Davo marveled at the effortless rhythm of his strides as he and Emma darted through the eerily silent streets, their footsteps barely a whisper against the cracked pavement. The business district behind them faded into the hazy morning light, its towering buildings now mere silhouettes against the backdrop of an unraveling world. The usual chaos—the honking horns, the sharp cries of vendors, the grinding engines—had been replaced by a ghostly stillness that sent a shiver down his spine.
They didn't need to speak; both instinctively knew that returning to familiar ground was their best option. In a world tipping further into uncertainty, the slums, with all their grime and hardship, at least felt like something they understood.
As they reached the outskirts, the landscape shifted to a realm of broken concrete and rusting shacks, their hurried pace finally slowing. The slum, always alive with movement, now seemed trapped in a strange limbo. Shopfronts were stripped bare, their shattered windows jagged like broken teeth. The remnants of looted stalls lay scattered across the streets—empty crates, torn fabric, and crushed vegetables rotting under the relentless sun.
Davo stretched his arms with a grin, feeling an energy coursing through him that hadn't been there before. "I swear, Em, I could run forever," he said, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders, relishing the newfound vitality.
Emma laughed, pushing a strand of tangled hair from her face. "Not bad, huh?" she said, a note of wonder in her voice. "Feels like we've been upgraded or something." Her smile faltered for a moment, her expression turning thoughtful. "But you know how it is. Chaos tags along with change, and humans? We're pretty good at turning miracles into messes."
Davo glanced around, watching people wander the streets like dazed dreamers, touching their skin, testing their newfound strength, as if waiting for something to go wrong. "Yeah," he murmured. "Looks like people are still trying to figure out what to do with it all."
They moved cautiously through the slum, slipping between crumbling walls and narrow alleys where rusted tin roofs sagged under their own weight. Keeping to the shadows, they watched from a distance, choosing to stay unseen until the chaos outside sorted itself out.
As they neared their hideout—a crumbling, half-buried building hidden under heaps of discarded junk—something caught Emma's eye. She tugged at Davo's sleeve, whispering, "Look."
A few feet away, a group of children sat in the dirt, their bare feet kicking up small clouds of dust. Their faces, usually smeared with grime and worry, were now lit with pure wonder. In their hands floated something impossible—a shimmering orb of light, pulsing gently like liquid moonlight. It flickered in and out of existence, sometimes turning solid with a soft thunk against the ground, other times phasing through it like mist.
Davo blinked in disbelief. "Are they... doing that?" he whispered, watching as one of the younger boys tossed the glowing sphere across to another, only for it to vanish mid-air and reappear in his waiting hands.
Emma's eyes were wide with fascination. "Looks like it," she said, shaking her head in awe. "And they're not even scared... they're just playing with it."
The children giggled, their faces scrunched in concentration as they willed the light to reappear, their eyes darting back and forth in giddy excitement. To them, it was just another game—an impossible, magical game they seemed to control without effort.
Davo's thoughts raced as he watched. "If they can do it…" he trailed off, exchanging a look with Emma.
She grinned, the spark of an idea lighting up in her eyes. "Let's get somewhere private," she said. "We need to... test some things."
Davo nodded slowly, his mind buzzing with possibilities. "Yeah... who knows what else we can do?"
Slipping away from the mesmerizing scene, they hurried back to their hideout. Pushing aside the layers of old cardboard, discarded rags, and rusted scrap metal that concealed their entrance, they crawled inside the narrow gap and into the familiar darkness beyond.
The musty scent of damp fabric and stale air filled their lungs, but there was comfort in it. The world outside might be changing in ways they couldn't yet understand, but in here, in their little sanctuary of clutter and survival, they could still feel something close to normal.
For now, at least.
--
Before Emma allowed Davo to experiment, she insisted they clean up first—her usual rule whenever she felt strong enough to enforce it. With a resigned groan, Davo complied, well aware that Emma's knack for order was unshakeable once she set her mind to it.
Their morning ritual began as always: navigating the dim corridors of their derelict building to reach a corroded tap embedded in a wall scarred by cracks and creeping mold. Water trickled out in a thin stream, and Davo carefully filled an old, dented bucket, the handle squeaking with every step on their way back. A faint odor of mildew drifted through the air, seeping up from the warped floors and underscoring the slum's lingering decay.
Inside their cramped hideout, Emma divided the water with careful precision. A makeshift partition of patched cloth and rickety wooden panels offered a shred of privacy. She went first, scrubbing layers of grime from her skin with the precious sliver of soap they guarded like a sacred talisman. The hushed sound of water splashing against cracked concrete mixed with the distant rumble of the slum—a subdued symphony of murmured voices, clanking debris, and the occasional shout from a wandering scavenger.
Davo leaned against the wall, eyes drifting to the ceiling's damp stains that resembled maps of impossible lands. When Emma emerged, looking cleaner and curiously revitalized despite the threadbare clothes clinging to her damp frame, he stepped behind the partition and let the cool water wash away the dirt of countless days. The water swirled down in tiny eddies, carrying a sense of relief with it—a fleeting illusion that perhaps the world outside had not completely fallen apart.
Once finished, both pulled on newly laundered garments—patched but mercifully clean. Davo ran a hand through his wet hair, catching his reflection in a chipped mirror shard. "Y'know," he remarked with a crooked grin, "with better clothes, we might actually pass for... I don't know, middle-class?"
Emma snorted, fiddling with the oversized sleeve of her shirt. "People notice more than clothes. They see how you walk, how you speak. The slum leaves its mark." She paused, gaze shifting to the solitary window where an unsettling stillness had settled over the street. "Though right now, it looks like none of that matters much."
Davo's impatience soon rose to the surface. He clapped his hands together, the echo bouncing softly off the time-worn walls. "Okay, enough with the chores. Let's figure out what's really going on. Maybe it's like magic, like in those games—wave your hands, chant a phrase, poof!" He wiggled his fingers theatrically. "Light orb."
Emma crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Sure, because a bunch of kids who can't spell can suddenly cast spells," she said drily. "I think it's simpler. We need to think about how they did it, not just assume it's some fantasy trick."
With a dramatic sigh, Davo sank to the floor. "Think what, exactly?"
Emma lowered herself beside him, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Think about the way the children held that glowing ball—their focus, their intent. Maybe it's not about words at all."
They fell silent, the anticipation in the small hideout as thick as the stale air. Outside, someone shouted—a muffled burst of anger or excitement—but inside, no flicker of strange energy appeared, no dancing orb of light. Seconds turned to minutes, and Davo began to fidget, drumming his fingertips against his knee in restless frustration.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered, breaking the hush. "I finally learn to read, and there's still no instruction manual for this."
Emma let out a soft chuckle, but she didn't disagree. They exchanged an uneasy glance, the moment heavy with unspoken questions. The world had changed in ways they could barely comprehend, and for all their curiosity, they were left with only the echo of possibilities—and the daunting sense that they had only scratched the surface of what was possible.
Davo closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, letting the stale air of the cramped room fill his lungs. He could still see the children in his mind, laughing as they passed a glowing orb between their small, dirt-streaked hands. The memory of that soft, pulsing light hovered at the edge of his thoughts, teasing him with its simplicity and wonder. He focused harder, picturing the warmth of it cupped in his own palms, the gentle hum of energy it seemed to give off—and yet, his hands remained empty. Only the hushed rustle of his worn clothing reminded him he was still in the dimly lit hideout.
Across from him, Emma tapped her fingers lightly against the floor's cracked concrete, her eyebrows arched. "You planning to do something anytime soon?" she teased, the corners of her mouth curling in a smirk.
Davo chose not to respond, shutting out her wry amusement. Instead, he imagined not just the children playing, but the light itself: the glow and the sense of possibility that came with it. He pictured it forming in his own grip, its surface shimmering like captured moonlight. For a moment, there was only silence, punctuated by the distant drip of water in a far-off corridor and the faint scuttling of a stray rodent searching for scraps.
Suddenly, the gloom of the hideout shifted. A soft radiance flickered in Davo's cupped hands, catching on the dingy walls and sending shadows dancing across the threadbare blankets tossed in the corner. He opened his eyes to find a delicate sphere of light wavering just above his skin, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
Emma's eyes widened, and she edged closer, the faint glow reflected in her gaze. "You did it!" she whispered in delight. "Okay, spill—what's your secret?"
Davo let out a shaky laugh, unable to tear his gaze from the orb. "I stopped thinking about the kids or the game they were playing. I just... focused on what the light is. It's like it was waiting for me to believe it was real." He turned his hands, watching the orb shift and cast gently swaying shadows on the walls.
A grin spread across Emma's face. "Alright, my turn." She closed her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration as she muttered silent encouragement to herself. For a moment, there was only the muffled sounds of the slum outside: distant voices echoing through the disused corridors, the occasional clang of metal on concrete. Then, with a subtle flash, a soft golden sphere formed between her palms, its glow illuminating her features.
She stared at it, awe dancing in her eyes. "We did it," she breathed, rolling the orb gently from one hand to the other. Its light shifted as she moved, pulsing in harmony with the motion of her fingertips.
Over the next hour, they stayed cross-legged on the floor, experimenting with this newfound ability. Emma passed her orb to Davo, who caught it with hands trembling in excitement. Sometimes it fizzed out, flickering like a dying candle, only for Emma to coax it back with a renewed flourish of thought. They laughed when they managed to stretch the light into elongated, twisting ribbons that fluttered in the musty air, then giggled again when Davo transformed his orb into a wavering oval.
"It's like we're telling it what to do," he mused, flexing his fingers as he willed the sphere to grow bigger, almost the size of a small melon. "Like our brains are giving it orders."
Emma nodded, shifting the color of her orb from the gentle gold to a deep azure that reminded Davo of night skies he'd only ever seen in pictures. "Feels like we're unlocking something that was always there," she murmured, her voice filled with a mixture of wonder and caution.
Davo spun his orb in a dizzying spiral, marveling at how effortlessly it obeyed his thoughts. "And if we can do this..." he said, his voice trembling with excitement, "imagine what else we could learn."
Emma leaned back against the crumbling wall, letting the small orb of light drift lazily between her outstretched fingers, its soft glow illuminating the chipped plaster around her. The slum outside their hidden refuge was strangely quiet; distant clattering occasionally echoed through the battered corridors, accompanied by the faint scuttling of half-starved strays rooting for food in overflowing trash piles. Yet here, in their tiny sanctuary, the air felt charged with possibility.
"This is only the start," she said, her voice threaded with both excitement and a subtle tremor of apprehension. Each hour that passed confirmed her suspicions. She and Davo pushed their newfound power further, conjuring shapes that shimmered with an eerie, half-formed energy. At first, their creations were mere flickers—small globes of light that flickered like captured fireflies. Soon, however, those faint illuminations morphed into solid shapes: cubes whose surfaces hummed with a low vibration, pyramids that pulsed in time with their heartbeats, and even a curious disc that emitted a gentle, almost musical tone when tapped.
Emma managed to coax forth a translucent sphere that rippled like living glass, its surface shifting as though a tiny heartbeat pulsed within. Davo, meanwhile, crafted a rough-edged block, its texture coarse and gravelly like unrefined stone. Though each object felt tangible, they remained fragile and small—fragile proofs of a growing skill still shackled by some invisible limit. Soon the hideout's dusty floor became a showcase of their experiments: fragments of mist-like sculptures, shimmering pebbles that glowed faintly at the edges, and even a fabric-like strip that Davo proudly draped over his shoulder as if it were a grand cloak.
Lost in the thrill of discovery, Emma absently rolled a metallic-feeling sphere across her palm, marveling at the way it caught the dim light of their flickering lantern. "It's not much, but it's… something," she murmured, captivated by the subtle glint on its surface.
A sudden pang of hunger tore Davo's attention away from their stockpile of odd creations. He frowned, realizing it had taken nearly the entire day for him to feel the familiar gnaw of an empty stomach. An idea flickered through his mind—Could that hunger be channeled into creation, too?
Without a word, he grabbed a chipped ceramic bowl and focused. The hunger gnawed at him like a restless beast, yet instead of fighting it, he embraced the sensation, willing it to translate into something concrete. A faint glow spread across the bowl's rough surface, and seconds later, a small white block coalesced. It reminded him of polished marble with a faint sheen, yet it felt strangely pliable to the touch.
Emma, having just finished weaving another tendril of glowing silk, glanced over and froze. "What in the world is that?" she asked, her voice caught between intrigue and alarm.
Davo picked up the mysterious block, sniffed it, and then, with a hesitant shrug, took a bite. To his astonishment, the texture proved somewhere between soft cheese and tofu, the taste mild but not unpleasant. "I think… it's food," he mumbled, his mouth half-full.
Emma raised a brow in mock seriousness. "Well, I hope it's food and not some fancy new building material."
Swallowing, Davo nodded. "It's definitely edible. A bit like tofu, just a tad richer in flavor. And I feel… satisfied, like it's actually filling me."
Emma's curiosity got the better of her, and she pushed aside her glowing strand to watch him more closely. "Then show me. Because if we can conjure dinner, we might never have to eat stale bread again."
Davo set down the bowl, flexing his fingers. "Alright, it's pretty easy—focus on the hunger, think of it as energy. Then picture food, nice and simple."
Emma mirrored his posture, closing her eyes. Her brow knit with concentration, and after a tense pause, a faint shimmer shimmered over her own battered bowl. In a subdued flash, a similar white block appeared. She stared at it suspiciously before finally taking a slow bite. "Not exactly gourmet," she admitted, "but it'll do."
Over the next hour, they refined their technique, conjuring small, neat blocks of the strange, nourishing substance. When their throats began to ache with thirst, they discovered water was just as simple to create. The liquid pooled in an old tin cup in Emma's hands, rippling softly as she exhaled in astonishment. Each sip slid down her throat cool and pure, free of the grimy aftertaste that typically plagued their slum-sourced water.
Their humble meal left them feeling surprisingly satiated—no bloated heaviness, just the warm comfort of a hunger sated. Davo leaned back against the wall, tapping a finger contemplatively against the empty bowl. "I could get used to this," he murmured, his eyes alight with both satisfaction and wonder.
Emma took one last sip from her conjured water, arching an eyebrow. "Hey, imaginary tofu might keep us alive, but let's not forget we still need answers—real answers."
Davo grinned, shrugging playfully. "Fair enough. But if staying alive means living off our own imagination… sign me up."
Emma rolled her eyes, but amusement sparkled in her gaze. The flickering remnants of their luminescent creations cast dancing shadows on the walls, hinting at untold possibilities.