Kade woke up on the floor of his room.
For a second, he didn't move. He just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, brain sluggish, body stiff, trying to understand why he wasn't in his bed.
Cold sweat clung to his skin, his shirt damp against the hardwood beneath him.
"What the hell…" he muttered hoarsely.
The ache hit him all at once. His back throbbed. His head pounded. Even his jaw felt sore, like he'd clenched his teeth all night without realizing it. There was a steady pressure behind his eyes—the kind that usually came with a hangover, except he hadn't touched a drop.
He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up.
The room tilted.
Kade froze, one hand braced against the floor, waiting for the dizziness to pass. His legs felt weak, rubbery, like he'd stood up too fast after being sick.
He didn't remember falling asleep on the floor.
That bothered him more than the pain.
Then the memory surfaced.
Silence where there shouldn't have been any.
The street outside warped and wrong.
Shadows stretching too far.
The beings.
Kade sucked in a sharp breath and jolted upright.
Too upright.
His body moved before his brain could catch up, launching him straight off the floor—
—and his head slammed into the ceiling with a sharp crack.
"Son of a—!"
He dropped back down with a curse, clutching his head, heart hammering as he waited for the pain to explode.
It didn't.
The impact had been hard. Hard enough that he should've been seeing stars. Instead, there was only a brief, dull throb that faded almost immediately.
"…Okay," he muttered. "That's not normal."
A voice came from behind him.
"Nice jump," it said mildly. "I think it's time we had a talk."
Kade froze.
Slowly, he turned.
His father stood near the doorway, arms crossed loosely over a thick wool sweater, expression calm behind rectangular glasses. Dark skin like his own. Salt-and-pepper hair and beard neatly kept. He looked exactly like he always did—like a professor who'd wandered out of his office and into the wrong room by accident.
Except for the eyes.
Green.
The same sharp, unmistakable green staring back at him.
Kade swallowed.
"Dad…?"
Trent Moren inclined his head slightly.
"Morning."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Kade looked at his dad uneasily, then coughed.
"So, um… you saw that just now, did you?" he said, forcing a weak smile. "I can explain."
He couldn't, actually. His mind scrambled for something—anything—that could justify why he'd just jumped four feet straight into the air. He didn't want to drag his parents into whatever the hell was happening to him. Not yet. Not until he knew what was really going on.
Trent just stared at him.
The expression on his face didn't change—not when Kade spoke, not when he trailed off. His green eyes moved slowly instead, scanning every inch of Kade's body with quiet intensity. It made Kade shift where he stood, suddenly self-conscious under the scrutiny.
After a moment, his father stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him.
"Don't bother racking your head for an explanation," Trent said evenly. "For why you—who couldn't climb the stairs without getting out of breath—can now jump higher than a professional basketball player."
Kade opened his mouth.
"It's all part of what I'm here to talk to you about," Trent continued, already moving past him.
He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of Kade's bed, settling in as if this were just another mid-morning discussion.
"Come," he added. "Take a seat."
Kade hesitated—out of habit more than anything.
Then he realized the usual hesitation that came from talking with his father wasn't really there anymore.
The thought unsettled him as he moved. Ever since he'd woken up, his mind and thoughts felt… freer. He felt present in the moment in a surreal way, it felt almost like second nature to accept the borderline mythic things that had happened.
Honestly, his boring, soft-spoken professor of a father knowing anything about what he'd seen last night might have been even crazier than the events themselves.
And yet, here he was.
Kade took a seat across from him and waited.
On his way over, he caught his reflection in the wardrobe mirror.
Same hair.
Same skin.
But his eyes—
The green looked vibrant now.
Almost alive.
Trent folded his hands together.
"To skip any unnecessary back-and-forth—yes," he said calmly, "I know what happened here last night. And before you ask why, if I knew, I didn't do anything—listen to my explanation first."
Kade expected anger.
It didn't come.
Instead, there was only a quiet, rational understanding. If his father had known—and still hadn't intervened—then there had to be a reason. Whether Kade liked it or not.
So, he stayed silent.
"What you experienced has been known by many names throughout history," Trent continued. "But the one that has stuck is Enlightenment."
Kade narrowed his eyes slightly, committing the word to memory.
"It isn't a title," Trent said. "And it isn't an achievement. It's a condition. A change in how the world interacts with you."
Kade frowned.
"Caused by… what? Them?"
"Yes," Trent said without hesitation.
"There is a place that exists adjacent to the world of men," he continued. "A counterpart. A mirror that overlaps it."
Kade listened.
"It is known to us by the name of Nox," Trent said. "Every human comes into contact with it when they dream as the human psyche is naturally pulled there when in a state of dormancy like sleep or unconsciousness. Normal humans pass through without awareness, their minds brushing against it and leaving without memory or agency, only trained enlightened are able to retain agency and even traverse Nox, but you will learn about all that in time, let's stay on point."
"Nox isn't empty," he went on. "It's a world—metaphysical, yes, but a world nonetheless."
"So, the things I saw last night," Kade said slowly, "they're from this Nox place then?"
He hesitated, then added, "What kind of beings could even exist in a place like that?"
If his father had tried to tell him any of this before last night, Kade would've assumed he'd finally snapped and started looking up psychiatric facilities. But there was no mistaking what he'd seen. No room for denial. Whatever those things were, they were real—and somehow, impossibly, he was now tangled up in it all.
"According to records passed down from the time of the first Enlightened," Trent said, "there exists an energy—for lack of a better word—that is abundant in Nox. We call it Ala."
"Ala is generated by the human psyche," he continued. "Every time a human thinks, dreams, feels anger, fear, or joy, Ala is produced and released. It is an energy born from the totality of the human experience."
"Because of its sheer abundance in Nox, Ala did not remain diffuse," Trent said. "Over time, it began to coalesce. To accumulate. To develop awareness. And from that process, beings were born—entities formed entirely of Ala, each embodying a distinct aspect of the human experience."
Kade frowned.
"Aspects of the human experience?"
"Yes," Trent said. "Ideas humanity generates endlessly. Hope. Fear. Desire. Obsession. They became living entities akin to gods, primal, ethereal and untouchable."
"Beings like that exist," Kade said, a trace of awe slipping through despite himself. Then his expression tightened, the wonder giving way to something more grounded. "What's their relationship with humanity?"
Trent's mouth curved slightly.
"You are indeed my son," he said. "Most people would've been blinded by the splendour of such mythical beings."
He leaned back, folding his hands.
"Perhaps because they were born from us—imperfect as we are—those entities did not remain unified," Trent continued. "They fractured. Split into two factions and waged a war that has spanned the entirety of human history."
"The Lucent," he said, "are aligned with the aspects of the human experience we consider virtuous. Hope. Aspiration. Order."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"And the Dreadbound are aligned with the darker parts. Fear. Obsession. Destruction."
"No one knows what truly began the war," Trent said. "Whether it was a clash of ideology or something more primal—a war of extermination."
He continued evenly, "What the records do agree on is this: the Dreadbound seek to push into the world of men, and the Lucent seek to stop them at all costs. The Lucent are the defenders of humanity, and they are owed every enlightened's respect."
For just a moment, something sharp flickered across Trent's features. Not anger. Not excitement. Conviction—bordering on reverence.
Then it was gone, his expression settling back into familiar stoicism.
Kade noticed anyway. He said nothing, quietly filing the moment away alongside everything else he was learning.
"I get all that," Kade said after a beat. "But what about how someone actually becomes Enlightened?"
He hesitated, then added, "Last night, all I felt was this… tearing at the back of my head. Then this cold spreading through my body before I blacked out."
He looked up at his father.
"And how do beings like that even reach the world of men?" he asked. "Didn't you say they exist on an entirely different plane?"
"I'll start with your second question," Trent said, "since it leads directly to the answer for the first."
"An Enlightened," he continued, "doesn't just perceive the world differently from regular humans. We can interact with it differently."
"Through the Ori—an aperture located at the base of the skull, where the neck meets the head—we are able to draw Ala from the world around us," Trent said. "That Ala is then refined through intent, allowing us to produce effects that can only be described as supernatural."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"Like this."
Kade frowned, unsure what his father meant.
Then the sensation hit him.
His stomach lurched as the familiar weight of his body vanished. His feet lifted off the floor, followed by the subtle, unmistakable feeling that up and down had stopped mattering.
He leaned over the side of the bed, heart pounding—and froze.
The bed was floating.
It drifted lazily through the room, steady and controlled, as if gravity itself had simply decided to stop acting on it.
"Holy crap," Kade breathed.
The bed drifted slowly around the room, completing a few laps with the two of them still seated on top—one calm and composed, the other gripping the edge like his life depended on it.
"That," Trent said evenly, "is just one of the many applications of Ala. The more intent you're able to embed into it, the more you can do."
He spoke as if he hadn't just pulled something straight out of a children's fantasy novel.
Kade swallowed and forced his fingers to loosen their death grip on the mattress.
"What about the physical enhancements?" he asked once his heart rate settled. "The strength. The jumping."
"A side effect," Trent replied. "With Ala now circulating through your body, even passive movement is reinforced. With focus, you can push that flow into specific areas and achieve… exaggerated results."
To demonstrate, he stood.
The bed—and Kade along with it—rose another few feet into the air without warning as Trent casually lifted it with one hand before setting it back down again and resuming his seat.
Kade stared at him.
"But enough about that," Trent said calmly. "You'll learn the intricacies of Ala soon enough."
He folded his hands.
"Back to your questions. Before we go any further, there's something else you need to understand."
He met Kade's gaze.
"The Veil."
"The Veil?" Kade repeated.
"The Veil is a fundamental part of existence for the Enlightened," Trent said. "It maintains balance—preventing the more supernatural aspects of Nox, and the beings that inhabit it, from bleeding freely into the world of men."
He continued, "It acts as a boundary between the two realms, but also as a regulator. It ensures that humans do not learn what they are not meant to—and if they do, it makes sure they don't retain it."
Kade let out a slow breath.
"That's… a lot of responsibility."
"Indeed," Trent said. "Yesterday, you likely saw a shimmering fog descend from the sky—blanketing the area, restoring everything to normal."
Kade nodded. He remembered it clearly now. The way the world had seemed to settle just before he lost consciousness.
"That fog was the Veil," Trent said.
He paused, then went on more gravely.
"But like anything, the Veil is not infallible. When Ala accumulates too heavily in a localized area, weaknesses form in the boundary. Breaches."
"When that happens," he continued, "elements of Nox can spill into the world of men. We call this a Nox incursion. Sometimes it's minor—anomalous substances, distortions, effects that shouldn't exist."
His voice hardened.
"And sometimes, a being makes it through."
Kade stayed silent.
"Any human unfortunate enough to be nearby is subjected to the gaze," Trent said. "The focused intent of a being from Nox. It agitates Ala in the surrounding area, forcing it violently toward the Ori."
"On rare occasions," he said, "this results in Enlightenment."
"Most of the time," Trent added quietly, "it ends in death. Ala overload."
Trent exhaled.
"The Veil is quick to repair itself. It expels whatever crossed over, repairs the scene of the incursion and alters the memories of those nearby. But by then…"
He shook his head slightly.
"The damage is usually already done."
He fell silent for a moment, eyes unfocused—as if recalling something unpleasant.
Then he straightened.
"I nearly forgot to ask the most important question," Trent said. "Which one of them performed the gaze?"
He added, almost offhand, "It should be obvious. The Lucent tend to manifest as radiant. The Dreadbound as shadows."
Kade didn't answer immediately.
He studied his father for a long moment before saying, carefully, "Both."
Trent blinked.
"I believe both were present," Kade continued. "And both performed a gaze."
Silence swallowed the room.
Then Trent moved.
He seized Kade's shoulders with sudden force, hard enough to make him wince.
"Did you just say two?" Trent demanded, voice tight. "One from each faction?"
Kade twisted free—Trent let him—and met his gaze.
"Yes," he said evenly. "That's not something I could forget."
Trent stared at him.
His green eyes burned with something Kade had never seen there before—fear, disbelief… and something dangerously close to excitement.
"Dual Gaze," Trent whispered.