Day of sorrow

Dawn broke, but it wasn't the kind of morning Jett was used to waking up to. Gone were the golden rays of sunlight he longed for. Instead, he awoke to a bitter cold that wrapped around him like a second skin. The temperature had dropped so drastically that he could barely feel his fingers. This was new. . . unsettling.

Lilian and John had been up for a while. The comforting aroma of breakfast lingered in the air, and a stack of freshly chopped firewood had been neatly arranged by the door.

"Rough night, huh?" John asked, handing Jett a steaming cup of tea.

"Yeah… I felt the cold creeping in through the night. I didn't think it'd be this bad by morning," Jett replied, his fingers clinging tightly to the warm cup. "I guess it's the result of all the environmental shifts from the Incident?"

"You guessed right," John said, taking a seat at the dinner table where the scent of bacon and eggs filled the room. "It's been getting worse recently. I think it's due to the new creatures now living on this planet. To be fair, their worlds were pulled into this mess too. Maybe most of them are used to cold climates."

Jett nodded slowly, watching the steam rise from his cup. "Mr. Starwyn… can you tell me exactly what happened? Or at least what you know about the Incident?"

Lilian, now finishing the last touches on breakfast, paused for a brief moment before bringing the plates to the table. She glanced at her father, her expression tinged with concern. He met her gaze, gave a small reassuring nod, and turned to Jett. It was clear this wasn't an easy story to tell—for either of them.

John inhaled deeply before speaking, eyes growing distant as if staring through time.

"It was a normal day. The sun was out, birds chirped, and everything in the village felt peaceful. Emily—my wife—was in the kitchen, cooking lunch like she always did…"

His voice softened.

* * *

"Make sure you add just the right amount of salt to the stew, dear,' she said with a smile, laughing as she looked over at Lilian. 'One day, when you make this for your own family, I want to brag that I taught you how to cook like this.'"

Lilian had been focused, scribbling every word down in her recipe journal. She'd learned to cook many dishes, but the stew had always been a challenge for her.

"I'll get it right this time, Mom," she'd said with determination. "Then everyone will know what an amazing cook you are. But I'm warning you—I'm gonna be even better one day."

They'd laughed together. Everything Lilian knew—how to cook, how to keep the home in order, even how to deal with boys—she learned from her mother. She loved her father dearly too, but he made her split firewood and learn how to light fires—things she always groaned about.

Survivability training had been simple for Lilian—she picked up the tasks quickly, her mind sharp and hands steady. What she hated was the repetition. Her father insisted she do everything over and over again until it met his exacting standards, and that constant demand for perfection wore her thin.

"I believe you'll surpass me one day, Lilian. Cooking isn't hard—anyone can learn to follow a recipe. But the ones who truly master it are those who make it their own. Those who push themselves to improve because their heart is in it. That goes for anything in life, not just cooking. . . .Now go get your father. The stew's ready."

Lilian stepped outside, taking in the scenery. The day was beautiful—warm, gentle, almost idyllic. The breeze was light, the sky painted with soft blues and golds. It was the kind of day that practically begged to be spent outdoors.

As she made her way across the yard, she spotted her father approaching the house. But something was wrong. He moved with urgency, his expression tight with fear. Her heart skipped. Had he run into a wild animal? That wasn't uncommon around these parts…

"Lilian, turn back—GO! Get inside, now!"

His voice cracked through the air like a whip. She didn't have time to question it. Her legs responded instinctively, carrying her back to the house in a sprint. She flung open the door just as John barreled in behind her, breath ragged, panic etched into his face.

Emily, startled by the sudden entrance, stepped forward, concern overtaking her features.

"Dad, what happened? Were you attacked by something?" Lilian asked, still breathless.

Emily glanced from her daughter to John. Her eyes narrowed. She knew something was terribly wrong—the way he trembled, the shock in his eyes.

"John, dear, please… sit down. You're shaking. Tell us what happened. Just breathe… and talk."

John slowly obeyed, collapsing into a chair. It took him a few moments to collect himself. Then, in a hushed, uneven voice, he began.

"I was delivering wood to Moonveil Village—like I do every day. Everything seemed normal. The villagers were cheerful… kids playing, mothers cooking, fathers farming. I stopped at

Mrs. Packy Stein's home—she needed extra firewood, with winter just a few days away. I helped her, of course. She's been through a lot lately… her husband passed about a month ago, and she's been lonely."

"She invited me in for tea as thanks. I accepted. We talked about Lilian— And how much she's grown, how proud I am of her. Mrs. Stein said she missed her children. Wished they'd visit more often. You could tell… she just didn't want to be alone."

John paused, eyes distant, lost in the memory.

"When I left, everything still seemed fine. But the deeper into the village I went. . . something felt wrong. I couldn't explain it—just this gut feeling. And then, I reached the end of Farmer Ocean's property… and I saw it."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"A void. Or maybe a portal. Something. . . massive. Hanging in the air like it didn't belong. It pulsed with energy. And things were coming out of it. I couldn't tell what they were. I didn't know if it was dangerous. . . but it didn't feel right. I turned and ran."

"As I moved, I heard screaming. I looked around to see—people floating. Lifted off the ground. Their faces twisted in fear, and before I could even think of how to help—they vanished. One by one. Gone."

John's hands were clenched into fists, knuckles white.

"I didn't stop running until I hit the forest. I climbed the ridge, looked back. . . and the village—all of it—was gone."

He was still trembling. The questions clawed at him—Could I really have helped them? What could I have done?

Emily and Lilian embraced him, each holding tight as if their warmth could steady his shaken core. 

They could see it in his eyes—he wasn't lying. John was a man of few embellishments, and the fear etched into his face told the truth far louder than words. He was grateful to be home, wrapped in the arms of the two people he cherished most—but that didn't stop the guilt. If only I'd done something. . . anything.

Emily gently pulled away and made her way to the kitchen, intent on serving the food she had prepared earlier. Maybe it would help lift the heavy air. Food had a way of softening even the hardest moments.

But just as she crossed the room, her body began to rise—slowly, unnaturally.

John and Lilian froze. They knew what was coming.

John launched from his seat, reaching toward his wife, heart pounding with dread. If I touch her. . . will I vanish too? The question paralyzed him even as he lunged forward.

"It's okay, John. . . I'm fine," Emily said softly, though her voice cracked beneath the weight of pain. Tears streamed down her face. The agony she felt was something beyond comprehension—something no human should endure. But she held back the scream, biting it down for Lilian's sake.

"I love you both so much. John, whatever happens to me—please. Promise me you'll take care of Lilian. I—"

Before she could finish, it was over.

In an instant, she was gone.

The room fell into a deafening silence. John and Lilian stood there, hollow, stunned—knowing deep down what had just happened. Emily. . . had died. The grief came crashing down. Lilian sobbed, her cries raw and jagged. Only moments ago, she was laughing with her mother, promising to surpass her in the kitchen, dreaming of cooking for her one day. Now that day would never come.

John held her close, burying his own anguish for her sake. He was breaking too—but Lilian needed him. She was only nineteen, her birthday a few days away. She trembled in his arms, and he wrapped her tighter, becoming her anchor in a moment of absolute loss.

* * *

Jett sat quietly, watching the pain etched into their faces. This wound isn't old, it isn't something they have had years to make peace with. It's fresh, open, still bleeding, he told himself. Would they ever move on? Does anyone truly move on from something like this?

But something else tugged at his thoughts—questions that couldn't wait.

"Mr. Starwyn," Jett said gently, breaking the silence. "I'm really sorry about your wife. I know what it's like to lose people." He paused before adding "You said yesterday that I was saved by something called. . . Nexus Energy? What exactly is that?"

He glanced down at his plate, the food half-eaten. Lilian was an incredible cook. Would she have left her village and become world-famous if things had been different?

John sighed, his voice low but steady.

"Nexus Energy—some just call it Nexus—is a kind of magic. Everyone in this new world developed after the dimensions fused. Every person has what we call a Nexus Core, but not everyone can access it."

Jett, still chewing, looked up.

"So this Nexus stuff saved me? That means I have a core, right? Maybe I activated it when I passed out?"

John shook his head slowly.

"Yes, it did save you—but your core hasn't activated yet. Not fully. There are five tiers of Nexus users: Dormant, Flicker, Awakeners, Vessels, and at the top. . . Nexusborn."

He paused, taking a bite of the food before continuing, his tone growing more thoughtful.

"You're still a Dormant—just like Lilian and me," John said. "Dormants are the new normal in this world. We've evolved just enough to survive the disaster that reshaped everything. You were saved because your Nexus Core had already started forming before things got worse, even if it was only just a little."

"I see. . . So that's why everyone in my village died," Jett replied quietly. "They didn't have this Nexus Core when the Incident happened."

John nodded solemnly.

"You mentioned four other tiers," Jett continued. "What are they?"

"Ah, yes. The next tier after Dormant is called Flicker. It's when the Nexus Core inside someone begins to expand—"

"Wait," Jett interjected, "how does a Dormant become a Flicker?"

John chuckled softly. "I was getting to that. Flicker isn't really a full tier, but it's often treated like one. Without passing through the Flicker stage, you can't move up. It's the transitional phase where your core starts to awaken and grow."

"I get it. I'll try not to interrupt anymore, Mr. Starwyn," Jett said, sitting up straighter.

"No, Jett. If you've got questions, ask. This stuff is too important to let confusion slide," John replied. "Now, as the Nexus Core begins to expand during the Flicker stage, the energy builds up inside the person. And if it isn't controlled. . ."

He paused.

". . .they blow up."

Jett blinked. "You mean, blow up blow up? Like. . . die?"

Lilian leaned forward, a playful glint in her eye. "Is there another kind of blowing up?"

Jett gave her a mock glare, but it barely hid the grin tugging at his lips. He shook his head, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

"Yes," John said, grounding the moment again. "Blow up as in they die. But if someone can manage the growing energy—if they stabilize it—they survive. . . and ascend to the next tier: Awakener. . ."