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.
Tall, lean, dark-haired, Kuro didn't talk much, but he wasn't cold.
He was average at school, bad at sports, and didn't belong to any standout group. Since he was little, people had called him distant,or worse, careless.
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 habit of asking, "Why?" anytime someone stated something as fact. He didn't trust what couldn't be measured, but he would still try if it made sense.
Different as they were, the two of them ended up in a story that neither expected, drawn into something they couldn't yet name.
Mike used to tease Kuro for staring at the sky like he was waiting for something to fall.
For a dreamer like Kuro, maybe that was true. But Kuro wasn't waiting. He just wanted to understand what lingered between the obvious things.
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 slow, like clouds in soft sunlight. Slow enough that Kuro stopped wondering how he should live.
Some classmates had chosen electrical engineering for after graduation. Kuro, despite his father's work in the same field, didn't want to follow.
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. So he faked a stomach ache and asked to leave early. He was quiet and polite in class, so the request was granted.
He strolled past the basalt fields, letting the wind wash over him. Then suddenly, his heartbeat skipped, not dizziness, not sleepiness. Just something off. As if the space around him had slipped.
He told Mike.
Mike frowned, said nothing. Kuro couldn't tell if he hadn't heard or was lost in thought.
The second time was at a rusted fence near the old water plant. Kuro stood between two patches of grass,different shades, barely different heights.
But he could feel the line between them like a subtle wave. His palms tingled, not painfully. Just... noticed.
"Drink more water," Mike said, when told.
The third time, Kuro stood at a fork where a stream crossed into the old tech zone. He closed his eyes.
All sound around him fell away.
Not because he tried to focus. It was like the space itself wanted him to listen.
Then, a click in his mind. Like a gear turning.
That afternoon, after class, Kuro biked westward, along a quiet road shaded by yellowwood trees. Shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy. The world felt slower.
He had no destination. Just wanted to get away from the chalky smell of classrooms and the buzz of students.
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..."
Kuro said nothing that evening.
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."
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.
Mike didn't say he believed.
But 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. 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.
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.
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.
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.
...