Midday in the highlands carried a kind of sunlight unlike any other, not harsh, not gentle. It hovered between thin layers of cloud and cold stone, as if the world itself were breathing slower.
Kuro Sora, age fourteen, was born on the planet Firel, a remote outpost at the edge of the Luxios Empire. He lived far from his family, attending school in Noctis.
His rented room was in an old three-story dormitory renovated for student use.
Though narrow, it was clean. Each unit had its own back stairway, so no one disturbed their neighbors. Ivory-painted walls, stone-gray tiles, and misted corridors greeted him every morning.
Kuro was tall, lean, with dark hair always a little unkempt.
He didn't speak often, but not because he was shy.
There simply wasn't much to say. Since he was young, friends had called him "distant." Some meant it kindly. Others didn't.
He never thought one strange afternoon would change how he saw the world, and himself.
On that day, he lay on the school's south field, head tilted slightly toward the sky. Next to him, Mike Aeran tinkered with something small and humming.
Mike Aeran, his classmate and same age, came from a wealthier home. His father was chief engineer at a local energy station. Mike was a bit taller, quick with his hands, always carrying a backpack full of tools instead of books.
He had a thing for tech. Curious and obsessed with how things worked, Mike couldn't rest until he'd taken something apart and put it back together.
"What are you building now?" Kuro asked without looking away from the clouds.
"For the science mini-project," Mike replied, not looking up, "It's a compact device, tracks temperature, time, frequency... stuff like that. Kind of an all-in-one sensor. Size of a pen."
Kuro nodded.
Mike glanced over, voice casual but pointed.
"So what about you, Kuro? Everyone's picking their path lately. You seem... unusually calm."
Kuro raised an eyebrow, then exhaled.
"Maybe software engineering" he murmured. "Or just stick with you in the tech stream."
"At least with someone like you around, I won't get completely lost."
They stayed like that for a while. Then Mike muttered, "You know, you stare at the sky like it's going to drop something."
Kuro blinked. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see what it lets go of."
Mike paused his tinkering, glanced at Kuro, and fell quiet. Maybe he understood. Maybe he didn't.
The wind shifted. A cloud passed. Somewhere in the school bell tower, gears clicked as the hour changed.
This place still functioned fine.
Energy stations, traders, schools, even the interstellar news - everything was piped in from Luxios central.
Luxios, the empire's tech conglomerate, was behind almost everything. Power grids, transit screens, school servers. Its name was sewn into the architecture.
Decades ago, civil wars had devastated Firel's fragile ecology. Luxios took control after their rivals collapsed, helping rebuild civilization from ruin.
Using land-restoration tech, energy harmonizers, and atmospheric filters, Firel began to revive. Moss - red and pale green, returned with the seasons. It was no longer a cold ashland.
Now, Firel wore the skin of rebirth: steadier weather, cleaner air, and low clouds drifting again, signs of a healed ecosystem.
Noctis, the town Kuro now lived in, stood on flat rock between jagged cliffs and fog-draped woods. The air was always a little cold.
Each week, the school news ran a section called "Updates from Luxios",sensor upgrades, new cable installations, energy metrics.
No one really talked about them. Luxios wasn't far-off or grand. It was just... part of the floor. Always there, never noticed.
Days drifted, soft and slow. Kuro stopped questioning the future of hímelf.
Others around him buzzed with plans. Electrical engineering, security tech, orbital programming. They wanted badges, titles. Kuro... wanted space.
He wasn't lazy.
It wasn't because he hated engineering. It was because he didn't want to live his father's life.
He wanted freedom.
That thought stayed with him for a long time. Then, on a day as uneventful as any other, Kuro began to feel the shift.
That morning, the skies over Noctis were calm. Nothing strange happened. And somehow, that made him restless.
In Geography class, a notoriously boring subject, Kuro longed to feel the wind.
The lesson blurred. Satellite maps. River deltas. Kuro stared out the window.
I need to get out… though I'm not sure why. Maybe just to breathe
Eh, anything outsidee is better than this. Fake a cough, fake a cramp - no one will care. No one ever does.
So he faked a stomach ache and asked to leave early. He was quiet and polite in class, so the request was granted.
He took the path he liked most - past the basalt fields where the wind was open and honest.
"So romantic..." he murmured to himself.
Then suddenly, his heartbeat skipped, not dizziness, not sleepiness. Just something off. As if the space around him had slipped.
"What... just happened?" he whispered.
The wind shifted- a cold undercurrent brushing past his skin. It stuck his mind more than his body.
After school, Mike arrived at Kuro's dorm. They had planned to meet and head to the wind plain, a quiet field they often visited.
Kuro heard footsteps and leaned out.
"Hold on a sec…"
Kuro prepare a small snack for today, the mango his father bring on, Kuro sliced the mango a little and brought along some chili salt.
Mike carried Kuro on his truly steed - a battered electric bike that still hummed like it has a purpose.
"What happened today? At school" Kuro asked.
"Nothing much. Just... don't push your luck. They're starting to notice.". Mike warned.
"Nah," Kuro shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Mike was silent, as if judging Kuro with his eyes alone.
…
"…Okay, okay. I'll be careful."
"Oh, by the way... I think I felt something weird after I left class on my way home." he added.
He told Mike about the feeling.
Mike said nothing for a long moment.
Then: "Maybe low blood sugar. You skipped lunch, didn't you?"
Kuro couldn't tell if he hadn't heard or was lost in thought.
They let the conversation die. For now.
Different as they were, the two of them ended up in a story that neither expected, drawn into something they couldn't yet name.
…
That night, Kuro dreamed of a silent path lined with hollow things.
At the far end of the hallway, a shape turned, slowly - as if it wore no face at all.
He woke up breathless.
Kuro was late again. While rushing to school, near the fence by the old water plant, he stopped.
Two patches of grass lay before him - different shades, barely different heights.
But he could feel the line between them like a subtle wave. His palms tingled, not painfully. Just... noticed.
It unsettled him more than before .
At the library, he told Mike again, tthis time more seriously.
"Could I borrow your tracking device? Maybe I could test it out on that path." Kuro asked, voice low but steady.
Mike hesitated, then offered a tired smile. "Look, I tried chasing signals once. Built a detector back when I thought a magnetic dip in Zone 4 meant something. It didn't."
Kuro's lips tightened.
He left without arguing.
…
In the hallway, a teacher glanced at Kuro longer than usual.
…
That afternoon, he biked alone. Past old labs. Toward the woods. No goal, just movement.
He paused near a stream. Water over stone. Birds overhead. Then - silence.
All sound around him fell away.
Not because he tried to focus. It was like the space itself wanted him to listen.
A shift in his mind. Not noise, not vision. A hinge turning.
Something happened to me, the feeling so true that I cannot denied it, but what's it exactly.
Taking a familiar path, he realized it curved near Mike's place.
Passing an old electronics shop, Mike's usual haunt, he saw the door closed. But lights were on. A red marker note on the fogged glass read: "Testing in progress – Do not disturb."
Kuro didn't knock. He just paused, stared through the glass a moment, then left.
Part of him didn't want to intrude. Part of him felt Mike was already on his own orbit now, just like Kuro. Nothing needed to be said. Let it be. Quiet. Natural.
From inside, Mike saw him.
Hidden behind the frosted glass, screwdriver in hand, he watched.
He didn't wave. Didn't call out.
He just stood there, silent, watching his friend bike away. A small figure under the weight of falling sunlight.
"It's been a while," he murmured to no one. "Since he looked at something for that long..."
He turned back to his desk. Tools scattered. A half-built wristband blinked slowly.
…
"I'm kind of hungry. What should I eat?" Kuro asked himself.
Instead of heading straight home, he wandered downtown to pick up some groceries.
When he had time, he liked to treat himself, a quiet meal, made with his own hands.
For a student living alone, few things steadied the soul more than that.
He brought back two bitter melons in a thin cloth bag.
He opened the fridge slowly, eyeing a pork slices sealed in thin plastic, and half a mango his father had sent during his last visit. The kitchen fan whirred, faint and low.
He paused, letting the cold air spill out.
"When did I start thinking like this?".
"Picking food based on mood. Cooking as if it means something."
It wasn't about hunger. It was about feeling grounded. About building a quiet rhythm no one could take away.
As he set the rice to steam, a memory surfaced:
an old book he'd read when he was ten, its name long forgotten, but one line remained, quiet yet certain:
"When you're unsure of everything, cook. A simple meal tells you the world still works."
He sliced the bitter melon carefully, soaking it in salt water. Ground the pork with pepper, garlic, a hint of soy.
Stuffed each hollow with care. Fried the meat slowly till it crisped. The scent, mingling with white rice and warm soup, filled the air.
He cooked - crispy fried pork, a bowl of stuffed bitter melon soup, and a pot of warm white rice.
As the steam rose from the table, something in him softened.
Kuro didn't smile. But his mood lifted, almost without him noticing.
Kuro said nothing.
…
But the next morning, Mike showed up.
He placed a half-built wristband on the desk.
"Not saying I believe you. But if you feel something, I want to measure it."
Surprise flickered in Kuro's eyes. Then curiosity.
"Let's find out," he said.
They picked the field behind the campus, where Kuro had felt it strongest.
Set up the device. Calibrate. Wait.
No obvious result.
But at the exact moment Kuro felt the click again, the sensor blinked. A tiny voltage spike. 0.02 off the baseline.
"Hmm. Maybe this place is a little different" Mike muttered. "Or maybe my device is acting up."
He didn't say he believed.
"We should check other locations," Kuro said.
"Tomorrow" Mike replied. "But first, …I need to test the sensor again."
That night, he started redesigning the sensor. This time, with a micro-input filter.
From those unspoken moments, the orbit began to drift.
Classroom maps gained red pins.
Mike's second prototype had a new log field: "Unclassified Anomalous Input."
That's when everything began to shift, maybe more for Mike than anyone.
They kept returning.
After school. Between classes. Skipping meals.
They returned to the fields, then the city edge, then the empty land behind the old relay tower near the mountain belt, even their favorite place.
Mike brought updated sensors each time, refined filters, longer range.
Noctis weather remained soft. Rain like whispers. Clouds floating above rooftops like silent watchers.
The air was never warm. Never truly cold. Just present.
"Maybe its true Kuro "Mike finally said "But like you… I don't understand what it means."
Kuro left the thought unspoken.
The feeling never returned when he wanted it to.
One Friday, they stayed out longer. The sky didn't move. Kuro sat on a cracked boulder, back to the abandoned data center.
Eyes closed.
"Anything?" Mike asked, watching the readout.
This time, it wasn't a feeling. It was something real. He couldn't name it, but he knew it was there.
Kuro shook his head.
"It's like... something brushing the edge of thought. Like knowing you forgot something, but not what."
The sensor blinked once. Then stilled.
"My device works fine. The place is normal. But when you're here… it changes." Mike said. "Maybe you're the key. But to what?"
They drew no conclusions. Not yet. But they began logging time and place.
Nothing matched. Not yet.
For now, it was just a question with weight.
One they weren't ready to answer.
Just two kids chasing echoes.
Following signals they thought led to a small weekend adventure.
Until it became real.
It wasn't just a signal. It was the first calling.
…