Time doesn't always move forward. Sometimes, it loops. Sometimes, it waits. And on rare, cruel occasions, it forgets entirely.
This is the 84th day since the skies last turned red.
Ash blanketed the ground like dead snow, falling from a sky that no longer remembered the sun. What once was a city stood now as a graveyard of twisted steel and shattered dreams.
A rusted bunker door opened, its sound echoing into the lifeless area. Six teens emerged, blinking into the unnatural daylight. They looked like ghosts - pale skin, sunken eyes, bodies thinner than they should be.
All the supplies they had for 60 days of survival, ran out of stock on the 83rd day.
Kaian was the first who stepped forward to open the door. His grey hoodie, once clean, now clung to his frame with the weight of dust. Behind him, Lyra followed, eyes scanning the world like it might fall at them any moment.
"What… happened to everything?" she breathed.
Draven ran a hand through his hair, lips parting in disbelief. "This isn't just destruction… it's transformation."
The air buzzed faintly, like a low frequency only their bones could hear. The skyline was twisted, buildings curled inward, metal melted into unholy shapes. A road led nowhere. Trees grew upside-down.
"We were underground for 84 days," Elara whispered. "And the world decided to end in the meantime."
"Not end," Zorion muttered. "Change."
Veyla stood still, unusually quiet. She grabbed the locket around her neck like it was a lifeline. "We shouldn't be here," she said under her breath. "Something's watching."
The others fell silent.
They walked for hours. None of them kept track of time, what use was it when the sun didn't move? Hunger destroyed them from inside, but adrenaline kept their legs going.
Then, like a cruel miracle, they found it, a domed greenhouse in the middle of nowhere. Cracked glass panels, half-buried in vines. But inside... life. Not a human.
In the center stood a single tree. Its bark was obsidian-black, pulsing with veins of light. And from its branches hung six glowing fruits, each of a different color
No one said a word.
Draven approached first. "Is it real?"
Kaian touched one of the fruits—a pale silver one. It pulsed at his fingertips like a heartbeat.
Then, without thinking, he plucked it.
And one by one, the others followed.
Each fruit chose them. Green for Lyra. Crimson for Draven. Blue for Elara. Violet for Zorion. Black for Veyla.
The taste was impossible to describe. It wasn't just flavor, it was memory. Emotion. Lightning.
Then the pain hit.
Kaian fell to his knees as light crawled up his arm, painting itself into his skin like a living tattoo. It stopped at his forearm, a spiral of silver gears, half-formed, pulsing slowly.
Lyra screamed. Her hands trembled as vines of light wrapped around her wrist. A partial bloom.
Draven trembled, then steadied himself, staring at the sharp runic scar on his forearm.
Elara whispered a tune that shattered a nearby glass shard.
Zorion gripped his fist, and the ground beneath cracked ever so slightly.
Veyla blinked, and disappeared. For two seconds, she was gone. When she reappeared, her lips trembled. Mist coiled around her fingers.
They gasped in silence.
Each of them now bore a mark. Imperfect, dim, but alive. A fragment.
"What is this?" Lyra panted.
Kaian examined his Tattoo. "It's not complete. Like... a door half-open."
Then, the hum returned. Louder. It vibrated through the walls, the glass, the air itself.
And in their minds—six voices spoke in one:
"Veinmarked."
The word rang like a bell from the void.
The tree crumbled behind them, collapsing into ash. Gone. Like it had only existed for this moment.
They stood in a circle, staring at each other.
"This wasn't an accident," Draven said.
"No," Veyla whispered. "This was a beginning."
Something began to shake high above, on a ruined tower far out of their line of sight. With eyes that glowed like dying stars, they watched, hidden in shadow.
The war had not ended.
Its players had just changed.
And six of them had just been marked by fate.