The moment I opened my eyes, it was as if the weight of exhaustion had melted away completely. Those endless days of fatigue, the heaviness that kept me tethered to the past—gone. I sat up in bed, feeling almost disoriented by the clarity in my mind and the unusual energy coursing through me. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.
Jia wasn't in my room, but I could hear faint voices from downstairs. Devon was talking to our grandparents, his tone carrying a strange mix of excitement and uncertainty. The words "eclipse" and "transition" floated up, followed by the muffled sound of the television. I glanced at the window and saw the faintest glimmer of sunlight fading into twilight. The night was growing darker, signaling the eclipse's arrival.
I padded down the stairs, the sense of anticipation growing heavier with each step. "What's going on?" I asked, my voice steady but filled with curiosity. Jia turned to look at me from the couch, her brows furrowed, and Devon simply pointed to the screen.
The news anchor was smiling now, her earlier apprehension replaced with a tone of cautious optimism. "As we approach the peak of the eclipse, reports from across the globe indicate a wave of unusual phenomena. People are reporting heightened senses, bursts of energy, and a strange connection to the celestial activity overhead."
"Heightened senses?" Devon murmured, glancing at me. "You feeling that, too?"
I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. It wasn't just heightened senses—it felt like something far more profound. My thoughts were sharper, my movements swifter, and even the faint pulse of the earth beneath my feet felt alive in a way that defied explanation.
"Scientists are calling this the 'Celestial Shift,'" the anchor continued, her voice carrying an edge of excitement. "While the specifics remain uncertain, many speculate that this is tied to the alignment of the constellations during the eclipse. Some even suggest that the human race is being… changed."
Changed. The word hung in the air like a tangible thing, and I found myself staring at the screen, unable to look away. Was this what Yike had been talking about? The eclipse shift, the constellations—did they hold the answers to the strangers who had chased us?
Conflict started to arise when Devon interrupted the family's quiet contemplation. "So, do you think we should embrace this whole 'being changed' thing, or should we prepare for the apocalypse?" He chuckled, but the unease behind his words was clear.
Jia shot him a look. "Don't be ridiculous. We don't even know what's happening yet. Taryn—what do you think?"
Before I could answer, the room went dark. The television flickered off, and the faint hum of electricity vanished entirely. Outside, the world seemed to hold its breath as the eclipse reached its peak. The sky was painted in hues of black and silver, the moon's corona casting an eerie glow that seeped through the windows.
Devon grabbed a flashlight, his tone shifting to nervous laughter. "Okay, this is officially creepy."
Jia ignored him, her focus on the window. "It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. "Look at the sky."
I moved closer, my gaze drawn to the heavens. The constellations shimmered like living things, their light pulsing in rhythm with the beating of my heart. And then, as if responding to some unseen command, the light of the stars twisted and bent, forming shapes I couldn't comprehend.
Our grandparents expressed a growing concern about the impact this celestial shift might have on society. "This isn't natural," grandfather muttered, his voice filled with apprehension. "Change like this… it doesn't come without a price."
"But what if it's meant to be?" Jia countered, her conviction clashing against her grandfather's fear. "What if this is the next step for humanity?"
The tension in the room rose, each person grappling with their own beliefs and doubts. For me, the question wasn't about humanity's future—it was about survival. The strangers from school hadn't been chasing me for no reason, and the eclipse felt like a piece of the puzzle I couldn't yet fit together.
Suddenly, the quiet was broken by the sound of glass shattering. Devon spun toward the kitchen, his flashlight beam revealing a broken window and an empty space where the cookies had been.
The daylight, or what remained of it, was distorted into an unsettling twilight as the eclipse gripped the sky. The pale hues from yesterday had returned, but they were sharper somehow—a haunting silver canvas painted with shadows that seemed to waver like whispers on the air. Jia had already stepped outside, her silhouette joining the growing crowd from every household, each person transfixed by the celestial phenomenon.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, expecting it to remain frozen as it had during past anomalies. But the hands moved. Slowly, steadily—time wasn't standing still this time. My breath hitched as a sense of dread began to stir. This eclipse was different.
Then, it came—a deafening roar from underground. It was low and guttural, vibrating through the very bones of the house. The ground quaked as though some immense force was clawing its way up from the earth's core. The whole neighborhood froze, the hum of panic rising. Screams echoed through the streets, sharp and piercing, cutting through the eerie stillness outside.
Before I could process what was happening, a sudden, powerful gust—something far beyond natural wind—tore through the air. It was invisible yet felt alive, an imaginary force that swept through the atmosphere with enough strength to knock everyone off their feet. I hit the ground hard, the impact forcing me to step backward instinctively as though retreating from an unseen threat. My chest tightened, and the weight of the unknown pressed down on me, thick and suffocating.
The house erupted into chaos. Our grandparents exchanged uneasy looks, their voices trembling with hushed comments that teetered between fear and disbelief. Grandfather muttered something about the ground "breaking open to swallow us whole," while grandmother clutched a rosary and whispered prayers under her breath.
Devon, who moments ago had been cracking jokes to mask his apprehension, was gripping my hand tightly now, his knuckles pale. His voice wavered, and his eyes darted around in desperation.
"Taryn, tell me this is just a dream," he pleaded, sounding like a child begging to be comforted. "It has to be a dream, right?"