Narrator's Voice:
The world didn't always look like this.Once, it had oceans, mountains, forests—whole continents stitched together in a single, solid piece. Gravity was loyal. The ground stayed put.
But that was before the Fracture.
Now, the world drifts. Thousands of broken landmasses float above an endless sky—some small as fields, others the size of ancient kingdoms. No one remembers exactly what shattered the Earth, only that it changed the rules. Islands hover in silence. Time folds in corners. And below it all, an ocean of mist spins forever.
No one knows what lies beneath the mist.
No one who's fallen has returned to tell.
Kael stood alone at the edge of Kairoth Isle, a smaller floating rock among the mid-tier belt of shards, his coat snapping in the dry wind. Below him, there was nothing but rolling clouds and the occasional flicker of light that wasn't sunlight. The sketchbook in his hand flapped restlessly, tethered to his palm by calloused fingers and quiet obsession.
He was drawing again.
Another bridge. This one wider, stronger, arching between Kairoth and a landmass that didn't actually exist.
He hadn't copied it from a map. No such place had ever been charted.
He saw it in his sleep.
As the final line curved into place, the ink on the page shimmered. Just for a second, the image glowed—silver-blue, humming faintly, like the breath of something trying to remember itself.
Then it vanished.
Not faded. Not smudged.
Gone.
Kael let out a breath and closed the sketchbook.
It was the sixth time this month.
The scrapyard behind the central ridge had been their home for the last three years. Piles of twisted metal, fallen tech relics, and abandoned ship frames surrounded a cobbled-together shack of rusted panels and tarpaulin. It smelled of oil, copper, and something always faintly burning.
Zayen Thorne kicked open the generator panel and cursed under his breath. Sparks flew as he pulled out the busted regulator, scalding his gloves.
"That's the third one this week," he grumbled.
The small drone hovering nearby made a series of beeps that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
"Not funny, Koro."
The drone spun in a circle, then blurted out a mimic of Zayen's earlier shout. He sighed.
Kael stepped into view.
"Don't set the shack on fire again," he said.
Zayen looked up, grinning. "No promises."
"You left the coil on full surge."
"Controlled risk."
"Like jumping off the edge with a parachute made of paper."
"That worked once."
Kael shook his head but didn't argue. They weren't like most brothers. They didn't fight over chores or girls or pride. They didn't have anyone else. Their bond wasn't made of words—it was soldered together with survival.
Zayen flicked the edge of the sketchbook Kael was still holding. "Let me guess. The bridge again?"
Kael nodded. "It reacted this time. For a moment, I think it almost became real."
Zayen's smile faded. "Then it's starting."
"What is?"
Zayen stood, brushing grime off his jacket. "Whatever's coming. You've felt it, right? The hum. The pull. The itch in the back of your skull like something's whispering but not in words."
Kael didn't answer. He didn't have to.
He'd felt it for months.
That night, the hum returned—louder.
It came not from the sky above, but from the mist below.
Kael was the first to rise. Something in his bones told him to move. The air felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes, when every hair on your body tries to stand.
He ran toward the cliff's edge. Zayen joined moments later, panting, eyes wide.
They both watched.
A spark.
Faint at first. Then brighter. Blue.
It rose.
Fast.
It spiraled like a comet shot backward, tearing through the mist with impossible grace, straight toward them.
Kael stepped back instinctively.
But the light didn't explode.
It didn't destroy.
It entered.
The blast was soundless, but the impact was everywhere. The sky blinked. The ground shook, humming with raw pressure. Their home crackled with loose energy. Kael collapsed, clutching his chest. Zayen dropped beside him, his hands sparking wildly, arcs of electricity crawling up his arms.
Kael gasped.
Not from pain—but from the surge.
A new beat echoed through him, not of a heart, but something deeper. Rhythmic. Constant. Foreign.
Zayen screamed.
Then silence.
A voice—not spoken, not heard, but understood—rippled through everything.
"Kael Virex. Zayen Thorne. You have been Pulselinked."
Later, when the shaking stopped and the stars returned to normal, the brothers sat under the fractured sky, breathing hard.
Zayen stared at his hands. Electricity danced between his fingers like tame lightning. Kael's chest still glowed faintly beneath his shirt.
"What the hell just happened?" Zayen whispered.
Kael looked at the sketchbook. The bridge had redrawn itself. Fully. Perfectly.
And now… it was glowing.
Narrator's Voice (closing):
The world of drifting islands is full of echoes—of civilizations lost, of energies ancient and half-sentient, of powers that forget they're even waiting.
But every echo needs a voice to respond.
And for the first time in a long time, the sky has remembered something.
Two brothers.
One pulse.
A bond stronger than gravity.