It’s still there. That fizzing buzz of energy.
Curiosity gets the better of me.
I concentrate, like Kael described in one of our hushed, half-asleep conversations last night. Open myself to it. Picture the hum of connection, like a thread running from me to something… more.
At first, nothing. Then the space in front of me wobbles.
I blink. Lean forwards.
The air folds.
A ripple spreads like heat above asphalt, distorting everything it touches. My breath hitches. The ripple builds, spiralling into a tiny vortex the size of a grapefruit—right in front of me. It’s not a portal. Not quite. More like a pocket of unsteady space, warping the edges of my vision. My chair near the wall creaks, then slides three inches to the left, as if nudged by an invisible hand. Comics I’ve scavenged lift and flutter into the air. My shelf groans.
“Shitshitshit—”
I swipe at the ripple like that’ll help. It burps in protest, expands to the size of a beach ball, and pops with a sound like a deep, wet hiccup.
Books go flying. The natural lights in the walls flicker wildly. The floor shudders beneath me. One of the storage crates in the corner topples with a dramatic clatter.
I freeze.
And then the ceiling creaks ominously.
“Sonny!”
The door slams open, and Kael storms in, eyes wild, his bioluminescent markings blazing like lightning beneath his skin. He takes one look at the room—the floating books, the warped air, the bent metal ladder I use to hang my clothes on—and zeroes in on me, sitting wide-eyed on the floor like I’m summoning a demon.
“Hi,” I squeak.
Kael doesn’t smile. He crosses the room in two strides, drops to his knees in front of me, and grips my shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
“No?” I offer weakly. “Just… spatially challenged.”
His eyes flick across my face, down my arms. “What did you do?”
I glance at my palm. “Energy manipulation?”
“You folded the room,” he says, like I just admitted to shifting tectonic plates.
“Unintentionally!”
He exhales hard, forehead bumping against mine. “You scared me.”
“I scaredme.”
He cups my cheek, grounding me, the heat of his skin steadying the last of the chaotic energy. “Next time you want to bend the fabric of reality,” he mutters, “call me first.”
“Deal,” I breathe. My heartbeat slows. The air settles. No more wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey bullshit. Just Kael. And my very slightly imploded bedroom.
Next time, I’m starting with something safer. Like lifting a spoon.
But also, what the fuck? If I can do this, an untrained, completely-making-shit-up-as-I-go human, what the hell can Glowranth really do? The ones here in Dathanor? They keep it low-key. Use their abilities for small shit. Lights. Precision. Warming or cooling things, mostly. I’ve never seen any of them do anything like…that.
That has to mean something.
If energy can bend a room, manipulate the very space around us, then deliberately tearing through dimensions isn’t just a theory—it’s a possibility. With strength and intent.
And holy shit, this is huge.
