
Fell to his knees.
Energy crawled across his skin like fire and ice at once. Symbols burned into the air around him, circling faster and faster.
"I'm gonna die—!"
But then—
The pain changed.
Not pain.
Power.
Strength flooded his body.
His senses sharpened.
He could hear the wind miles away. Feel the ground beneath the soil. See every grain of dust glowing in the air.
The light collapsed inward.
Straight into him.
Everything went dark.
When Oliver opened his eyes, dawn had begun to break.
Birds chirped cautiously.
The watchtower stood silent again.
No glow.
No sphere.
No burn marks.
Like nothing had happened.
He lay flat on the ground, staring at the pale sky.
"…Was it a dream?"
His body felt different.
Lighter.
Stronger.
He pushed himself up easily.
Too easily.
He accidentally crushed a stone in his palm.
He froze.
"…Okay. That's new."
His reflection in a broken piece of glass caught his attention.
For a second—just a second—his eyes glowed faint gold.
Then normal again.
His heart started racing.
"What did you do to me…?"
As if answering, a faint symbol appeared on his wrist.
Glowing.
The same mark.
Perfectly etched into his skin.
And in his mind—
That word again.
Vanguard.
Before he could process it—
The air shifted.
A cold presence crept across the field.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
The opposite of the warm light from before.
Oliver turned slowly.
At the edge of the trees, something moved.
Tall.
Twisted.
Humanoid—but wrong.
Its body looked like smoke wrapped around bones. Eyes like red embers stared directly at him.
Watching.
Hungry.
It stepped forward, cracking branches underfoot.
Oliver's throat went dry.
"…Okay," he whispered. "Definitely not a dream."
The creature tilted its head.
Then smiled.
Too wide.
Too sharp.
And charged.
Oliver didn't know what he was about to become.
Didn't know why the sky had chosen him.
Didn't know what a Vanguard truly was.
But as something ancient awakened in his veins—
As golden light began spreading across his skin—
He understood one thing clearly.
The night the sky burned…
His normal life had ended.
And a war older than humanity had just found its newest soldier.