The alley is narrow, damp, echoing faintly with distant city noise.

And at the far end—

Someone stands there.

Of course.

He doesn’t lean or fidget or check his phone. He simply exists—still as a statue, hands in his coat pockets, head slightly bowed like he’s listening to something you can’t hear.

“…Hi?” you try when you get closer.

His head lifts.

His gaze lands on you—and immediately hardens.

“…No,” he says.

You blink. “No what?”

“No.”

“That’s not—okay. That’s not helpful.” You gesture behind him. “I just need to get through.”

“You don’t.”

“I do, actually.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You stare at him. “Are you gatekeeping an alley right now?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Fantastic,” you mutter. “Love a mysterious, rude stranger. Really improves my day.”

He doesn’t react. Not even a flicker.

You exhale sharply, stepping a little closer. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but unless you’re planning to physically stop me—”

“I am.”

You stop.

“…You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” you breathe. “That’s… deeply inconvenient.”

A pause stretches between you.

The air shifts.

Subtly at first. Then sharper—like something unseen has just turned its attention toward the narrow space you’re standing in.

You feel it along your skin.

A pressure. A pull.

“…Okay,” you say slowly. “Something is definitely wrong.”

His eyes flick upward.

“Now you notice.”

Before you can respond—

The sky splits.

Not lightning.

Not thunder.

A seam—dark and burning—rips through the clouds overhead, visible even from the thin slice of sky above the alley. Something vast moves behind it, too large to understand, casting shifting shadows that don’t belong to anything you know.

Your breath catches. “That’s not real.”

“It is.”

“Great,” you whisper. “Perfect. Love that for me.”

A sound follows—high, sharp, descending.

You look up instinctively—

And your stomach drops.

Something is falling.

A shard of light—no, not light, something denser, like a piece of the sky itself breaking loose—plummets straight toward the alley.

Straight toward him.

“Move!” you shout.

He doesn’t.

Or maybe he does, but too late—

You don’t think.

You just act.

You lunge forward, grabbing his coat, shoving him hard out of the way—

The world jerks violently—

And something slams into you.

A flash of white heat.

A force that steals the air from your lungs.

You hit the ground with a breathless gasp, the impact echoing through your bones.

For a moment, there is nothing.

Then—

Pain.

“…Ow,” you whisper hoarsely.

Footsteps—fast, controlled.

“You’re an idiot.”

You blink up at him through the haze. “That’s… not very heroic of you.”

“You pushed me.”

“You’re welcome.”

His expression is tight—not soft, not grateful, but… unsettled.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yeah,” you wheeze. “Getting that impression.”

Something burns.

Not sharp.

Not exactly painful.

But wrong.

You glance down—

And freeze.

The shard—if it is a shard—is embedded just below your collarbone, not deep enough to kill, but far enough that it should hurt more than it does.

Instead, it glows.

Soft. Pulsing. Alive.

“…That’s new,” you whisper.

The light spreads.

Not outward—but into you.

Thin lines of pale gold branch beneath your skin like veins of molten glass, tracing across your collarbone, down your arm, up your throat.

Your breath catches.

“I don’t like this,” you say faintly.

His voice drops. “Don’t move.”

“Wasn’t planning on—”

The glow surges.