The morning breeze of New Griza swept gently across the streets, brushing through Castor's long black hair as he walked beside his younger sister, Cassie. The city was always awake—even at this early hour, holograms blinked from billboards above, neon ads flickered across drone taxis, and pedestrians buzzed around with augmented glasses and AI companions in tow. It was a city of progress, a city of speed. But underneath its surface lay a constant hum of danger.
"Are you even listening, Castor?" Cassie asked, chewing gum obnoxiously as she skipped along. Her black eyes mirrored his, but with a spark of mischief that was uniquely hers.
"No," Castor replied, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. "I was admiring how synthetic everything looks."
"Deep," she smirked.
They stopped at a traffic cross. The signal blinked red, halting the crowd. Castor stared across the intersection, eyeing a man standing at the edge of the sidewalk—nervous, twitching, as if debating something.
Then it happened.
A truck came speeding down, too fast to stop. The man stepped forward—deliberately or not, Castor couldn't tell. Gasps erupted around them. But before impact, the man suddenly flung backward, as though pulled by an invisible force. Tires screeched. The truck driver slammed the brakes, yelling out his window.
The man was alive.
"What the hell…" Castor muttered. "Did you see that?"
Cassie shrugged. "Probably tripped. Or maybe some guy tackled him from behind."
"No one touched him."
She rolled her eyes. "You're just being paranoid again."
Castor didn't respond. He kept staring at the spot where the man had stood. Something about the way he moved… it was unnatural. Like the laws of physics had bent, just for a moment.
"You ever heard of the Phenomenal Paradox Spectrum?" he asked as they resumed walking.
"Ugh, again?" Cassie groaned. "It's just another internet hoax. People love making up fancy names for things they don't understand."
Castor stayed quiet. Whatever he'd seen back there—it wasn't normal. And it wasn't the first time something strange like that had happened.
The school gates of New Griza High stood tall and polished with auto-scanners that greeted students by name. Castor stepped through, ignoring the AI chime that welcomed him.
"Yo, Castor!" a familiar voice called. Misha Caleb jogged up beside him, blonde hair bouncing, a band-aid on her cheek. "You see the traffic this morning? Madness."
"Yeah," Castor said. "Almost like fate wanted someone dead."
Misha raised a brow. "Dark much?"
Another voice joined them. "He's always dark." Ethan Walker clapped a hand on Castor's shoulder. Tall, confident, and full of purpose—that was Ethan. His maroon eyes always looked like they could see right through people.
"Morning, Castor," he said with a grin. "You look like you haven't slept."
"I have slept," Castor muttered. "Maybe too much."
As they walked to class, Castor felt something shift in the air. A static, like a signal just out of tune.
His life was ordinary. Decent, even.
But not for long.
The clubroom of the Occult Club smelled faintly of dust and cinnamon incense. A cracked window allowed strips of golden afternoon sunlight to filter through, falling across stacked books on ancient symbols, local urban myths, and the occasional worn-out conspiracy theory. Misha sat backward on a chair, tapping her pen against her chin while Ethan leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed. Castor stood by the window, watching students on the field below.
"This is ridiculous," Ethan said, his maroon eyes narrowing. "Why do we need five members to keep a club running?"
"School regulations," Castor replied, not turning away from the window. "You should read the rulebook sometime."
"Pfft," Misha grinned. "He barely reads instructions on ramen packets."
"Ramen's intuitive," Ethan muttered.
"Unlike our club's future," Castor added dryly. "If we don't get another member by Friday, we're done."
Just then, the door creaked open.
In walked Aria, radiant in a sunlit aura, her orange hair tied with a red bowtie that fluttered slightly as she moved. Her emerald eyes sparkled with interest rather than fear, which was rare when someone entered the Occult Club.
"Sorry to barge in," she said cheerfully, placing her hands behind her back. "I heard you guys are looking for a fifth member."
Misha nearly toppled off her chair. "You wanna join us?"
"Well," Aria smiled slyly, "I have a condition."
Castor's eyebrow twitched. "Of course you do."
"One of my club members—Sophia—has been acting strangely," Aria said, stepping into the room fully. "She's been picking up on emotions… not just expressing them. Mirroring them. It's unsettling the others, and I'm worried. I think it might be connected to the Phenomenal Paradox Spectrum."
Ethan scoffed. "Seriously? We're going to entertain this nonsense again?"
Castor gave him a sharp glance. "It's not nonsense to everyone."
"I believe it," Misha chimed in, tapping her pen like a wand. "I mean, we've seen weird stuff happen. That guy getting pulled out of traffic yesterday? You saw that too, right, Aria?"
She nodded solemnly. "That's why I came to you. If Sophia really is experiencing something… unexplainable, you guys might be the only ones willing to look into it."
Ethan crossed his arms tighter. "Fine. But I'm only doing this because we need the member. Not because I believe in mind-reading or ghost feelings."
"Suit yourself," Aria said, producing a neatly signed club transfer form. "I'll officially join the Occult Club as long as you help me with Sophia."
Castor stepped forward and took the form. "Deal."
The school bell rang later that evening, echoing across the now quiet hallways. Students filtered out of their classrooms, clubs disbanded for the day, and dusk began to claim New Griza.
Outside, the four of them lingered near the school gates.
"I'll head home through the lower district," Ethan said, adjusting the straps of his backpack. "You three go ahead. Let me know if we're doing this Sophia thing tomorrow."
"Stay safe," Aria called.
Misha waved. "Text if you get abducted or anything."
Ethan chuckled. "Right. Like that's gonna happen."
But as he turned the corner down a narrow, shadowed alleyway between the high school and an old shut-down theater, something shifted. A whisper of movement. A breath on his neck.
Before he could reach for his phone, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth.
And then—nothing.
When Ethan awoke, his vision was swimming. A dim, flickering light illuminated the cracked ceiling above. He was lying on a concrete floor, his arms bound by thick metal cuffs glowing faintly with inscriptions he didn't recognize. Across from him stood a tall figure, their presence obscured by darkness. But in their eyes—deep, serpentine maroon—the reflection of something else stirred.
"Welcome," a voice slithered. "You were chosen."
Ethan's mind recoiled. It was like a second presence had seeped into his skull—cold, ancient, unfeeling. His thoughts bled together like oil in water, his heartbeat quickening as his vision fractured.
The old Ethan—headstrong, principled, sharp—screamed inside him.
But the scream never made it out.