"I'm telling you, Gwen—these stories come from somewhere. Look at this one! 'Sumo Slammers: Invaders from Arcturus.' The guy who wrote it? Totally based on real encounters."
Ben sat cross-legged on the back seat, a pile of comic books spread across his lap. His hands moved animatedly as he flipped through pages, his voice carrying over the hum of the engine
Across from him, Gwen had her earbuds in—well, halfway in. She didn't even look up from her tablet. "Ben, that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard all trip. Comics are made by writers, not eyewitnesses." She turned the screen toward him. "Now this—this is actual footage. Morningstar performing live at the Solaris Theater. Magic—real magic, done in front of ten thousand people!"
Ben squinted at the video. The image showed a glowing orb floating from Morningstar's palm, swirling in ribbons of light.
He puffed out his cheeks. "That's video editing, Gwen. Probably some stage lights and mirrors."
"Stage lights don't levitate," she shot back, smirking. "At least I have proof. What do you have—space cartoons?"
Ben frowned and rummaged through his comics like they could defend themselves. "Not cartoons. Documentations! Pop-culture archives of secret truths!"
Gwen rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "Right. And next you'll tell me your 'space archives' predicted the end of the world."
Ben leaned closer, voice dropping like he was revealing classified intel. "Not the end of the world. Just… visitors. And actually—" He reached for his phone, scrolling frantically. "Check this out!"
He spun the screen toward her. "Meteor shower tonight. Visible from Ashwood National Park. That's right where we're camping!"
Gwen blinked. "So?"
"So?" He leaned back triumphantly. "In every alien movie ever, meteors = UFO sightings. This is the moment, Gwen. Proof's coming straight out of the sky!"
She gave him a flat look. "You're betting your theory on a shooting star."
"Not a shooting star," he corrected. "A cosmic delivery."
Grandpa Max chuckled from the driver's seat, glancing at them through the mirror. "You two better settle this debate before nightfall. I don't want a war breaking out in the Rust Bucket."
Ben pointed across the table. "Easy. When those meteors hit, I'll prove aliens exist."
Gwen folded her arms. "Fine. When nothing happens, you'll admit Morningstar's the real deal."
Ben grinned. "Deal. And when the little green guys show up, I'll even ask them to autograph your tablet."
Gwen smirked. "If they're real, maybe they can fix your brain while they're at it."
"Ha-ha, hilarious."
Outside, the sun slipped behind the hills, painting the sky in streaks of purple and ember.The road stretched endlessly beneath the Rust Bucket's tires, until itt rumbled to a stop on a gravel patch surrounded by towering pines, their tips swaying gently in the evening wind. The last bit of sun melted behind the trees as Grandpa Max killed the engine.
"Alright, campers," he said, stepping out and stretching his back till it popped. "Home sweet home—for the night, at least."
Ben and Gwen hopped out after him. The air smelled like pine sap and cold stone. Somewhere far off, a cricket started its lonely song.
They began unpacking—folding chairs, an old cooler, and a blanket that had definitely seen better days. Gwen arranged everything neatly, while Ben, trying to help, managed to tangle himself in the tent's strings within seconds.
"Need a hand?" Gwen teased.
"Nope. Just… testing the tensile strength," Ben muttered, freeing himself with a snap of fabric.
Within minutes, camp was set. Grandpa Max gave a satisfied nod and brushed off his hands. Ben checked his phone. "Meteor shower starts in twenty minutes," he said with a grin. "You've got that long before you lose the bet."
"Oh, I don't think so." Gwen smiled slyly and reached behind his ear. "Ta-da!" She pulled out two shiny tickets.
Ben blinked. "What the—"
"Morningstar show tickets," Gwen said proudly. "Guess you'd better get used to a little magic."
Ben snatched at them, but she pulled her hand away, laughing.
That's when Grandpa Max slung his backpack over his shoulder and slipped something into his coat pocket. Both kids looked up.
"Where you going, Grandpa?" Ben asked.
"Just grabbing some firewood," Max said. "You two stay put. And Gwen—you're in charge."
Gwen grinned. "You heard the man." She stuck her tongue out at Ben.
Ben groaned. "Great. The power's gone to your head already."
Max waved as he disappeared between the trees, his footsteps fading into the rustling forest.
For a while, the campsite fell quiet—only the hum of cicadas and the faint crackle of cooling metal from the Rust Bucket. Ben sat on a folding chair, binoculars pressed to his face, scanning the sky. Gwen sat cross-legged beside him, scrolling through her phone.
Click.
Ben lowered the binoculars. "Are you taking pictures of me?"
Gwen held up her phone with a smirk. "You look ridiculous. Like a little old man spying on squirrels."
"Delete those!"
"Nope."
"Gwen."
"Ben."
And just like that, he lunged. Gwen darted back, laughing as he tried to snatch the phone. She dodged behind a chair, slipped under his arm, then spun out of reach with a grin that could only mean victory.
"You move like a cat!" Ben gasped.
"Years of dance practice," she said smugly.
"Yeah, well—"
He tripped.
The world tilted, and Ben landed flat on his back in the grass. Gwen's laughter echoed through the clearing, soft and light as the evening air. She crouched down beside him, wiping a tear from her eye.
"Fine, fine," she said. "You win." She tapped her phone, deleting the photos. "Happy?"
Ben groaned. "Not my proudest victory."
She was still laughing when he suddenly froze. His gaze had shifted past her, up toward the sky.
"What?" she asked, still smiling.
He sat up, pointing. "Look!"
Gwen turned. Through the deepening blue of the sky, streaks of light began to fall—soft at first, then brighter, faster.
"The shower's starting," Ben breathed.
Gwen stood beside him, her voice quieter now. "They're… beautiful."
But as one of the streaks burned hotter, brighter—too bright—her smile faded.
"Wait," she said slowly. "Aren't meteor showers supposed to look farther away?"
Ben frowned, eyes narrowing through his binoculars. The glow wasn't fading—it was growing, hurtling down faster and faster until it roared across the treetops.
"Gwen…" he whispered.
A thunderous crash split the night. The ground trembled beneath their feet, a distant plume of light flaring deep in the forest.
Ben looked at Gwen. Gwen looked at Ben.
He grinned. "Exactly like the comic."
"Ben—"
"It has to be an alien!"
"Grandpa said to stay put!"
"That means you'll lose the bet!"
Gwen pinched her lips, torn. Then she exhaled sharply. "…Fine. Quick look. Then straight back."
Ben pumped a fist. "Yes!"
And together, hearts racing, they dashed toward the forest.
"Ben, slow down!"
Gwen's voice echoed through the trees, half frustration, half fear. But Ben didn't slow—his sneakers tore through the underbrush, branches snapping against his arms as he ran toward the faint plume of smoke curling up through the forest canopy.
"Come on, Gwen! What if it's already leaving?" he shouted back, breathless but exhilarated.
"Leaving?" she panted. "It's a meteor, not a bus stop!"
He ignored her, crashing through the last stretch of ferns until the ground suddenly dipped ahead. Ben skidded to a stop at the edge of a fresh crater, still steaming from impact. Gwen stumbled up beside him, clutching a stitch in her side.
Before them, the forest floor had been torn open—a wide, jagged wound in the earth. The air shimmered with heat. Smoke rolled lazily upward, thick and gray, carrying a faint metallic tang.
"…Whoa," Ben breathed.
Gwen's eyes widened. "Okay, I'll admit, that's—something."
Then, from within the smoke, a faint hum began to rise. It pulsed softly—green light flickering inside the haze like the heartbeat of some strange machine. The smoke parted, revealing a metallic cylinder half-buried in the dirt. It hissed, then rotated on itself with a sharp click, locking upright as if it had chosen its spot.
"Is that…" Ben squinted. "An escape pod?"
Gwen folded her arms, though her voice trembled slightly. "It's a rock. A shiny rock. Which means I win the bet."
Ben's mouth dropped open. "A rock that glows and opens by itself? Gwen, come on, this is textbook alien tech!"
The cylinder gave a low mechanical whirr, then split down the middle. Panels folded back with precision, revealing something inside—sleek, round, and gleaming with an otherworldly green energy.
Both of them instinctively stepped closer.
Ben's eyes were wide. "See? What did I tell you? That's definitely a—"
"—piece of junk," Gwen interrupted. "A very suspicious piece of junk. We should go before it explodes or… summons a flying saucer or something."
Ben grinned. "Exactly! If it does summon something, that means I'm right."
"Ben, that's not—ugh." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Grandpa Max probably heard that crash. He's gonna be here any second, and if he finds us—"
But Ben wasn't listening. He was already sliding down the slope into the crater, loose soil crunching beneath his shoes.
"Ben!" Gwen yelled. "Don't you dare touch that thing!"
He turned briefly, flashing her that reckless grin. "Relax! I just wanna take a closer look. For science."
"It's not that deep, Ben! We'll get in trouble—Ben!"
He was already at the center. The device sat before him, humming louder now. Tiny symbols blinked along its surface, alien script moving like liquid light.
"This is it," he whispered to himself. "Proof."
The glow intensified—pulsing in rhythm, like it could hear him. Then came a soft beep… beep…
Ben reached out.
"Ben, stop!"
It wasn't Gwen's voice this time—it was deeper, urgent. Grandpa Max.
Ben froze, halfway turned—his hand inches away. "Grandpa?"
And then the device moved.
A panel shot open like a blooming flower, and a metal band whipped out, locking around his wrist with a blinding flash.
Ben cried out, stumbling back. The green light surged up his arm, wrapping him in its glow. Gwen screamed his name as the forest filled with the sound of humming energy—alien, electric, alive.
Ben looked down at his wrist. The device was fused there, pulsing with light—like it had chosen him.
"Ben!" Gwen ran down the crater toward him, her face pale.
"I—I didn't touch anything!" he said, panicked, trying to pry it off. But the more he pulled, the tighter it clamped. The symbols shifted and rearranged, forming a single shape across its surface—like a watch.
Ben turned as Max reached him—his wrist now swallowed by a strange, metal band that pulsed faintly green. The light reflected off his wide eyes. "It just— it just jumped on me!" Ben stammered.
Max knelt beside him, his breath heavy, eyes scanning the device. His tone wasn't angry—it was tense. Too tense. "I told you two to stay at the campsite. What part of stay put sounded optional?"
Ben opened his mouth, but Gwen cut in first, folding her arms, trying to mask the fear in her voice. "It was his idea. Curiosity got the better of him—again."
"Hey!" Ben shot back. "I didn't mean to—"
He flinched suddenly as Max gripped his wrist. The older man's fingers tugged at the watch, but the device wouldn't budge. Instead, it let out a mechanical click, almost warningly.
"Ah—! Grandpa, that hurts!"
Max froze. He let go immediately. His voice softened, though his eyes never left the glowing band. "Sorry, sport. Didn't mean to."
Ben blinked up at him. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"
Max didn't answer right away. His expression shifted—something old and grim shadowed his face. "We'll deal with this at the Rust Bucket," he finally said. His tone carried no argument.
He scooped Ben up with surprising strength, supporting his arm carefully so as not to jolt the watch. "Don't touch it. Don't even think about touching it again, understand?"
Ben nodded slowly, though curiosity still burned in his eyes.
As Max trudged up the slope, Gwen followed close behind, whispering harshly, "What's going on? You're acting like that thing's dangerous or something."
Max didn't look back. "Because it might be," he muttered. "Eyes open, both of you. We're leaving, now."
The forest around them was still—too still. The air had that hollow quiet that comes before something breaks.
Then came the noise.
It started low, like a hum beneath the ground, then grew—a metallic drone, pulsing, mechanical, wrong. The treeline flickered with green reflections.
Max turned sharply. "Down!"
Something whistled through the air. A beam of light struck nearby, scorching the dirt. Max pushed the kids down as another blast tore past. Ben's head hit the ground. He heard Gwen scream—then the heavy thud of impact as Max was thrown aside.
"Grandpa!"
He could barely see through the smoke and dirt. Strange shapes cut through the darkness—metallic figures hovering, eyes glowing like searchlights. Drones.
One darted closer. Gwen ran toward Max, but a blast struck near her feet. She stumbled, her body rolling down the incline into the trees.
"Gwen!"
Ben tried to run, but his body wouldn't move fast enough. The air burned, lights flashing in every direction.
Then the watch clicked.
The dial turned on its own, cycling through flashing silhouettes. Ben stared as the green hologram rose before him—an outline, a figure he didn't understand.
The noise drowned everything.
"Don't—!" Max's voice echoed faintly somewhere behind.
Ben slammed his hand down on the dial.
A burst of green light swallowed his vision. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The ground melted away. His own scream stretched and warped, blending into static, into something else—
—then, silence.
When his eyes opened again, he wasn't in the forest.
He was lying on a couch. The faint sound of a carnival organ played somewhere beyond the walls. Colorful light flickered against his face. The air smelled faintly of sugar and oil.
He sat up slowly, breathing hard.
He was back in the caravan.