Kairo stepped out of Channel Verge's towering headquarters, the late afternoon sunlight brushing across the glass facade like a slow-moving fire. He held the temporary employee badge in his hand—plastic, standard issue, the kind every intern and contractor carried. But to him, it felt like a puzzle piece.
Turning it over, he narrowed his eyes, channeling the strange perception he had come to rely on. Most objects now revealed their past—flashes of memory, faded soundscapes, echoes of emotions once clung to them. But this card... was empty.
A blank space. A void.
He stared deeper. Sometimes, even newer objects held a shadow—a moment someone had touched it, issued it, tucked it into a pocket. But this badge revealed none of that. Just darkness. Stillness.
"Brand new," he muttered. "No stories yet."
He tucked it into his pocket and turned to look up at the building. Channel Verge loomed with quiet authority. A hive of journalists, editors, informants, and secrets. Somewhere in there, he had just placed the first stone in a path. One that could either lead him into legend... or erase him.
*One story at a time,* he reminded himself.
Kairo took the long route home, wanting to be among the people. He walked past storefronts, parks, restaurants. But he wasn't looking at products or faces—he was studying the layers.
Everyone shimmered now, whether they knew it or not. Threads extended from their bodies—some thick, glowing like cords of fate. Others were wispy, fading like spider silk in the wind. The colors were never random.
That man arguing on the phone outside the café—his aura flared yellow-red, the hue of guilt mixing with frustration. Two threads from his chest pulled tightly toward opposite directions—one toward a government building in the city center, the other northward, toward what looked like a distant suburban area. Kairo guessed: mistress and a courtroom.
The woman in the blue jacket who walked by briskly had a dull blue aura, quiet and burdened. Her threads were thin, pulled low, trailing like ribbons toward a small hospital, a child's school, and—unexpectedly—toward a bar downtown.
He blinked, letting the information slide past him. Some people were tapestries, full of connections and stories. Some were knots.
Then he looked down at himself.
Three threads—thick, clear—ran toward the hospital where he'd first awakened, then forked. Two curved away and bent gently, familiar warmth echoing in them. His family. His sibling. The house he was headed to.
But another thread—fourth, unseen before—shimmered faintly.
"That's new," he said aloud.
It coiled like smoke, looping in strange directions. Not sharp, not wild—just... elusive. It drifted into the city, through unseen doors, and then... vanished.
Kairo tried to follow it with his eyes, walking slowly. It didn't lead to a person he knew. Not a place he recognized. But it was definitely *tied* to him.
Not a threat. Not yet. But not benign, either.
"I'll track you later," he whispered.
The streetlights flicked on as evening claimed the city. The colors faded just slightly in the growing darkness, but the threads still glowed—guidelines, fates, intentions. He wondered how many people walked around like this, pulling at each other without ever knowing.
Kairo reached the quiet lane where his family's apartment stood. The lights were on. Comforting. Normal.
But he paused, still standing beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp. The ID badge in his pocket felt heavier now. Not because of secrets revealed—but because of the secrets he had yet to uncover.
A thread. A building. A trial.
He had a job to do. And a world to decode.
Tomorrow, he would return to Channel Verge.
But tonight, he would rest. And dream of threads, light, and the darkness still waiting to speak.