Fractured glimpses

No messages, no scrolling, no distractions. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing as his mind drifted beyond the edge of consciousness.

Then, like stepping through a door—he was somewhere else.

The shift was seamless. One moment, he was falling asleep—the next, he was standing beneath an endless sky.

This place...

He turned in slow disbelief. Towering structures stretched toward the heavens, but they weren't cold, lifeless monuments of steel and glass. They pulsed with energy, alive in a way no architecture on Earth ever was. Nature and civilization weren't at war here—they were one. Trees wove through the city, their luminescent leaves casting a soft glow on streets paved with smooth, iridescent material. Rivers of light coursed between the buildings, guiding people whose movements were effortless, as if the air itself carried them forward.

And the people—they were different.

Not just in appearance, but in presence. There was an awareness in their eyes, a depth that felt unnerving. They weren't distracted, weren't consumed by trivialities. They walked with purpose, but not the frantic, desperate kind he was used to seeing. There was no rush, no tension—just clarity.

Jaxon's breath caught.

I should have been born here.

The thought came unbidden, raw, undeniable. This was the world he had been searching for, the one that had always felt just out of reach.

But even as the realization hit, a shadow loomed at the edge of his mind.

Something was wrong.

Something was watching.

And then, the sky cracked.

Jaxon woke up to the sound of his alarm—an annoying, repetitive chime that felt more like an attack than a gentle nudge into consciousness. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through his curtains. He didn't move immediately. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, his mind still caught between the last fragments of sleep and the weight of reality settling in.

Something felt...off. Not wrong, just off.

The dream still clung to him like static, the afterimage of a world that wasn't this one. He had seen perfection—humans operating at a higher level, existing in harmony, unburdened by the chaos and stupidity that defined his world. The kind of place that made everything here feel like a mistake.

Jaxon sighed, finally dragging himself out of bed. The cold air met his skin, making him shiver slightly as he moved to the bathroom. He turned on the sink, splashed water on his face, and looked at himself in the mirror.

Dark circles under his eyes. Slightly disheveled hair.

He wasn't sure if it was exhaustion or just the weight of knowing too much.

The water ran, swirling down the drain as he let himself zone out for a second. He thought about the dream again. That utopia. The way it felt.

That should have been reality.

But it wasn't. And the realization of that fact sank into him like lead.

He showered, dressed, and moved through his morning routine like a machine. His parents were already at the table when he stepped into the dining area. The news was on, the same recycled nonsense, the same forced optimism mixed with quiet undertones of fear.

"Good morning," his mother greeted, barely looking up as she scrolled through her feed. His father glanced at him, nodding.

Jaxon sat down, eating mechanically, barely processing the taste of his food. His mind was already drifting—thinking, analyzing, questioning.

The world outside his window felt...wrong.

Maybe he was just overthinking.

Or maybe he wasn't.

***

Jaxon stepped onto the city streets, where neon lights flickered against the glass of towering skyscrapers. Hovercrafts hummed above, gliding smoothly along designated sky lanes. Holographic advertisements played in the air, bright and intrusive, trying to pull attention toward the latest product, the latest distraction.

People moved with synchronized efficiency, their neural implants feeding them real-time updates, schedules, reminders. Conversations were scarce—most communication happened mentally now, through encrypted thought-channels. It was supposed to be progress. It was supposed to be advanced.

And yet, all of it felt so painfully primitive.

This is the height of human civilization?

Jaxon walked, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the endless movement around him. A city functioning like a well-oiled machine, yet hollow at its core.

They think this is what intelligence looks like.

But what was intelligence? Was it the ability to create, to build, to innovate? Or was it something deeper?

He thought about the utopian world again—the one he had seen in his dream. No wasted movement. No inefficiency. No people mindlessly going through their routines, driven by a system that only pretended to be in their control.

The world he saw operated at a different frequency.

There, knowledge wasn't hoarded. It flowed. Ideas weren't restricted by politics, by corporations, by those in power deciding what could and couldn't be known. There were no fabricated conflicts, no artificial scarcity, no need for manufactured distractions.

Here?

People still needed permission to move across borders. Still divided themselves over old ideologies. Still lived under systems that made them believe they were free while controlling every aspect of their reality.

They called themselves intelligent.

What's intelligent about needing papers just to visit another place on your own planet?

Jaxon exhaled sharply. No, this wasn't intelligence. This was an illusion—one that most didn't even realize they were trapped in.

If they saw what I saw, would they still think they were advanced?

Probably not.

But they wouldn't see it.

Because even if they did, they wouldn't understand.

And even if they understood, they wouldn't care.

That was the difference.

The world in his dream wasn't just more advanced. It was aware.

And here?

Awareness was a threat.

***

Jaxon was still deep in thought when his neural implant pinged softly—an automatic alert that detected someone familiar in his vicinity. His gaze flickered up.

Selene.

She was walking toward the school entrance, her usual confident stride...off. Slower. More calculated. Like she was thinking about every step instead of just moving.

And then—

The moment she noticed him—

She changed direction.

Not a sharp turn. Not an obvious move. Just enough to make it seem like she wasn't avoiding him.

But she was.

Jaxon stopped walking.

His mind ran a rapid scan of the past 24 hours. Their last conversation had been normal. No conflict. No tension. No reason for her to suddenly start acting like this.

So what changed?

What happened?

And why did he have the distinct feeling that whatever it was—

It had everything to do with him?

Jaxon stepped through the classroom door, the usual hum of conversation filling the space. Students sat scattered across the room, some hunched over their holo-screens, others engaged in quiet chatter. Nothing seemed out of place—except for Serene.

She was already in her seat, back straight, eyes locked on her desk like it contained the secrets of the universe. The second he entered, there was a shift. A subtle, almost imperceptible stiffness in her posture. She didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge him.

Jaxon narrowed his eyes slightly. What's with her?

The night before, everything had been normal. No tension, no weird energy. Now, it was like he wasn't even there. He made his way to his seat, taking the one next to her like always.

She didn't react.

He pulled out his tablet, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Still nothing.

Alright. Noted

The classroom was silent as the teacher stepped in, his presence commanding the attention of every student. The walls glowed with soft, ambient lighting, and the digital board behind him flickered to life. Today's lesson wasn't supposed to be controversial. It was meant to be a simple discussion on technological advancements over the centuries—a topic that usually left students feeling proud of their species, basking in the glory of human progress.

The teacher adjusted his stance, his voice carrying the confidence of someone who had taught this a hundred times before.

"From the first fire sparked by early humans to the quantum computing age, we have done what no other known species has accomplished—innovation at a scale beyond imagination. We are the pinnacle of intelligence, the masters of our destiny."

A few students nodded in agreement, some whispering amongst themselves. Selene sat quietly, arms crossed, barely engaged. Her mind was still tangled in the nightmare from the previous night—images of collapsing buildings, screams, and that kiss. She wanted to shake it off, to pretend it had never happened, but every time she looked at Jaxon, it was like the memory tried to force itself back into reality.

Jaxon, on the other hand, sat with an expression that barely concealed his skepticism. His arms rested lazily on his desk, but his mind was razor-sharp, already dissecting the teacher's words before he even spoke.

"Pinnacle of intelligence?" Jaxon finally said, his tone calm but carrying the weight of absolute dismissal. "Are we truly the masters of our destiny, or just creatures stumbling forward, calling every step 'progress' because we don't know any better?"

The class turned toward him. A few students sighed, already knowing where this was headed. Jaxon had a habit of dismantling ideas in a way that made it hard to argue back. The teacher, however, smiled, welcoming the challenge.

"That's an interesting perspective, Jaxon," he said, folding his arms. "But tell me, what other species has built civilizations, explored space, or created artificial intelligence?"

Jaxon leaned forward slightly.

"That depends on how you define intelligence," he replied. "If intelligence is the ability to shape the world around you, then sure, humans have done that. But does that automatically mean we're as advanced as we think we are? Or does it just mean we're the best at manipulating our environment? Ants build civilizations, wolves have social structures, and octopuses show problem-solving skills that surpass many mammals. The difference is, they don't destroy their own habitat in the process."

A murmur spread through the class. Some students exchanged glances, while others smirked, waiting for the teacher's rebuttal.

"You're comparing humans to animals?" the teacher asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm saying we glorify our intelligence without considering the cost," Jaxon said. "Look at the sheer amount of destruction we cause to sustain our 'advancement.' We poison our own water, deplete resources, and build weapons capable of erasing ourselves in seconds. If that's intelligence, then maybe intelligence isn't the prize we think it is."

Selene tense. The mention of destruction made her pulse quicken. Her nightmare resurfaced—flashes of fire, falling debris, people crushed under collapsed buildings. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay grounded.

"You're focusing only on the negatives," the teacher countered. "What about medicine? Space travel? The internet? Our advancements have saved millions of lives and expanded our understanding of the universe."

Jaxon nodded, as if considering it, but then delivered his counter like a precision strike.

"Yet, for all our medical breakthroughs, people still die from preventable diseases. For all our space travel, we remain confined to one fragile planet. And for all our knowledge, we still allow ignorance to thrive. The truth is, humans are not as special as we claim to be. We're just good at writing our own history in a way that makes us feel superior."

The room fell into a heavier silence. The students weren't sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. The teacher, however, was unfazed.

"If humans are so insignificant, then tell me, what species should we look up to?"

Jaxon exhaled. This was the part where he had to filter his words. He couldn't exactly say "I've seen civilizations far beyond your comprehension, entire utopian worlds where intelligence isn't just about survival, but about harmony." That would invite a different kind of problem.

"It's not about looking up to another species," he said instead. "It's about acknowledging that intelligence isn't measured by how much we build, but by how well we understand the consequences of our actions. And by that metric, humans still have a long way to go."

The teacher opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, another voice cut through the tension.

"So what, Jaxon?"

Serene.

She had been silent for most of the conversation, but now she leaned forward, her eyes locked onto his. The emotion in her voice wasn't just about the argument—it was personal.

"Are you saying nothing we do matters? That all human effort is pointless?"

Jaxon turned to her, measuring his words carefully.

"I'm saying that for all our supposed intelligence, we still act like fragile, arrogant beings who refuse to acknowledge how small we really are." He paused. "We celebrate birthdays and New Year's as if we're marking significant achievements, when in reality, we're just spinning in circles on a tiny rock in an endless universe."

Selene clenched her fists under the table.

"Maybe," she shot back, "but that 'tiny rock' is the only home we have. And maybe people need to believe in their own significance to keep going. Not everyone has the luxury of seeing things from above like you do."

Jaxon stared at her, and for the first time, he felt an odd shift. There was something in her words that lingered longer than he expected.

The bell rang, cutting through the moment like a blade. The class was over.

The students stood up, chatting amongst themselves, some agreeing with Jaxon, others dismissing him entirely. The teacher gave him one last glance, somewhere between respect and mild irritation.

Selene didn't say another word. She simply stood, grabbed her things, and walked out.

Jaxon watched her go, exhaling through his nose. He had won the debate, but for some reason, it didn't feel like a victory.