The ride back to Dawnrise was rare for kids, the last time it was during heavy rain, Kids were squeezed in shoulder to shoulder, bags on laps, elbows digging into ribs. Someone complained about the heat. Someone else kept saying, "Did you see it? Did you see it?" over and over like the answer would change yet such lively ride felt longer and longer to Rael.
He sat between Teren and Miko. His heart thumped hard enough that he could feel it in his throat.
He kept his eyes on the open window.
Every time the van turned that way, he could see it again in the distance—the same bright crack he'd glimpsed from the school courtyard. A thin, jagged line across the blue, far off over the fields. It didn't move. It didn't glow brighter. It just hung there.
If this was an anime, this would be the start of apocalypse, he thought. Weird sky thing appears. Ordinary school kid's life gets flipped then hero apperes to save the day.
Thinking about it like that helped a little. Made it feel like it was happening to someone else.
"Do you think monsters will fall out?" Teren asked, half whisper, half excited.
"Idiot, why would monsters fall out?" Miko said. "It'll probably just… disappear."
"Or the world breaks," someone from the front row added hopefully which earned him some wierd stares.
The van filled with laughter.
Rael didn't join in. His hand clenched the strap of his bag until his fingers hurt. He forced himself to breathe slowly.
It's fine. Authorities are already moving. They closed school. They'll do something he kept saying that to himself but deep down kenw it won't be so simple.
Outside, the usual main‑road shops blurred past. Tailors, a chemist, the tiny mobile shop. Then the van slowed near the big grocery lane.
Normally, that street had steady business. Today, it looked like festival rush without the decorations.
People were jammed in front of the big grocery shop. Some carried sacks. Some were arguing at the counter. A man was dragging two crates of bottled water toward an auto. Someone shouted, "Its out of stock ! No more after this!" and a wave of protests rose.
Rael's gaze stuck on a worker standing on a stool, wiping off numbers from a chalk board and writing new ones in bigger strokes.
Already?
His stomach tightened in a different way.
On Earth, that pattern had shown up during every big scare. First news. Then lines. Then new prices.
He swallowed then turned to Lian.
They'll realise. They're adults. Of course they'll realise.
The van turned toward the side road. The grocery lane vanished behind walls and trees. Rael's heartbeat refused to calm down.
By the time they reached Dawnrise's gate, his shirt was sticking to his back.
The Nyla went out and opened the side door. "Line up, line up,"she said. "Don't run."
Kids stepped out, forming a loose queue. Outside the compound wall, the world looked almost normal. A few autos. A cycle rickshaw. A dog sleeping in a strip of shade. If he tilted his head just right, he could still see the bright crack in the far sky, thin as a scratch.
"Names," said, ticking on her register for the roll call.
Rael stepped aside after answering, bag hanging off one shoulder. Lian was talking to Darin . Nyla was checking the younger kids, counting them twice.
He hesitated.
They know. Of course they know.
But the picture of that chalk board being wiped clean wouldn't leave.
Before he could overthink it anymore, he walked up to Lian and tugged lightly at her sleeve.
"Hmm?" she said, distracted.
"Umm…" He tried to pick words that didn't sound weird from a ten‑year‑old mouth. "On the way, the big shop street was… full. People were buying a lot. They were changing prices on the board too. Maybe… maybe we should buy extra things today? Before it gets… harder?"
Lian's brows lifted. For a second, the tiredness left her face.
"You saw the board?" she asked.
He nodded.
She glanced at Nyla. They exchanged a fast look that said they had already been worrying about exactly this.
"Okay," Lian said. "Thank you, Rael. Go inside with the others."
He nodded quickly and backed away, suddenly very aware of how small his voice had sounded.
Teren grabbed his arm as they walked toward the building. "What were you talking about?" he asked.
"Nothing," Rael said. "Just… telling her the market was crowded."
"Of course it was crowded," Teren said. "Everyone is going home to bunk work hahaha. "
Rael didn't answer.
Inside, Dawnrise smelled of soap and cooked rice and a faint hint of damp clothes. Familiar. Safe. He clung to that.
They ate lunch early.
The mess hall buzzed with noise. Plates clinked. Someone banged the table in a rhythm for no reason. Younger kids kept asking if school was cancelled "forever now."
"Just for a while," Darin said for the tenth time. "Eat first, ask later."
A small TV sat on the metal shelf in the corner. Usually it stayed off unless it was Sunday or festival. Today, Nyla wiped it with a cloth, checked the plug, and frowned at the remote.
"We'll put on a cartoon," she announced. "Everyone sit, finish your food properly. No playing with the curry."
A cheer went up. Kids shuffled to see better.
Rael ended up with his back half‑turned to the screen. He shifted his plate, trying to find a spot where he could see the picture and, more importantly, the caretakers.
Nyla finally got the channel on. A bright title song began. Cartoon characters danced across the screen, laughing as if the sky wasn't broken.
"Wow," Teren said around a mouthful of dal. "Best day ever. No school and cartoon in afternoon."
Miko didn't look convinced. His eyes kept flicking to the high windows.
Rael forced himself to chew slowly. The food had the same taste as always—simple, slightly watery, but warm and for some reason, swallowing felt difficult.
Behind them, near the serving counter, Lian and Nyla huddled together with their phones. Earphones dangled from her neck but weren't weren't plugged in.
Every now and then Rael caught a few words above the cartoon's noi.
"…order from capital…"
"…all schools closed… until…"
"…stay in homes… avoid crowding…"
He couldn't hear everything, but the pattern was obvious. First step: get people indoors. Then… see.
He scraped his plate clean, more from habit than hunger then went to the basin near which the Darin was sitting.
"Done so fast?" Darin at the front asked.
Rael shrugged. "Can I help with plates?" he asked.
The guy looked surprised, then pleased. "Take from that row first," he said. "Carefully."
He carried stacks of metal plates past rows of kids focused on the cartoon. Every step brought him closer to where Lian stood, her phone screen glowing with a news app.
"…authorities urging the people to remain calm as reports of sky anomalies come in from multiple sectors…"
"…temporary suspension of some flights as a precaution…"
"…experts say there is no need to panic…"
Rael set the plates down near the wash area and pretended to check a spot of curry on his sleeve.
On the TV, the cartoon characters chased a runaway ball. On Lian's phone, a tiny red banner scrolled across the bottom.
UNUSUAL CRACKS APPEAR IN SKY – GOVERNMENT ISSUES ADVISORY
His heart gave another hard thump.
Later that afternoon, one of the older kids took the younger ones to the study room for drawing. Another helped sort laundry. Rael ended up in the common room, reading storybook while Nyla and Lian sat near the door.
"Havel went to the market," she said to Lian. " the price has already hiked by almost double …"
"Good thing, we already done" Lian said. "Before evening."
Nyla nodded. She noticed Rael standing nearby. "You stay here," she told him. "Help the others keep from causing rukus, okay?"
He nodded.
Keep them from causing rukus. Right. As if he knew how to do that for anyone, aside from himself.
Later he helped Miko set up ludo on the floor. Two of the smallest kids argued over who got the red pieces. Teren tried to cheat with the dice and got smacked lightly on the back of his head.
The crack in the sky stayed outside the walls, invisible from this room. For the first time since he'd seen it, Rael almost forgot it was there—for about five minutes.
Then Nyla came back.
By evening, the TV wasn't showing cartoons anymore.
"…crowds gathered in front of shops…"
"…people rushing to buy food, water, and fuel…"
"… reports of continuously increasing prices is coming from all over the country…"
The footage showed lines outside shops that looked a lot like the lane they'd passed. A woman shouted about being pushed out of line. A shopkeeper claimed he had "limited stock only."
Rael sat cross‑legged near the back, a small child leaning against his side. He watched the scrolling text with a numb feeling.
Lian muted the TV when she realised most of the kids were watching instead of playing.
"That's enough," she said, soft but firm. "We don't need to see everything."
She turned away, but before she left the room she paused near Rael.
"Thank you for earlier," she murmured, too low for the others to hear. "You were right about the crowd. By the time we reached, people had already started arguing. Rice prices went up. If we'd waited till tomorrow…"
Her lips pressed into a line. "Anyway. Good thinking."
Rael's ears warmed. "I just said what I saw," he muttered.
"Yes," she said. "That's exactly why it helped."
She went back to work.
He stayed where he was, staring at the now‑blank TV screen. Praise should have felt nice. Instead, it made the whole thing feel heavier, like being right about something you wish had never happened.
That night, Dawnrise felt much quieter.
The smaller kids dropped off fast from the afternoon excitement. The older ones whispered in bunks about the crack, trying to one‑up each other with wild theories until a Havel told them to shut up and sleep.
Rael lay on his back, eyes on the cracked ceiling.
In his first life, there had been weeks where the news was all about one terrifying thing. A new virus. A riot. A war somewhere else. People had panicked, then adjusted, then moved on.
He wondered if this would be like that.
He thought of the bright line across the sky and couldn't imagine anyone just… moving on.
The next day started with the same bell.
"Wake up, wake up," Lian called, knocking on doorframes. "Boys, up. No lazing." even though it was already near 9:00.
Rael rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes. His body felt heavy in the way it did when sleep never went fully deep.
In the common room, someone had already switched on the TV. The usual morning comedy show was replaced by a serious‑faced newsreader.
"…schools in affected regions will remain closed until further notice," the man was saying. "Citizens are requested to stay at home as much as possible and avoid unnecessary travel…"
A big red bar at the bottom said:
STAY INDOORS, AVOID CROWDS – GOVT ADVISORY
So it wasn't just Sunview. It was everyone.
Teren sat down next to Rael with a steel tumbler of tea. "No school again," he said, grinning. "This is great."
Miko frowned. "Then what about exams?"
"Idiot, think about that later," Teren said. "We can play all day."
"You will still have study hour," Mavel said sharply as he passed. "Don't get ideas."
The day's routine rearranged itself quickly.
No one left except the staff on short errands. The older kids were given extra tasks—sweeping corridors, helping in the kitchen, keeping the smaller ones from clawing each other's faces off.
Outside the windows, the road looked thinner than usual. One or two vehicles every few minutes. A police jeep passed with a loudspeaker, but the words were too muffled to catch.
The TV stayed on more than usual, volume low.
"…a special task force has been set up to study the cracks…"
"…suspension of multiple flights as a precaution…"
"…citizens advised to restrict travel to essential needs only…"
During lunch, Rael caught a line that made his shoulders tense.
"…initial security perimeters being established around some cracks located close to populated areas and strategic sites…"
A tiny map flashed, dots marking places he'd only ever heard in news. One being near their town.
Small comfort.
By evening, the announcements had a practised rhythm. The same phrases repeated. The same promises of "no need to panic" delivered with faces that looked like they hadn't slept either.
That night, there were fewer whispers in the dorm. The joke energy had worn off.
Rael lay awake again, listening to the quiet.
Is this what it's going to be now? he thought. Days inside, news on loop, sky broken.
He didn't get an answer before sleep finally dragged him under.
Next day felt like someone had pressed repeat on the previous day and changed a few lines.
Bell. Washroom line. Breakfast. TV.
The crack was still there when he caught a glimpse through the window—same thin, bright scar in the far blue. It looked almost ordinary now, the way any strange thing starts to look if it refuses to go away.
The morning bulletin had new words, though.
"…authorities have expanded restricted zones around several cracks…"
"…checkpoints and roadblocks have been set up on highways leading into the affected belts…"
A video showed soldiers and police at barricades, fluorescent tape across a road, a sign reading NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION.
Later, a clip appeared from their own town.
Rael straightened without meaning to.
The reporter stood on a dusty road he didn't recognise but the caption at the bottom carried the town's name that had beed written on his school Id. Behind the reporter, a long fence of temporary metal barriers stretched across the background. Far beyond that, in a gap between two trees, the bright crack cut the sky—thinner from this angle, but unmistakable.
"…this area has now been declared a restricted zone," the reporter was saying. "Only authorised personnel allowed beyond the cordon…"
Teren, sitting beside him, sucked in a breath. "Isn't that near—"
"Eat," a caretaker interrupted, dropping more rice into his plate. "Don't talk with your mouth open."
In the afternoon, during a longer news segment, things stepped up again.
"…evacuation of the areas directly beneath several cracks has begun…"
Footage showed buses lined up on a rural road. Jammed traffic , People carrying bags and small suitcases, herding crying children inward to the town.
A man tried to argue with an official, gesturing back toward a house that probably held everything he owned.
"These measures are temporary and precautionary," another official said in a different clip. "We request everyone's cooperation…"
If the circle grows a little more… will Dawnrise end up inside it?
The thought came quick, bare, and he pushed it away equally fast.
What would an evacuation even look like for them? Line of orphanage kids with one bag each, Dawnrise building left behind, crack hanging overhead.
He looked around the common room instead.
Some kids watched with wide eyes. Others were already restless, poking each other, whispering. The caretakers' faces had that stretched look now, like a rubber band pulled one day too many.
By evening, someone dug out an old comedy movie and insisted on playing it. The room filled with forced laughter. Rael smiled at a few jokes without really hearing them.
In bed that night, he noticed his own thoughts had started to skip past the crack sometimes. They slid to small things—whether there would be enough soap next month, whether the food would last, whether Teren would ever stop snoring.
The crisis had become background noise.
That bothered him more than the noise itself.
The next morning, the bell rang at the same time it always did.
"Up, boys! Don't make me come back," Lian called.
Rael dragged himself out of bed. His body moved on autopilot—fold blanket, straighten sheet, line up for the washroom, splash cold water on his face until his eyes stopped burning.
In the common room, breakfast trays waited on low tables. The TV was already on the news. Younger kids were more interested in the food; older ones let their eyes drift to the screen between bites.
"…we go live now to our correspondent near the restricted zone in—"
The place name was sunview, the town where they lived.
Rael set his plate down slowly.
The reporter on screen wore a helmet and a bright vest. Behind her, metal barricades formed a jagged wall. Beyond them, soldiers moved in small groups. Farther still, in the sky over the fields, the bright crack hung exactly where Rael remembered it from the school courtyard.
Seeing it through the camera lens made it feel both closer and less real at the same time.
"…for three days now, residents from villages directly beneath the crack have been moved to temporary shelters," the reporter said. "Scientists and defence personnel are continuing to monitor the situation. Officials stress there is still no—"
She stopped.
Rael didn't understand why at first.
Then he saw the light change.
The bright line behind her flickered, just once, like a tube light about to die. The edges, which had always looked like sharp white glass, darkened. The glow dimmed.
"Uh—" the reporter said, turning around.
The crack's white faded to grey, then to a deep, flat black that didn't match any normal shadow. It was like someone had drawn a tear in the sky with ink and then kept filling it in.
The edges thickened, spreading outwards by a fraction.
The whole mess hall went silent.
A steel plate slipped from someone's hand and clanged against the floor. No one scolded them.
On screen, the camera jerked as the cameraperson adjusted focus.
"Are we still live?" the reporter's voice came, thinner now. "The crack is… changing behind me. I repeat, the crack is—"
The sound cut out for a second, replaced by a hiss. Then it came back along with a new noise—something low and rough, like wind over a broken bottle, except Rael couldn't see any trees moving.
The blackness in the sky didn't shine or swirl. It just… opened, swallowing the light around it, a dark mouth with no inside.
Rael's fingers tightened onto the edge of the bench.
It looks like a portal, his mind supplied, flatly. Like a door that forgot to have a frame.
Around him, kids started whispering again. "What is that?" "Is it bigger?" "Is it falling?" A younger child began to cry.
"Turn it off," one caretaker said automatically.
"No, wait," another said, voice shaking. "They might say—"
The screen glitched, froze on a frame of the reporter half‑turned toward the sky, then cut back to the studio where the newsreader stared somewhere off‑camera, listening to instructions.
Rael barely saw him.
The image of the sky behind the barricades was burned into his head.
So the crack wasn't just a crack.
It had been a portal the whole time, just waiting for someone—or something—to open it.
He sat there, breakfast untouched, while the room blurred around him—
rising police sirens from outside, a sudden blare of alerts, children shouting over one another, and the heavy silence that settled over the caretakers.
Then he knew.
Whatever came next, Dawnrise wouldn't stay just an orphanage for long.