The world ended on a Tuesday.
Major Nathan Cole was halfway through a lukewarm coffee when the first ripple rolled across the sky.No thunder, no flash — just a silent crease spreading above San Francisco Bay, like light bending the wrong way.For half a second, everything stopped.The gulls froze mid-flight, wings wide, hanging there as if someone had hit pause.Then came the wind.
Cole's coffee sailed off the railing."Sir?" Sergeant Marcus Lee said beside him. "You see that?""I wish I didn't," Cole said.
The air cracked.A ring of gold and green fire tore itself open above the water, widening until it dwarfed the bridge.Stone rim. Rotating runes. The kind of thing you only saw in concept art or bad PowerPoint briefings about "impossible phenomena."
Objects spilled out — dark shapes, growing larger.Then came the riders.
Armored cavalry thundered through thin air, hooves striking invisible ground until they hit the pier.Behind them marched ranks of soldiers in chain and plate, banners of black and crimson flapping in unnatural wind.
"Are those — horses?" Lee asked."Unless the Marines upgraded again," Cole said, already keying his radio.
"Fort Mason to Command, we have a live-fire incursion! Unknown hostiles, medieval equipment, possibly hallucination. Request immediate lockdown and air support!"
Static. Then: Say again, medieval?
The lead rider lifted a glowing sword and shouted something guttural. A lance of flame erupted from its tip.Cars exploded. The bay lit up orange.
Cole's body moved before his brain caught up."Everyone under cover! Weapons up!"
Security scrambled. MPs pulled rifles from the armory.The invaders advanced with terrifying discipline, forming a shield wall across Marina Boulevard as if bullets were a rumor.
First burst from Cole's squad hit — the front line shattered.Then something shimmered: a translucent barrier flared and died, like glass catching sunlight.Lee stared. "Sir, that guy just parried a bullet with magic.""Then shoot twice," Cole said.
Radio chatter overlapped — NORAD, local PD, someone yelling about dragons.A shadow crossed the sun.
It wasn't a plane.Wings wider than a city block, scales catching the Gate's light — a wyvern, massive and wrong."Command," Cole said evenly, "we have an aerial target. Not friendly. Possibly extinct."
An F-16 screamed overhead and fired.The dragon detonated in a blossom of white flame.
"Contact neutralized," Lee muttered. "Think PETA's gonna call?""Focus," Cole said, but couldn't stop the ghost of a grin.
After forty-two minutes of chaos, the invasion collapsed.Smoke boiled over the bay. The Gate still hung above the water, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.Command's voice came through, steady at last:
"All sectors contained. Maintain perimeter. Nothing in, nothing out. Major Cole, you're ground liaison until further notice."
"Copy," Cole said.
Lee sat beside him on the parapet, helmet off, sweat streaking soot."Sir, permission to panic now?""Denied.""Had to try."
They watched the Gate shimmer over the ruined city, serene and impossible.Convoys rolled in — scientists, generals, cameras. One woman in a lab coat craned up, eyes wide.
"Dr. Reyes," someone called. "You're live.""Confirmed," she said, breathless. "Trans-spatial gateway… also, it's very cool."
Cole rubbed his temples."They're going to want to go inside," he said.Lee sighed. "You think they'll send us?""They just thanked us," Cole replied. "That's usually step one."
The radio popped again.
"Major Cole, stand by for orders. You'll lead the first reconnaissance through the anomaly."
Cole stared at the Gate's pulsing light."Of course I will," he muttered.Then louder: "Roger that. Standing by."
The wind shifted, carrying smoke and the faint, metallic taste of something not from Earth.The world had changed, and Cole was already too close to the front row.