Ikenna stood at the edge of the campus quad, the te afternoon sun casting long shadows across the scarred ndscape. Three weeks had passed since the golden rain, and the world had begun its slow, painful metamorphosis. Some called it evolution. Others, judgment. To Ikenna, who had seen more than any human should through his cascading visions, it was simply inevitable—the cosmic equivalent of a pebble dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward in patterns both beautiful and terrifying.

  The once-pristine wn was now a patchwork of strange growths—grass that had turned a deep metallic blue, small mushrooms that pulsed with amber light, and flowers whose petals seemed to follow passing humans with unsettling attention. University staff had cordoned off sections where the mutations were most aggressive, but these boundaries were meaningless; the pnts simply grew under or through the barriers overnight, their tendrils reaching outward with quiet determination.

  "Hard to believe this was normal a month ago," said a voice behind him.

  Ikenna turned to see Sarah approaching, her steps careful as she navigated the uneven terrain. She looked different now—thinner, with dark circles under her eyes that matched his own. The golden rain had spared her the worst of the fever that had cimed so many, but it had left its mark in other ways. Her movements were more deliberate, as if she had become acutely aware of the space her body occupied.

  "Nothing's normal anymore," Ikenna replied. The words felt inadequate, a pitiful attempt to encapsute the seismic shift in reality they were living through.

  Sarah stood beside him, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the university buildings met the edge of the forest. The trees there had grown taller, their canopies spreading wider, obscuring what y beneath. Occasionally, something would move among them—something too rge to be comfortable.

  "They're saying csses might resume next week," she said, her tone making it clear how absurd she found the idea. "As if we can just go back to learning about developmental psychology while the world falls apart."

  Ikenna nodded, his attention drawn to a small crowd gathered around a student near the humanities building. Even from this distance, he could see what had attracted their interest—the young man was holding a pencil in his outstretched palm, and it was hovering a few inches above his skin, rotating slowly in pce. A minor ability, the kind that had begun manifesting in a small percentage of those who had survived the fever. Useless in practical terms, but a stark reminder of how the rain had changed them.

  "Have you..." Sarah hesitated, gncing sideways at him. "Have you noticed anything different? About yourself, I mean."

  The question hung between them, loaded with implications. Since the rain, people had become both fascinated by and fearful of those who showed signs of change. News reports highlighted "enhanced individuals" with a mix of awe and trepidation, while government agencies quietly monitored social media for reports of new abilities.

  Ikenna swallowed hard, thinking of the visions that had pgued him since recovering from the fever. The flood of images that crashed into his consciousness without warning, showing him fragments of lives he'd never lived, pces he'd never been, futures that hadn't yet unfolded. The way he'd known about Mark's dog without being told. The dreams where he saw through the eyes of creatures that were no longer entirely animal.

  "No," he lied, the word bitter on his tongue. "Nothing unusual."

  Sarah studied his face for a moment too long, her expression unreadable. "Me neither," she finally said, turning back to the twisted ndscape. "I'm one of the lucky normal ones, I guess."

  They stood in silence, the weight of unspoken truths settling between them like sediment. In the distance, campus security approached the student with the floating pencil, their postures tense, hands hovering near the newly issued tasers on their belts.

  "I should head back," Ikenna said, suddenly eager to be alone. "Still have some make-up assignments to finish."

  Sarah nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on the confrontation developing across the quad. "Be careful, Ikenna," she said, her voice soft but intense. "People are scared, and scared people do stupid things."

  He felt a brief impulse to confide in her, to unburden himself of the terrible knowledge that had been accumuting in his mind like pressure behind a dam. But he couldn't risk it—not yet, not until he understood what was happening to him. Instead, he simply nodded and turned away, feeling her gaze on his back as he walked toward his dorm.

  The residence halls had been transformed in the wake of the golden rain. What had once been a pce of casual socializing and the everyday chaos of college life was now a maze of makeshift isotion rooms and impromptu medical stations. Many students had fled back to their families when the first cases of post-rain fever had appeared, leaving entire floors vacant. Those who remained moved with caution, eyeing each other with a wariness that had repced the easy camaraderie of before.

  Ikenna kept his head down as he navigated the corridors, avoiding eye contact with the two security guards stationed at the entrance. They were checking IDs more rigorously now, watching for signs of "concerning behavior" as directed by the hastily established National Enhanced Individuals Registry Act.

  His room was empty when he arrived, Mark having been released from the campus medical center two days prior to recover at his parents' home. The absence of his roommate should have been a relief—one less person to hide his emerging abilities from—but instead, the solitude felt oppressive, magnifying the strange vibrations that seemed to fill the air since the rain.

  Ikenna sank onto his bed, releasing a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His notebook y on the desk where he'd left it, pages filled with frantic scribbles documenting the visions that came to him with increasing frequency. Most were chaotic fragments—a scientist examining a sample of golden rain under an electron microscope, a farmer watching in horror as his cattle began to change, military personnel arguing over response strategies to "Exigene threats." But some were clearer, more focused, as if the universe were deliberately showing him pieces of a puzzle he was meant to solve.

  He reached for the notebook, flipping through the pages until he found the sketch he'd made the night before. It showed three figures standing together—himself in the center, fnked by two others whose features he couldn't quite capture. The woman on his left seemed to be holding something—a book, perhaps, or an artifact of some kind. The man on his right was taller, his form surrounded by what Ikenna had drawn as swirling patterns, geometric shapes that seemed to shift even on the static page.

  Allies. That much he'd gathered from the vision. People like him, changed by the rain but in different ways. People he was destined to meet, though the when and how remained frustratingly elusive.

  Ikenna closed the notebook and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. The headache that had become his constant companion pulsed behind his temples, a dull throb that intensified whenever a new vision approached. He had learned to recognize the warning signs—the way sounds became muffled, the slight metallic taste on his tongue, the sensation of the air thickening around him. It was happening now, the familiar pressure building as the world began to blur at the edges.

  He didn't fight it this time. Instead, he let himself sink into the vision, surrendering to the pull of whatever fragment of reality was reaching out to him.

  The transition was jarring, as always. One moment he was sitting on his bed, the next he was standing in a sterile boratory, the air sharp with antiseptics and fear. Through the eyes of a woman in a white coat, he watched as she adjusted a microscope, her hands steady despite the tension evident in her shoulders. On the screen beside her, complex molecur structures rotated in three dimensions, patterns that pulsed and shifted in ways that defied conventional physics.

  "The Strataforce energy doesn't just repair damaged cells," she was saying to someone outside Ikenna's limited field of vision. "It optimizes them. It's rewriting human biology on a fundamental level, but the effects vary wildly from subject to subject. Some experience dramatic changes, while others show no external signs at all."

  "And the animals?" came a male voice, heavy with authority. "What about the reports from North Carolina?"

  The scientist hesitated, her heartbeat accelerating. Ikenna could feel her fear as if it were his own, a cold weight in the pit of her stomach. "The Berkshire pig—what they're now calling the Steelback Titan—represents an exponential amplification of the Strataforce energy. Our readings indicate levels exceeding 2,000, far beyond anything we've observed in human subjects. It's not just growing; it's evolving at an unprecedented rate. And it's not alone."

  The vision shifted, fracturing into a kaleidoscope of images that Ikenna struggled to process. A massive goril perched atop a skyscraper in Chicago, its skin gleaming silver in the sunlight. A herd of cattle with glowing eyes charging through the streets of a small town, buildings crumbling in their wake. Military helicopters circling the ruins of what had once been a sughterhouse, their spotlights casting stark shadows across the blood-soaked ground.

  Then—darkness. A void so complete it seemed to swallow all sound, all sensation. In this darkness, Ikenna became aware of a presence, vast and alien. It didn't speak—at least not in words—but he could feel its attention focused on him, studying him with cold curiosity. It was searching for something, probing the edges of his consciousness like fingers testing the strength of a barrier.

  Just as the pressure became unbearable, a new image crystallized in his mind. A map of the United States, red dots pulsing across its surface like wounds. Each dot represented an Exigene threat, clusters forming in the southeast, the midwest, and along the west coast. But there was something else—faint golden threads connecting certain points, like a web being woven across the continent. At the center of this web, a single location glowed brighter than the rest: a small town in Nevada he'd never heard of.

  The vision colpsed suddenly, leaving Ikenna gasping on his bed, body drenched in cold sweat. His heart hammered against his ribs, and the taste of metal coated his tongue, sharp and acrid. The headache had intensified to a blinding pain, forcing him to press the heels of his hands against his eyes until white spots danced in the darkness.

  When the pain finally receded to a manageable throb, he fumbled for his notebook, hands shaking as he scrawled what he'd seen. The location in Nevada burned in his memory like a brand—Meridian's Crossing. A pce he had never been, never even heard of, yet now felt inexorably drawn toward.

  He was still writing when a sharp knock at his door made him jump, scattering papers across the floor. His first instinct was to hide the notebook, shoving it under his pillow before calling out, "Who is it?"

  "Campus security," came the response, the voice clipped and official. "Room inspection."

  Ikenna's pulse spiked. Room inspections weren't unusual in the current climate—supposedly looking for contraband rain samples being sold on the bck market—but the timing felt ominous. He gnced around frantically, making sure nothing incriminating was visible, before opening the door.

  Two men in the dark blue uniforms of campus security stood in the hallway. The older one, whose name badge identified him as Officer Garrett, offered a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Mr. Eze? We're conducting routine wellness checks on students who were hospitalized with post-rain fever. May we come in?"

  Ikenna hesitated, then stepped aside. There was no legitimate reason to refuse, and doing so would only raise suspicions. "Of course," he said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than it felt.

  The officers entered, their gazes sweeping the room in practiced assessment. The younger one immediately began opening drawers, while Garrett turned to Ikenna with a clipboard.

  "According to our records, you were among the first group of students affected by the fever. Three days unconscious, is that correct?"

  Ikenna nodded, watching the second officer rifle through his belongings with barely concealed unease. "Yes, but I've recovered fully. No complications."

  "Good to hear," Garrett said, making a note on his clipboard. "We're particurly interested in any unusual symptoms or... changes you might have experienced since your recovery."

  The way he emphasized "changes" made Ikenna's skin crawl. This wasn't a wellness check; it was a screening for enhanced individuals. He kept his expression neutral, shrugging slightly. "Nothing unusual. Just tired, still catching up on missed csses."

  Garrett hummed noncommittally, eyes narrowing as they fixed on Ikenna's face. "We've been instructed to note any reports of headaches, sensory disturbances, or periods of disorientation. Have you experienced any of these symptoms?"

  Before Ikenna could respond, the younger officer spoke up. "Sir, take a look at this." He was holding several pages torn from Ikenna's notebook—sketches and notes about the visions, including the map with Meridian's Crossing marked prominently.

  Garrett took the pages, scanning them with growing interest. "Care to expin these, Mr. Eze? These look like reports of enhanced activity, locations of Exigene sightings."

  Ikenna's mouth went dry. "It's just a creative writing project," he said, the lie sounding hollow even to his own ears. "Post-apocalyptic fiction. I'm taking a css on specutive writing."

  "Is that so?" Garrett's tone made it clear he didn't believe a word. "And this location in Nevada—Meridian's Crossing—that's just part of your story too?"

  "Yes," Ikenna said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Just world-building."

  The officer studied him for a long moment, then handed the pages back to his colleague. "Well, your 'world-building' includes some remarkably accurate details about cssified Exigene sightings." He made another note on his clipboard. "The university has a responsibility to report any students showing signs of enhancement or unusual knowledge of national security concerns. For your own safety, of course."

  The threat was thinly veiled, but Ikenna understood it perfectly. They suspected something, but didn't have enough evidence to take action—yet. He forced himself to meet Garrett's gaze, saying nothing.

  After a tense silence, Garrett snapped his clipboard shut. "I think we're done here. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Eze. We'll be in touch if we have any further questions." He gestured to his colleague, who reluctantly set the pages down on the desk before following him to the door.

  At the threshold, Garrett paused, turning back with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "One more thing—the university is offering specialized counseling for students struggling with post-rain adjustment. I'm going to recommend you for the program. For your own wellbeing."

  Ikenna nodded mechanically, relief at their departure warring with the cold dread settling in his stomach. As soon as the door closed behind them, he locked it and leaned against the wall, his legs suddenly too weak to support him. His hands shook as he gathered the scattered pages of his notebook, mind racing.

  They knew something—or at least suspected. The "specialized counseling" was almost certainly a monitoring program for potential enhanced individuals. He had days, maybe only hours, before they came back with more questions, more "wellness checks" that would inevitably lead to his registration with the National Enhanced Individuals Registry.

  And then what? The news had been full of stories about "voluntary research participation" for those with more significant enhancements. No one knew exactly what happened to those who volunteered, but Ikenna had caught glimpses in his visions—sterile rooms, endless tests, faces hollow with exhaustion and fear.

  He stuffed the notebook into his backpack, along with a few essential items of clothing and his ptop. The decision crystallized in his mind with sudden crity. He couldn't stay here, waiting to be catalogued and studied like a specimen. Whatever his visions were leading him toward, he needed to follow that path freely.

  Meridian's Crossing, Nevada. The golden threads connecting the dots on the map. The two figures who appeared again and again in his visions—allies he had yet to meet. It all pointed to something bigger than himself, a purpose he was only beginning to understand.

  His phone vibrated with an incoming text. It was from Sarah: Security just left my room. Asked weird questions about you. What's going on?

  Ikenna stared at the message, a pn forming in his mind. Sarah had a car—an old Honda Civic that had survived the chaos of the past weeks. She had been there when the rain fell, had shared that moment with him. If anyone might understand, might help him without asking too many questions, it would be her.

  Need to talk, he typed back. Not here. Meet me at the edge of the south lot in 20 minutes. Please.

  He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then continued packing. Whatever was waiting for him in Nevada, he needed to find it before the authorities found him. The visions hadn't shown him a complete picture yet, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear—time was running out, not just for him, but for everyone.

  As he zipped up his backpack, Ikenna felt the familiar pressure building behind his eyes, the prelude to another vision. But this time, instead of fighting it or surrendering completely, he tried something new—he reached for it, mentally grasping the incoming images like threads he could weave together.

  For a dizzying moment, his consciousness split. Part of him remained in his dorm room, hands gripping the straps of his backpack; another part floated free, soaring across a ndscape that rushed beneath him like a river of possibility. He saw roads stretching westward, cutting through deserts and mountains. He saw the Steelback Titan growing rger, its army of evolved pigs spreading destruction across the southeast. He saw military vehicles converging, weapons that glowed with unnatural energy being readied for deployment.

  And then, with crystal crity, he saw two people walking through the dusty streets of a small town, their faces finally coming into focus. A young Asian woman carrying an ancient book, her fingers tracing symbols that shimmered with golden light. And beside her, a tall man whose skin seemed to ripple with shifting patterns, abstract concepts taking momentary physical form around him as he moved.

  They were waiting for him in Meridian's Crossing. Somehow, they knew he was coming.

  The vision released him gently this time, leaving him gasping but clear-headed. He scribbled their faces in his notebook with newfound precision—allies whose names he didn't yet know, but whose destinies were intertwined with his own.

  Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Ikenna took one st look around the room that had been his home for the past year. It felt like saying goodbye to more than just a physical space—it was farewell to the life he had known, the person he had been before the golden rain changed everything.

  Whatever y ahead, there was no going back. The world had entered a new chapter, and somehow, for reasons he still didn't fully understand, he was meant to py a role in how the story unfolded.

  With that thought solidifying in his mind like a promise, Ikenna turned and walked out the door, closing it softly