A gentle spring sun warmed the sky, bathing the entire high school in a soft light. It felt as if you could inhale its rays, so tender were they, slipping even into your thoughts. At that moment, only the most dedicated students could keep up with the teacher—this atmosphere seemed to beckon daydreams or drowsiness, depending on how interested one was in the lesson.
Sitting at the third desk in the front row, by the windows, Nal gazed blankly at the sky. At first glance, one might have thought he was deep in thought, meditating, or lost in a daydream. But no—he was bored. Just behind him, a persistent gaze had been fixed on him since the beginning of class. Lysha, her eyes locked onto him, observed him with an intensity that would unsettle any onlooker. Around the room, other students whispered or fiddled with their things in an oddly peaceful calm—until a voice shattered that stillness:
Teacher: Mr. Handock, can you explain why they failed?
Nal (rising without expression): The Mordus lost the war because they believed that the energy fueling the angels came from the spirit realm. In truth, it came from human prayers. In other words, they lost because they thought they were fighting angels, when actually it was humans fighting through them.
Teacher: Excellent, Mr. Handock. As clear as ever. You may sit down.
Nal sat back down quietly. All eyes turned to him. In the collective mind of the students, nobody saw that question coming. Everyone assumed nobody was really paying attention—everyone, except Nal.
He had that almost infuriating knack for always knowing the right answer. He excelled in every subject except one: spiritual studies. He was the best student that Murnia—and perhaps all of Orlas—had seen in a decade. Top of the country since he started school, now in his final year at just sixteen. And yet, he couldn't score higher than average in spirituality.
That didn't stop him from having his own kind of popularity. Mysterious and cute to the girls, impressive and intimidating to the boys. He spoke to no one, didn't make friends, and yet his name resonated: Nal Handock. Son of Dan Handock, known as the Savior of the Holy Energy. A life that appeared already scripted… but there are always unseen lines in stories that seem too perfect.
Class had been over for about fifteen minutes, but as usual, Nal remained alone in the room, his gaze lost through the windows. He preferred that peaceful solitude after class to the bustle of the hallways. That suspended moment, that inner silence, meant far more to him than a thousand conversations.
Finally, he stood, gathered his things, and left, dragging his feet slightly. The walk home already felt weighed down by routine.
Nal (thinking):If I could take the exam from home, that would be perfect… But no—Mom decided I have to "live like everyone else."
Sophia, his mother, had never wanted anything out of the ordinary for him, even though he was anything but ordinary. She insisted he attend high school, get involved in activities, have friends… live a teenager's life, according to her.
Nal (thinking):Yet she knows I'm not like them…
Suddenly, cries of panic cut through his thoughts. They came from a dark alley just a few meters away.
Unknown Voice: — Help! Help! Somebody save me!
Nal froze. Instinctively, he headed toward the scream. In the alley, he made out a familiar figure: a girl from his class, very popular at school—someone he'd never approached. Three men surrounded her, menacing and intent. One held her tightly.
Man 1: — What do you want, kid? Want to die?
Nal (cold and calm): — Let her go. I'm not asking again.
Man 2: — Where did he come from?!
Before he could finish, Nal moved. A well-placed kick, a sharp punch to the throat, and the man collapsed, unconscious.
Man 1 (shouting): — What the hell is happening?!
He drew a knife and lunged. But Nal, already in motion, grabbed his arm, used the man's momentum against him, and slammed him into a brick column. The snapping of ribs echoed. Silence. The man did not move again.
The last attacker, panicked, pressed the knife against the girl's throat.
Man 3: — Move another inch, and I slit her throat!
But the girl spoke first, her voice surprisingly calm:
Lysha: — You will let me go. Now.
He blinked—and released her as if in a trance. Nal frowned, sensing something off. She hadn't screamed or panicked; her posture was too composed.
Lysha (smiling): — Thank you, my hero! Without you, I don't know what would've happened to me.
She tried to throw her arms around him. Nal easily stepped aside.
Nal: — With that much persuasion, you could've handled it yourself.
He turned to leave.
Lysha: — Wait! Did you just speak to me? So you know how to talk to other people. Your voice is so rare at school I thought I was dreaming!
Nal (sighing): …
He picked up his bag. Before he walked off, she called out cheerfully:
Lysha: — I'm Lysha, by the way. We're in the same class, you know? And you're Nal… Nal Handock.
Nal didn't answer. He continued on, already alert. This encounter… too strange to be coincidence.
The street leading to Nal's home was quiet. The houses were simple, mostly old but well kept. His house—blue and white walls—had a small courtyard and an iron gate. A modest home, like his life… at least on the surface.
Nal rang the bell. A few seconds later, Sophia, his mother, opened the gate with her constant smile.
Sophia: Welcome home, my big boy.
She was a beautiful woman with endlessly long brown hair, always tied in a large bun so it wouldn't get in her way. She never seemed sad. Neighbors and Nal alike had never seen her cry or even frown. Her unwavering smile lit up her face—and even disarmed Nal.
Nal (lips barely curved): I'm home, Mom.
He passed by her without stopping. She tried to call him back:
Sophia: Come downstairs to eat in a bit—I'm almost done cooking!
But Nal was already in his room. His room: his sanctuary. Everything was in its place. Every object was perfectly arranged. The massive bookshelf was organized obsessively: mathematics, physics, ancient astronomy… no subject escaped his thirst for order and understanding.
In one corner stood a Zoner—a kind of ultra-powerful computer used by all young people his generation. Nal only touched it for his homework. He preferred books a thousand times over a screen.
He had no friends, no social media, no need to belong to any group. He even rejected the idea. Too many distractions. Too many uncontrollable variables. He considered friendship an unnecessary luxury with no real benefit. He suffered neither loneliness nor lack. He analyzed. He observed. He anticipated.
To him, humans acted on instinct, in the moment. They lacked patience to foresee. Nal never acted without simulating every possible outcome. It was more than caution—it was a life rule.
After a quick dinner with his mother, he returned to his room, lay down… and fell into a deep sleep.
…
The next day, he was alone. Sophia had left early for a trip to Lob-Chen, the capital. Nal was master of the house, and he took advantage in his own way: reading, silence, introspection.
Seated at his desk, he read a thesis by Dr. Lehms on neurological defense mechanisms. Fascinating. The idea that a person could voluntarily suppress certain memories to protect themselves psychologically captivated him.
But suddenly, a faint, almost imperceptible rustle came from the living room. Nal frowned. All the windows were closed—and he'd checked them himself, as he always did when alone.
Annoyed by the unexpected, he stood and walked into the living room. Everything seemed normal. Nothing had moved. He peeked into the kitchen on his way back. Still nothing. Sighing at what he thought was a false alarm, he turned to leave.
But then he stopped dead.
A bluish light flowed from his bedroom. The door—closed just moments ago—was now wide open. He was certain he'd locked it. For him, that was an instinct: lock every door.
He moved forward slowly, each step heavier than the last. The light grew more intense. An ethereal shape formed in the room: a humanoid figure made of luminous mist, its back turned to him.
Nal froze. His heart pounded. Slowly, the silhouette turned. It smiled. Its eyes were closed…but its face was clear.
It was his father's.
Shock rooted Nal to the spot. This man—he recognized him. He'd seen him in a framed photo in the living room. The face his mother called "Papa."
The smiling form opened its eyes.
Apparition: Hello, my boy. I've been waiting for you.
Nal (trembling): You… have been waiting for me? Who are you?
Apparition: Don't you recognize me? I am your father, Nal. I've missed you so much.
Nal took a step back. It was absurd—defied all logic.
Nal: You… were supposed to be dead.
Apparition (smiling gently): Supposedly, yes. But between assumption and reality, there's often a world of difference…
Nal: This is impossible. Who are you, really?!
Apparition: I am your father. And I've come to tell you very important things—things you must hear now.
He spread his arms as if to invite him forward.
Nal stood paralyzed. He didn't believe in spirits, much less this kind of apparition. He had always rejected anything to do with spiritual beliefs. Yet here was something undeniable.
Nal (shouting): Don't mock me! You were supposed to have died at the Battle of Celesta!
Apparition: And yet… I am here. And I don't have much time.
The scene seemed to dissolve slowly…
His alarm clock rang. 6:30 AM.
Nal snapped awake. He was lying in his bed. Everything looked normal.
Nal (thinking):It was… just a dream?
...
It was a little after 2:00 in the afternoon. Nal walked slowly along the path home after classes, his bag carelessly slung over one shoulder. But his mind was elsewhere. Since morning, he couldn't stop thinking about last night's dream—so strange, unreal, unsettling.
He had never dreamed of his father before. He had no special connection to him beyond that photo in the living room and his mother's rare anecdotes. To him, his father was a hero who died in battle—nothing more. So why that dream? And why now?
Nal (thinking):I've never believed in these stories about spirits, reincarnation, mystical messages… So why does this dream feel more real than the rest of my day?
He didn't have time to think further. Suddenly, from his blind spot, Lysha leapt out of the alley to the right of the school and tried to pounce on him.
Lysha: Hey! Surprise!
But Nal spun on his heel with almost inhuman fluidity, effortlessly dodging her. She landed in empty air, arms outstretched, looking disappointed.
Lysha: Are you doing that on purpose? We can't even surprise you—or get a kiss?
Nal stared at her for a moment, silent. She clearly felt no embarrassment. Then he resumed walking without a word.
Lysha: Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for yesterday—saving me and everything… Hey! Are you listening to me at all?
Still no reaction.
Lysha (rolling her eyes): Don't you have any decency? A pretty girl talks to you and you ignore her? You really have issues! And if you're like that, you won't get your reward kiss!
At those words, Nal stopped.
Lysha (smiling triumphantly): Ah! Finally, some attention! See? You're just like every other boy deep down. Who can resist that?
But to her surprise, Nal slowly turned his head toward her.
Nal: Hey, kiddo. Go home. Your father, Vice-Lumis, must've arrived two hours ago. Go give him your welcome kiss—and give your dog one for me, okay?
Lysha's smile froze. Her blood chilled.
Lysha (thinking): Vice-Lumis? How does he know? Even at school, nobody knows my last name—let alone my father's title…
As if to confirm Nal's bombshell, her phone buzzed. Her father was calling. She answered, stammered a few words, then darted around the corner. An official car waited for her. She slipped inside quickly, out of Nal's sight.
Still standing stock-still, Nal slowly lifted his gaze to the sky. It seemed bluer than usual. Then he lowered his eyes and murmured:
Nal: You can come out of hiding. I've had you under watch since that alley incident. You followed me this morning, too. But that's enough.
A heavy silence settled. Then, from the shadow of an alley at the opposite corner, a figure emerged. A man about six feet tall, ebony-skinned, with a face both gentle and grave.
He wore a white uniform adorned with a familiar symbol. Nal had seen it somewhere… on an old photo of his mother.
The man approached slowly, his gaze hidden behind lightly tinted glasses as if to mask an intense stare. His presence commanded respect. He stopped a few paces away.
Unknown Man: Good. Now we can finally talk…
Nal: Huh?
Unknown Man (sighing): For the smartest kid in Orlas, you sure take your time figuring things out.
That was one phrase too many.
Nal's eyes hardened. He lifted his chin, fists clenched, body leaning forward. He hated being talked down to.
Nal: Who are you?
The man finally smiled—not mockingly, but with a satisfied calm.
Unknown Man: There. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up. Follow me. We don't have much time. Your mother wouldn't want you coming home too late.
He turned on his heel.
Nal (threatening): Either you answer me, or you go wherever you want—by yourself.
The man stopped dead. Then, without even turning around, he said:
Unknown Man: Next time, don't make me mad when the cult begins.
And he vanished into the darkness.
...
The wind had picked up. Not a strong gale, but a subtle, almost cold breath, charged with an unnameable tension. Nal stood for a few seconds after the man's disappearance; his gaze fixed on the shadows as if trying to see beyond what was visible.
Then, without a word, he turned and walked home. He didn't cross paths with anyone—his mother still hadn't returned. The house was quieter than usual. Not peaceful—heavy.
Nal entered his room, slowly dropped his bag, then sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
Nal (Thinking): Why now? Why… me?
All of him screamed to forget it, to shrug it off like a half-remembered dream.
But it was too late.
Something had been set in motion. And he knew it…