The sky had never sounded like that before.
Aira Kessan noticed it first not because she was looking up, but because every bird in the neighborhood went silent at the same time. The air felt wrong, thick and buzzing, like the moment before a storm except there were no clouds. She paused mid-step on the sidewalk, her phone still pressed to her ear.
"Mom?" she said. "Did you hear that?"
There was no answer. The call dropped.
Aira frowned and glanced around. Streetlights flickered, their white glow stuttering like a dying pulse. Cars slowed, drivers leaning out of windows with confused expressions. Somewhere in the distance, a dog began to howl.
Then the sky screamed.
It wasn't thunder. It wasn't an explosion. It was a tearing sound metal dragged across glass, reality itself being ripped open. Aira's breath caught as she finally looked up.
A streak of burning light carved across the night, brighter than the moon, brighter than anything she'd ever seen. It fractured into seven blazing fragments, each trailing fire as they fell toward the city.
People screamed.
Aira didn't move. She couldn't. Her legs felt locked in place as one fragment broke away from the rest, veering sharply unnaturally toward the industrial district.
Toward her.
The ground shook.
Riven Calder was already running when the first shockwave hit.
She didn't know why she'd started sprinting. Instinct, maybe. Or anger. Or the simple need to move when the world felt like it was about to collapse. Her boots slammed against cracked pavement as alarms wailed from every direction.
"Figures," she muttered, glancing up.
The sky was on fire.
Riven skidded to a stop as a massive shadow tore through the clouds. The object burned green at its core, heat rippling the air around it. It wasn't falling randomly it was correcting its path, steering itself like it was alive.
Riven's jaw tightened. "You've got to be kidding me."
The impact came seconds later.
The explosion didn't sound like a bomb. It sounded like the world breaking its teeth. Heat slammed into her back, throwing her off her feet. She hit the ground hard, breath knocked from her lungs as debris rained down around her.
For a moment, there was only ringing silence.
Then pain.
Riven groaned, pushing herself up. The warehouse ahead of her had been reduced to twisted metal and fire. At the center of the destruction lay a crater, glowing faintly, its edges warped as if reality itself had melted.
Something pulsed inside it.
Riven took a step forward.
Her wrist burned.
She froze, staring down at her arm. A faint symbol angular, alien was glowing beneath her skin, pulsing in time with the light in the crater.
"What the hell…?" she whispered.
The symbol flared brighter.
And the world went black.
Lumi Reyes was praying when the lights went out.
She wasn't sure who she was praying to anymore. God, maybe. Or the quiet space between thoughts where fear couldn't reach her. The hospital chapel was empty, the candles flickering softly as she knelt with her hands clasped tight.
"Please," she whispered. "Just let tonight be quiet."
The answer came immediately.
The building shook violently, lights exploding overhead as screams echoed down the halls. Lumi cried out as she was thrown forward, barely catching herself on the pew. Dust and glass rained down, choking the air.
She stumbled to her feet, heart racing. "What's happening?"
A deep, resonant hum filled the chapel, vibrating through her bones. The stained-glass windows shattered outward as a shockwave rolled through the hospital. Outside, the sky burned green.
Lumi backed away, terror freezing her in place.
Then she felt it.
Warmth spread through her wrist, gentle and wrong at the same time. She looked down as light bloomed beneath her skin, forming a symbol she didn't recognize.
It didn't hurt.
That frightened her more than anything.
Zee Marrin knew something was wrong because the numbers stopped making sense.
She had been staring at her laptop, half-asleep, code scrolling past her eyes when every clock in the room froze at the same second. Her monitors flickered, lines of data scrambling into unreadable symbols.
"Okay," Zee muttered. "That's not normal."
Her vision blurred. For a split second, she saw something else layered over her room stars, endless and cold, stretching into infinity. A voice brushed the edge of her thoughts, too distorted to understand.
Then the impact hit.
Zee screamed as she was yanked out of her chair, slammed against the wall. Pain exploded through her body, white-hot and blinding. She slid to the floor, gasping.
Her wrist burned.
The symbol there pulsed once.
Twice.
Zee's eyes rolled back.
Kora Bell was holding the door shut when the explosion came.
She had been arguing with her father again about staying out late, about responsibility, about everything that felt too heavy for her shoulders. The argument ended abruptly when the house shook like it had been struck by a giant's fist.
"Dad!" she shouted.
The windows shattered inward. Kora threw herself over him instinctively, bracing for impact. Something invisible slammed into them, pressing down with crushing force.
Kora screamed as her wrist ignited with pain.
But the house didn't collapse.
The pressure stopped.
Slowly, Kora lifted her head. A faint, translucent barrier shimmered around them, barely visible, humming softly as debris bounced harmlessly off its surface.
Her father stared at her in horror.
"Kora…" he whispered. "What did you do?"
Kora didn't answer.
She had already passed out.
Isha Vorn was underground when the sky fell.
Deep beneath the city, surrounded by humming machines and half-finished projects, she felt the tremor ripple through the earth. Tools clattered to the floor as emergency lights flicked on.
"Seismic anomaly detected," her system announced.
Isha frowned. "That's not"
The sensors spiked.
Something punched through layers of concrete and steel above her, stopping meters from her lab. The air warped, glowing with unnatural light.
Her wrist burned.
Isha stared at it, fascinated even as pain crawled up her arm. "Impossible," she breathed. "This technology doesn't exist."
The symbol pulsed in response.
As if disagreeing.
Rhea Solace was alone when it happened.
She always was.
Standing at the edge of the cliffs outside the city, she watched the sky tear itself apart with calm, distant eyes. Wind tugged at her hair as seven lights fell like judgment from above.
One of them curved toward her.
Rhea didn't run.
When the shockwave hit, she didn't scream. She only closed her eyes as the symbol on her wrist awakened, cold and heavy, like a promise she didn't remember making.
Somewhere far away, something noticed her.
And smiled.
Seven girls lost consciousness that night.
Seven hearts synchronized.
And far beyond Earth's atmosphere, a signal was sent.
Contact established.
Viable hosts confirmed.
The experiment had begun.