Morning should've smelled like bread.
Instead, the apartment reeked of metal and fear.
Cid stood in the doorway, backpack half‑zipped, the waiver burning against his thigh. The glowing mark at his throat pulsed again — faint, rhythmic, like something alive was tapping from beneath his skin.
"No," he whispered. "Not now. Not like this."
He splashed water on his face. It didn't help. The reflection didn't lie.
The symbol — a curved line intersecting a circle — flickered like a heartbeat.
He touched it.
A shock ran up his spine.
Not pain. Recognition.
Like the mark knew him.
Cid stumbled back, gripping the sink. "What the hell did the island do to me?"
The lights flickered again. The apartment hummed — the same wrong vibration he'd felt before Mara collapsed.
His chest tightened.
He grabbed his phone.
No messages. No updates from the hospital. No news.
Just silence.
The kind that eats at you.
Cid shoved the phone into his pocket and forced himself to breathe. He didn't have time to fall apart. Mara needed him awake, not shaking in a bathroom.
He zipped the backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped into the hallway.
The building felt… different.
Quieter. Listening.
He took the stairs two at a time.
THE CITY
Outside, the world had shifted overnight.
Lines wrapped around clinics. People argued in the streets. A man shouted at a preacher claiming the Continent was divine punishment. A woman sobbed into her hands as paramedics loaded another stretcher.
Cid's stomach twisted.
Everywhere he looked, he saw Mara.
He pushed through the crowd, heading toward the bus stop. The harbor was across the city — and the recruiter's deadline was ticking.
A notification buzzed on a nearby screen.
BREAKING: Coma cases spike near coastal regions.Experts warn of "resonance events."
Cid swallowed hard.
Resonance.
Like the pulse in his throat.
He tugged his collar higher.
THE BUS
The bus was packed — standing room only. People clutched bags, documents, children. Some wore masks. Others wore talismans. Everyone wore fear.
Cid grabbed a pole and tried to steady his breathing.
A kid beside him stared openly. "Mister… your neck is glowing."
Cid froze.
A few passengers turned.
He forced a laugh. "It's a tattoo. Heat‑sensitive ink."
The kid squinted. "It's pulsing."
Cid turned away, heart hammering.
The mark warmed under his skin, reacting to something — or someone — on the bus.
A woman near the back suddenly gasped and collapsed. Her husband screamed her name. People backed away. Someone hit the emergency button.
Cid's blood ran cold.
The mark flared.
Bright.
Too bright.
He yanked his hood up and pushed through the crowd, stumbling off the bus before it fully stopped.
He hit the pavement hard, breath ragged.
"What is happening to me?"
The mark dimmed again, as if satisfied.
Cid wiped sweat from his brow and kept moving.
THE HARBOR
By the time he reached the docks, the sun was high and the air tasted like salt and diesel.
Chaos.
Hundreds of people crowded the piers — shouting, begging, waving money, waving documents. Security forces pushed them back. Boats rocked violently as crews loaded supplies.
And there she was.
The recruiter.
Gray coat. Sharp eyes. Clipboard in hand like she owned the ocean.
She spotted him instantly.
"You're late."
Cid glared. "My mother collapsed. I was at the hospital."
Her expression didn't change. "And yet you're here."
"Because you said the island might wake her."
"I said it might," she corrected. "Not that it will."
Cid's jaw clenched. "I'm going."
She studied him — not his face, but his throat.
Her eyes narrowed. "Your collar. Move it."
Cid stepped back. "No."
"Cid." Her voice dropped. "If the island marked you, I need to know."
His heart stopped.
"You knew this could happen?"
"We suspected," she said. "Some individuals show early resonance. It's rare."
"And dangerous?"
"Everything about the Waking Continent is dangerous."
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he lowered his collar.
The mark glowed softly.
The recruiter inhaled sharply. "You're attuned."
Cid blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means the island didn't just choose you." She stepped closer, voice low. "It's calling you."
A horn blared from the pier. A massive vessel — reinforced hull, military insignia — pulled into position.
The recruiter grabbed his arm.
"Your seat is secured. But listen carefully."
Her voice was almost a whisper.
"Once we reach the island, you stay close to me. Do not wander. Do not touch anything. And if the mark reacts—"
"It already reacts."
She nodded grimly. "Then pray it reacts in your favor."
Cid looked at the ship.
At the ocean.
At the horizon where the Waking Continent waited like a sleeping giant.
He thought of Mara's limp hand.
Her humming.
Her smile that didn't reach her eyes.
He tightened his grip on his backpack.
"I'm going," he said.
The recruiter motioned him forward.
"Then step aboard, Cid. Your awakening has already begun."
The ship lurched.
Cid grabbed the railing — and the metal bent under his fingers.