Morning should've smelled like bread. Instead, the apartment reeked of metal and fear.
Cid stood in the doorway, backpack half‑zipped, the waiver burning against his thigh. The mark at his throat pulsed again—faint, rhythmic, like something alive tapping from beneath his skin.
"No," he whispered. "Not now. Not like this."
He splashed water on his face. Didn't help. The reflection didn't lie.
The symbol—a curved line intersecting a circle—flickered like a heartbeat.
He touched it.
A shock ran up his spine. Not pain. Recognition. Like the mark… knew him.
Cid stumbled back, gripping the sink. "What the hell did the island do to me?"
The lights flickered again. That same wrong vibration he felt before Mara collapsed. His chest tightened.
He grabbed his phone. No messages. No updates. Just silence. The kind that eats at you.
He shoved it into his pocket. He had no time to fall apart. Mara needed him awake, not shaking in a bathroom.
He zipped the backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped into the hallway.
The building felt… different. Quieter. Listening.
He took the stairs two at a time.
The City
Outside, the world had shifted overnight.
Lines wrapped around clinics. People argued in the streets. A man shouted at a preacher claiming the Continent was divine punishment. A woman sobbed as paramedics loaded another stretcher.
Cid's stomach twisted. Everywhere he looked, he saw Mara.
He pushed through the crowd toward the bus stop. The harbor was across the city—and the recruiter's deadline ticked.
A notification buzzed on a nearby screen:
BREAKING: Coma cases spike near coastal regions. Experts warn of "resonance events."
Resonance.
Like the pulse in his throat.
He tugged his collar higher.
The Bus
The bus was packed. People clutched bags, papers, children. Some wore masks. Others, talismans. Everyone carried fear.
Cid grabbed a pole, tried to steady his breathing.
A kid beside him stared. "Mister… your neck is glowing."
Cid froze. A few passengers turned. "It's… a tattoo," he said, forcing a laugh. "Heat‑sensitive ink."
The kid squinted. "It's pulsing."
Cid turned away, heart hammering.
A woman near the back suddenly gasped and collapsed. Her husband screamed. People backed away. Someone hit the emergency button.
Cid's blood ran cold.
The mark flared. Bright. Too bright.
He yanked his hood up, stumbled off the bus before it stopped fully.
He hit the pavement, breath ragged.
"What is happening to me?"
The mark dimmed, almost satisfied.
Cid wiped sweat from his brow and kept moving.
The Harbor
By the time he reached the docks, the sun was high. Salt and diesel stung the air.
Chaos. Hundreds crowded the piers—shouting, begging, waving money, waving documents. Security forces pushed them back. Boats rocked violently as crews loaded supplies.
There she was. The recruiter. Gray coat, sharp eyes, clipboard in hand like she owned the ocean.
She spotted him instantly.
"You're late."
Cid glared. "My mother collapsed. I was at the hospital."
Her expression didn't change. "And yet you're here."
"Because you said the island might wake her."
"I said it might," she corrected. "Not that it will."
Cid's jaw clenched. "I'm going."
She studied him—not his face, but his throat. Her eyes narrowed. "Your collar. Move it."
Cid stepped back. "No."
"Cid. If the island marked you, I need to know."
His heart stopped.
"You knew this could happen?"
"We suspected," she said. "Some individuals show early resonance. It's rare."
"And dangerous?"
"Everything about the Waking Continent is dangerous."
He hesitated. Slowly, he lowered his collar. The mark glowed softly.
She inhaled sharply. "You're attuned."
Cid blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means the island didn't just choose you." She stepped closer, voice low. "It's calling you."
A horn blared from the pier. A massive vessel—reinforced hull, military insignia—pulled into position.
The recruiter grabbed his arm. "Your seat is secured. But listen carefully. Once we reach the island, stay close. Do not wander. Do not touch anything. And if the mark reacts—"
"It already reacts," he said.
She nodded grimly. "Then pray it reacts in your favor."
Cid looked at the ship. At the ocean. At the horizon where the Waking Continent waited, like a sleeping giant.
He thought of Mara's limp hand. Her humming. Her smile that didn't reach her eyes.
He tightened his grip on the backpack. "I'm going."
The recruiter motioned him forward.
"Then step aboard. Your awakening has already begun."
The ship lurched. Cid grabbed the railing—the metal bent under his fingers.