I rubbed my eyes, still half in a fog, and dragged myself out of bed. Huff... Huff...
The dream still clung to me like smoke.
My body felt heavier than usual, like my mind was lagging behind it. I pulled on my uniform automatically — white shirt, navy blazer, black tie. Everything looked exactly like it should, but something inside me still whispered, This isn't right.
When I walked downstairs, expecting the usual morning silence and my mom yelling from the kitchen, I froze.
There he was.
My little brother.
Sitting at the dining table, swinging his legs and eating cereal like it was any other day.
"Morning, big bro," he said, smiling with a mouth full of sugar-coated flakes.
I couldn't move. I couldn't blink. My breath caught in my chest.
He'd been gone for three years.
Dead. Car accident. I had cried myself numb the night it happened.
And now he was here, alive — like it never happened.
"Don't just stand there," my mom called out from the kitchen, her voice soft, sweet. "Eat something before school. You'll get sick."
I turned slowly.
Her face was calm. Warm. Too warm.
She hadn't smiled like that in years. My mom had become... bitter. Cold. After his death, something in her had shut off. We barely spoke.
And yet, here she was. Asking me to eat. Like nothing had ever been broken.
I sat down slowly, staring at my brother. He looked up at me like I was the weird one.
What the hell was happening?
I barely touched the toast. My hands were still trembling. I told them I was leaving early for school and bolted outside.
The sun hit different.
The air even smelled different.
The streets... they weren't exactly wrong. But the cracks in the pavement, the colors of the storefronts, the vending machine near the bus stop — tiny things didn't match.
I walked, trying to keep calm, as my brain tried to catch up. The dream, my brother, my mom...
This isn't my world.
I looked at my reflection in a shop window. Same uniform. Same dark, messy hair. Same tired eyes. But I didn't feel like me.
"Caelus," I whispered. "Caelus Vireon. Age 17. Student. Not insane. Just... displaced."
I needed something solid to hold on to.
When I reached the school gates, I paused.
The building was mostly the same. A few signs were different. Some windows had bars I didn't remember. Students poured in, and I scanned faces.
Some familiar. Some completely foreign. Some looked at me with recognition. Others glanced past like I didn't exist.
I kept walking.
I found my classroom.
Same seat. Third row from the window. I sat down slowly.
And then I noticed who was sitting beside me.
Her....
The girl from the dream.
She sat with the kind of elegance that looked unintentional. Her posture was straight, yet relaxed, like she didn't even have to try. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders in gentle waves, the strands so smooth they almost shimmered beneath the classroom light. There was a silver hairpin clipped near her temple — a tiny butterfly, wings slightly open.
Her skin was pale but alive, like porcelain brought to life. Not the kind of pale from sickness, but a quiet glow that made her look ethereal. Her lashes were long and curled, framing those deep amber eyes — not brown, not gold, but a molten shade that seemed to shift in tone depending on the light. Beneath her left eye was a single beauty mark, subtle and oddly captivating.
She wore the same uniform as the rest of us, but it fit her like it had been made for her. Immaculate. Composed. The red ribbon at her collar was tied perfectly, and even the way she flipped through her notebook looked deliberate, delicate.
She didn't look at me. She was reading, earbuds in. But I knew her. From the dream. The one where I watched myself die.
I opened my mouth to speak — and nothing came out.
A chill ran down my back. My heart sped up.
Why was I afraid?
She wasn't scary. But something in me recoiled, like it wasn't time yet. Like something awful would happen if I spoke now.
I faced forward.
The class began. The teacher walked in. Familiar face. Same tone. Boring talk about literature.
But I couldn't focus. My head was pounding.
Numbers. Paths. Possibilities.
Suddenly, I saw them.
Like a storm of outcomes unfolding behind my eyes.
If I looked left — she'd glance back. If I spoke — she'd hear me but the teacher would notice. If I dropped my pen — I'd lean to pick it up, bump her bag, she'd say sorry, I'd nod, we'd make eye contact.
Paths.
Millions of them. Tiny choices. All happening in parallel. All flooding into my brain in a single instant.
It wasn't just guesswork. It wasn't instinct. It felt like... precision.
I gripped the desk.
I dropped my pen.
It rolled to the side.
She noticed. Looked up. Bent to grab it — our hands touched.
She paused. Looked me in the eyes.
That moment... was frozen. Like the world held its breath.
She handed it to me.
"Here," she said quietly.
Voice soft. Familiar.
"Thanks," I managed.
She turned back, one earbud still in, the other out now.
That was it.
But it felt like I'd pulled a thread from the fabric of something huge.
Class ended. People left.
I stayed. Sat there...
Looking at my hands. That wasn't a guess. That was something more.
I could see the outcomes. Like I had already lived them. Like my brain had accelerated beyond logic.
Still shaken, I left the classroom and headed down the corridor. I needed to clear my head. The pressure in my skull was unbearable.
I turned into the boy's washroom, locked myself in a stall, and sat down on the closed toilet lid.
My breath slowed. My thoughts raced.
That... thing that happened in class — I felt every option before it occurred. I knew exactly what action would lead to the interaction I wanted. And not only that — I could sort through all the outcomes at once, like a mental grid of possibilities. Not infinite. But close.
I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and closed my eyes.
What if I turned left after class instead of right? What if I spoke to her again? Would she respond differently? Could I see it? Could I predict it?
My mind split again — flashes of pathways, thoughts, micro-decisions, consequences. Each path had an echo. Each one played out in full before I even moved.
I stood and walked to the sink. I splashed water on my face, then looked up.
There was a mirror — standard, rectangular, smeared with fingerprints and old stickers. It wasn't mystical or placed there for me. It was just a mirror. But what I saw in it wasn't just me.
It was a mind that didn't belong in this world.
It was a mind that had evolved.
"Neuro... stride," I whispered.
The word formed on its own. Clean. Sharp. A stride of the mind. A sprint through infinite thought.
This wasn't just a power.
It was... something awakening.
An instinct sharpened beyond reason. A survival tool for a world that wasn't mine.
The reflection didn't smile.
But I did
Because I wasn't afraid anymore.
Not of the world.
Not of myself.
And definitely not of what came next.....