Prologue:
CRACK-BOOM!
"Huh? Who? Hello?" Rozar mumbled, snapping upright on his stiff dorm room chair, a line of keyboard imprints etched into his cheek. His screen was still on, a blinking cursor mocking him from the half-written line of code:
if number 5 = true, then reject = ???
"Oh, right… I must've fallen asleep."
He rubbed his eyes and glanced outside. The night sky was a charcoal blur, lightning streaking across it like cracked glass. It's really pouring out, he thought, dragging himself up to shut the window. The wind howled like it was mad at someone specifically—probably him.
The rain splattered loudly on the sill, soaking his half-dried laundry. Again.
His phone buzzed weakly. 1% battery. Of course.
"Great," he muttered. "Next thing you know, the lights go out—"
The lights went out.
Total darkness swallowed the room. No laptop hum. No hallway light. Just silence, rain, and that eerie, post-lightning buzz that makes you wonder if you've stepped into a bad sci-fi movie.
Rozar, 21, slightly-above-average-in-everything, sighed. He was used to this kind of thing. Born on January 7—an astrologer once told him that made him "resilient and practical." He thought that was just a fancy way of saying boring but stubborn. Currently in his third year of an I.T. program at Menzho Academy of Technology, he was trying to design a new AI model to help optimize emergency response systems.
Cliché as hell, he thought. Every nerd's dream—build the next big thing and somehow accidentally take over the world or save it. Or both.
But if there was one thing about Rozar that stood out—it was his strange ability to adapt. No matter the problem—missed deadlines, corrupted code, burnt ramen, or being locked out of his own dorm room in just a towel—Rozar always found a way. Somehow. Some weird, slightly awkward way.
He fumbled for his phone's flashlight, when suddenly—
CRACK-KRAKOOOM!
A bolt of lightning struck something just outside his window. The room lit up in a blinding flash, and for a moment—just a second—Rozar saw something… else.
A figure. No, a symbol. Floating mid-air.
Then darkness again. But the air… the air felt different. Buzzing. Almost humming.
He looked up. The symbol was gone.
Only the steady rhythm of the rain remained, tapping against the glass like fingers trying to get in.
But his heart was still racing.
Rozar stared at the space where the symbol had hovered—burned into the air just moments before—and tried with all his might to remember where he had seen it before. It tugged at something deep in his mind, like a half-forgotten song or the smell of an old home.
Just as he was about to give up, it hit him.
The necklace.
His mother's necklace.
A simple circle, a red line running along its outer edge, and a stylized "H" in the center. It looked golden, but everyone knew it wasn't real gold—just a cheap coating over some common alloy. Still, she had worn it like it was the most precious thing in the world.
She had given it to him the week before she passed.
Rozar swallowed hard. It had been years since he thought of that necklace. Years since he allowed himself to really think of her.
And yet here it was again—this symbol, this fragment of the past—glowing in the air like a whisper from another world.
Where is it? he thought, standing up suddenly, scanning the clutter of his room. He hadn't seen the necklace in so long. He didn't even know if he still had it. Was it in a drawer? In a box? Did he throw it away?
The sadness crept in like fog—quiet but suffocating. Memories tried to claw their way up, each one a reminder of how much he had lost. Of how much he still carried.
But Rozar shook his head.
He couldn't afford to drown in that right now. He never could. No matter how adaptable he was, grief was a current too strong to swim in for long.
"There's too much to do," he mumbled under his breath, almost chanting it like a lifeline. "Too much to get done. I need to make her proud."
"I need to make her proud."
He sat back down in front of his computer, knuckles tight, jaw clenched.
Just as he was about to continue his work—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Rozar froze.
His eyes flicked to the bottom corner of his laptop screen. 2:43 AM.
He frowned. Who the hell is knocking at this time of night?
The knock came again. Three taps. Perfectly spaced. Not rushed. Not panicked. Deliberate.
A chill ran down his spine. The storm outside was still raging, wind howling like an angry spirit. Who would even be out there?
"Seriously?" he muttered, dragging himself up from his chair. He rubbed his temples as he shuffled toward the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The exact same rhythm. Not faster. Not louder. Like someone was toying with him. Mocking him.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" he snapped, his irritation outweighing his unease. "Will you wait—gosh!"
He reached the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open.
"…Who is it?"
No one.
His hallway was empty.
Well—almost empty.
At the threshold of his door, illuminated by a flickering overhead light, was a small bird. Soaked to the bone, shivering, feathers slick and matted from the rain. Its wings drooped heavily, and its tiny chest rose and fell in ragged little breaths.
Rozar stared.
A bird? That's what was knocking? But… how?
Then, as if on cue, the bird collapsed. Right there at his feet. Exhausted. Hurt.
His annoyance quickly gave way to concern.
"Whoa—hey, little guy," he said, crouching down. The bird didn't move, save for a tiny twitch of one wing.
He glanced down the hallway. Still empty. No pranksters. No neighbors. Just the sound of rain hammering the windows.
He turned his gaze back to the bird. Something about it… felt off. Not just the odd timing or the eerie knocking. There was something almost familiar about the way it looked at him before it passed out.
And then, he noticed it.
Tied around the bird's leg—with a fraying little thread—was something glinting faintly in the hallway light.
A pendant.
A gold-colored circle… with a red line around the edge… and a tiny "H" in the center.
Rozar's breath caught in his throat.
"…No way."
Rozar gently picked up the tiny bird, its feathers cold and slick against his palms. It didn't protest—just let out the softest chirp, barely audible, as if even that took too much strength.
He brought it inside and set it carefully on his desk, under the warm glow of his reading lamp. He dabbed it dry with the softest towel he could find—one of the few clean ones that hadn't been sacrificed to ramen spills or coffee stains. The little creature shivered once more, then stilled.
"You're alright now," he said softly, wrapping it snugly like a burrito in the towel. "I got you. I think."
He looked over at the instant ramen cup sitting on his nightstand and then glanced back at the bird. "I wonder… do birds eat ramen?"
A pause.
"…No, no, that's stupid. Too much MSG, right? Can't be good for you."
Still, the thought made him smile faintly—something he hadn't done in a while. He went back to his laptop to search:
"how to help a sick bird i dont know the type"
But before he could finish typing, the screen flickered… then went dark.
Rozar stared at it, confused.
"Eh?"
He pressed the power button. Nothing.
Unplugged. Plugged it back in. Still nothing.
"Okay… weird…"
With a sigh, he picked up his phone—only to see the familiar, dreaded symbol: the red blinking battery. Dead.
"No way—ugh, okay," he muttered, scurrying to grab his charger. He plugged it into the wall, but the socket stayed dark.
And then—like the universe was stacking its bad-luck cards—the power went out completely.
Total silence. No humming electronics. No light except for the dim glow of the storm outside and the soft heat of the desk lamp, which quickly faded.
"Wow," he groaned, dropping onto his bed dramatically. "Just my luck! Seriously?"
He looked over at the bird, still bundled up and quietly breathing.
"…I'm sorry, bird," he said softly, voice tinged with guilt. "I know you probably came here looking for help. Or whoever sent you did. But, man… I think you landed on the unluckiest guy on the floor."
He half-smiled. "You'd probably be better off down the hall."
Still, he gave it a little water in the cap of a water bottle and tucked it in closer to the lamp's remaining warmth. He turned off the lights—which didn't make a difference anyway—and lay down beside the desk.
"I hope you feel better by morning," he murmured sleepily. "I'll take you to a vet or something… I'm sure there's one somewhere around here." As he drifted off into sleep.
Rozar shook his head as he left the building, the bird gently bundled in the towel against his chest.
Last night was weird, he thought. That symbol… the pendant… the knocking… This can't all be a coincidence, right?
But maybe it was just exhaustion. He hadn't exactly been sleeping well lately.
The rain had stopped, but the roads still gleamed slick and dark, like ink poured over glass. Puddles shimmered under the grey morning light as he trudged toward the edge of campus.
Ahead, he spotted a few classmates walking together, half-awake, coffee cups in hand.
"Yo, Rozar!" one of them called out. "What's that in your arms? You a bird keeper now?"
Rozar chuckled, adjusting the towel. "No, man. Someone left it at my door last night. Didn't you guys hear knocking? Like, around 2 or 3 a.m.?"
"Nah, bro, we were out cold," said another. "We had to sleep. Don't forget we're presenting our projects to the lecturer this morning."
Rozar stopped walking. "Oh. Sh—shoot. That's today?"
All three of them looked at him with wide eyes.
"Wait, you forgot?"
"Dude! This morning!"
Panic hit him like a gut punch. He hadn't even finished the code. He'd been right there—moments from completing it—when the power had gone out. He remembered the blinking cursor. The countdown timer. He was so close.
One of his classmates said, "Look, the clinic's 20 minutes away in the plaza. You know how these lecturers are. You hand it in late, and they don't even care why. You're toast."
Another added with a shrug, "Survival of the fittest, man. It's just a bird. Nature'll figure it out."
They all laughed, gave him sympathetic looks, and jogged off toward the lecture hall, leaving him standing there alone, holding the small, unconscious life in his hands.
Rozar looked down at the bird.
Its breathing was slow but steady. Peaceful.
Maybe they're right… he thought. I need this grade. I need this scholarship. Mom would've told me to focus. Maybe I can sprint to class, plug in the laptop, and finish it real fast—
And then—
Chirp.
So soft he almost didn't hear it.
A weak, trembling little sound. But it hit him harder than any shout.
Rozar stared at the bird, heart clenching. You little feathery guilt machine.
His conscience twisted inside him.
Finally, he let out a shaky sigh.
"Bird… you better be some rare species I can sell for a fortune," he muttered. "Because if I fail this course and lose my scholarship, I'm gonna need the money."
He turned toward the road, clutching the bundle tighter, and broke into a run.
Maybe he could still make the clinic. Maybe everything would work out. Maybe this was all leading somewhere—
BOOM!
SPLAT.
A screech of tires. A blur of silver. Rubber against wet concrete.
The world flipped.
And Rozar was gone.