The summer after high school was supposed to be a pause. A breath between the storm of exams and whatever came next—college, work, escape. For her, it was supposed to be quiet. Maybe boring. She was ready for that. She didn't want anything strange. No more surprises.
But the sky had other plans.
It started on an ordinary night. The kind of night that smelled like warm concrete and cut grass, with the sound of cicadas humming through the window screen. She couldn't sleep. Not from excitement—her university letter hadn't even come yet—but from a strange feeling. Like something was watching her. Or waiting.
So she got up. Walked to the balcony. And that's when she saw it.
Not a star. Not a plane. Just a crack—thin and gold—splitting the sky in half like glass under pressure.
She remembered thinking: is this a dream? Because the light coming out of it wasn't just light. It was warm. Like standing too close to a fire you didn't start. Like someone whispering your name behind your eyes.
And then she fell.
Not in the way dreams make you fall. This was real. Her body pulled forward, up and out, lifted by something she couldn't see. Her breath caught. Her vision shattered.
Then came the cold.
When she woke up, she was lying on stone.
Not tile. Not pavement. Stone—cut smooth and warm under her fingertips, glowing faintly blue in a world that wasn't her own.
Above her stretched a sky she didn't recognize. No stars, just slow-moving clouds illuminated by what looked like distant floating lanterns. Or islands.
She sat up too fast. Her head spun. And that's when she noticed the figure standing nearby.
He wasn't looking at her. Not at first. He had his hands in the pockets of a navy-blue coat, long and embroidered, and his hair caught the lantern-light like silver thread. He looked... sharp. Like the kind of person who always knew what he was doing and liked to keep you guessing.
Then he turned.
And smiled.
"Well," he said, voice smooth as moonlight on water. "That was a dramatic entrance. Do you fall from the sky often, or is today special?"
She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
His eyes were violet.
His hair—now that she could see it properly—wasn't silver. It shimmered, yes, but beneath the light, it bled into deep purple at the roots. Like twilight caught in motion.
He tilted his head. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or maybe just a very handsome stranger."
She stared at him. Still mute. Still processing.
He took a step closer and offered a gloved hand. "Name's Bal, sky-girl. Are you are spatial magician? I have never saw that kind of trick before."
She didn't take his hand.
Because just behind him, she could see it—an island, floating in the sky, chained by bridges of light. Towers. Flags. People. Magic.
This wasn't Earth. This wasn't a dream.
This was something else entirely.