"See you tomorrow."
The words lingered in her mind long after she had left the cramped, fluorescent-lit office of Mr. Henderson. Who had uttered them to her with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"See you tomorrow"
The phrase echoed in Aiko's skull, a grim prophecy wrapped in mundane packaging. It wasn't a question, not even a farewell. It was a statement delivered with absolute certainty, delivered with the bored confidence of a man who knew she would be back tomorrow. Back to the spreadsheets that never balanced, back to the impossible deadlines, back to the soul-sucking grey of Henderson Consulting. Back to being berated for failing to achieve the unachievable; like conjuring a comprehensive market analysis for a client who'd changed their parameters three times yesterday, and even after those changes the client expected it to be finished by the original deadline, which of course was this morning.
And the worst part about that phrase? She knew he was right.
Aiko slumped forward with her forehead pressed against the cool glass of the train's sliding doors, the rumble and bumps of the tracks being transferred directly into her brain. The familiar scent of stale air, disinfectant, and human resignation filled her nostrils.
She pressed her forehead against the cool, grimy window, the city lights smearing into streaks of orange and white as the train rattled onwards. Her reflection stared back; a woman in her mid twenties, dark circles bruising the skin beneath weary brown eyes, her black hair pulled back in a functional but lifeless ponytail. The face of someone perpetually braced for impact.
Why? The question gnawed at her, sharp and relentless. Why did she go back? Day after miserable day. She hated the job with a visceral intensity. She hated the sycophantic colleagues, the pointless corporate jargon, the gnawing feeling of her skills, as fleeting as they were, decaying in this stagnant pool. She hated Mr. Henderson's smug face, his patronizing sighs, the way he called her 'kid' despite being barely fifteen years her senior. Most of all, she hated herself. Hated the naive eighteen-year-old who'd chosen Business Administration because it sounded 'solid' and 'practical.' Hated the terrified graduate who'd grabbed the first job offer like a drowning woman clutching driftwood, only to discover it was actually an anchor. Hated the automaton she'd become, sleepwalking through a life devoid of colour, purpose, or hope. Just⦠existing. Waiting for the next day to begin so she could endure it and wait for the next.
A streak of impossible light sliced across the bruised twilight sky outside the window. It arced high above the cityscape, leaving a faint, shimmering contrail that pulsed with an inner, ethereal glow. Even from this distance, through the grime-streaked glass, Aiko recognized it instantly. A Luminary.
Twenty years ago, the world changed. Not with a bang, but with a shimmering tear in the sky over the Atlantic Ocean. The Verge, they called it. A gateway to dimensions filled with entities humanity could barely comprehend, let alone fight. Salvation, bizarrely, also came from another dimension. From the serene, crystalline beings known as the Celestials. They bestowed power upon chosen young humans, transforming them into the Luminaries: Earth's magical guardians. Eight years ago, Aiko was at the age that Luminaries were usually chosen. Fourteen. Hopeful. Full of impossible dreams.
She fumbled her phone out of her pocket, her fingers clumsy with a sudden, unexpected surge of⦠something. Nostalgia? Longing? Bitter envy? She opened the camera app, zooming in shakily, trying to capture the distant figure. The Luminary, clad in what looked like flowing armour of pure light, banked sharply, disappearing behind a cluster of skyscrapers, presumably towards some rift filled with horrifying monsters. Aiko lowered the phone, the brief video already feeling insignificant. She stared at the blank screen, her reflection superimposed over the darkened glass.
Fourteen. When she was still young and filled with impossible dreams, dreams that she shared with her closest friend, Elara. They were inseparable.
Letting her mind drift into the hazy past, she remembered sitting cross-legged on Elara's narrow bed, surrounded by manga featuring girls with impossibly swirly hair and even more impossible powers. They'd devoured every story, every news report about the Luminaries. They'd practiced poses in front of Elara's mirror, giggling until they cried, waving imaginary wands and shouting made-up transformation phrases. "Starlight Seraphim, Activate!" Elara would yell, striking a dramatic pose. "Cosmic Bloom, Unleash!" Aiko would counter, trying (and failing) to mimic the effortless grace of their heroes.
"We'll be the best team ever!" Elara had declared, her dark eyes sparkling with absolute conviction. She'd grab Aiko's hands, her grip fierce. "We'll be chosen together! Just you wait! We'll fight the big ugly rift-monsters side-by-side! Our names will be in lights!" Elara, always the bolder one, the dreamer who pulled shy, pragmatic Aiko into her dazzling orbit.
Aiko stared down at the dark screen of her phone, closing her eyes. The phantom scent of Elara's room, strawberry shampoo and old paper, seemed to fill the train carriage. When was the last time she'd really thought about Elara? After high school, Elara went to art school in Austin, while Aiko stayed in Boston for her 'practical' business degree.
They'd messaged sporadically at first, then less and less. Life, as it so often did, got in the way. Different cities, different pressures, different worlds slowly forming around them. The vibrant, hopeful girl who talked of magical teams seemed like a character from someone else's story. Aiko hadn't even tried to find her on social media in⦠ages. What was Elara doing now? Did she make it as an artist? Did she find new friends? Was she happy? Did she ever think about their silly, shared dream? Or was Aiko just a dull, mundane blip in her otherwise vibrant life?
The sudden pneumatic hiss and the jarring halt of the train snapped Aiko violently back to the present. The doors directly in front of her slid open with a chime. She blinked, disoriented. People waiting on the platform stared at her. She was standing with one hand loosely holding her phone and blocking the entire doorway like a confused dodo.
Heat flooded her face, burning her ears. "Oh! Oh god! I'm so sorry!" she stammered, scrambling to her feet, fumbling her phone into her bag. She practically fell out onto the platform, mumbling apologies to the stone-faced commuters waiting to board. They brushed past her without a glance. Heart hammering with embarrassment, Aiko stepped off the train and headed for the exits.
At least this is my stop. She thought to herself. Small mercies.
The walk to her tiny apartment was thankfully uneventful, allowing her to return home without further embarrassment. Once within the safe confines of her small, cramped apartment she kicked off her work flats and freed herself from her constricting blazer.
Walking into the only room in her entire apartment (if you didnât count the bathroom) she strolled right past the kitchenette and plopped herself directly onto her futon. Deciding to skip dinner entirely as her appetite had long been swallowed by the aching knot of anxiety in her stomach.
There, seated in her mostly dark and gray room where the only source of color came from a potted plant on the windowsill, a gift from a colleague who had long since left the company, she errantly flipped through channels on the TV in a bid to tire herself to the point where she could sleep.
Her mind barely took in what she was watching. A news report about a minor rift incursion nearby. One that was swiftly dealt with by some local Luminaries. A mindless game show which failed to capture her interest, even though she faintly recalled liking it before.
It was just noise, light, something to occupy the space until exhaustion finally dragged her under. She was just waiting for the day to finally end, all so she could start it all over againâ¦
BANG. BANG. BANG.
A sharp, insistent knocking on her flimsy apartment door pulled her out of her state of stupor. Aiko jolted upright, her heart leaping into her throat.
âWho is itâ¦?â She called out, to no response.
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She rarely had visitors. Was it a delivery? She did order groceries recently, but the delivery was scheduled for Thursday, which she thought was tomorrow. Or had the day been so miserable that she lost count what day of the week it was?
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The knocking resumed, somehow managing to be even louder than before. Whoever was knocking must be getting annoyed at how long it is taking her to answer.
"Coming! Sorry!" she called out, her voice tight, scrambling off the futon. She smoothed her rumpled blouse and skirt, running a hand through her messy hair as she hurried to the door.
Unlocking the deadbolt she pulled the door open, a rehearsed apology already forming on her lips, but it died before it could leave her throat.
Two men who were obviously not from a delivery company stood outside the doorway. Men in identical, sharply tailored black suits. They wore sunglasses despite the dimness of the hallway, and the fact that it was very clearly nighttime.
They were both massive, with necks thicker than her thighs and shoulders that strained the expensive looking fabric. Their faces were almost statuesque in their impassive, radiating an aura of cold, professional menace. Looking like they belonged on a movie set standing guard for some vicious warlord, not standing outside a shabby third-floor apartment.
Aiko froze, her blood turning to ice. Every instinct in her mind screaming 'danger'.
The man on the right, who was marginally less massive than his companion, spoke first. His voice was a low, gravelly monotone, devoid of inflection. "Miss. I need you to come with us."
No. Her immediate response screamed in her mind, but her voice failed to follow through. Fueled by pure terror she tried to slam the door shut, only to be stopped before she even got close.
The man on the rightâ hand shot out and laid his palm flat against the door, stopping it dead after she had barely moved it an inch. The casual display of strength was terrifying.
Before she could scream, the man on the left stepped forward into her home, and smoothly drew a sleek, black pistol from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. He didn't point it at her directly. He just held it in front of her, low and visible. A silent, terrifying addition to his partner's words.
His voice, when he spoke, was colder and flatter than the first man's. "We weren't asking."
Aiko's breath hitched. Her vision narrowed to the black hole of the gun's barrel and in that darkness any thought of resistance evaporated. A whimper escaped her lips. Her mind raced in panicked circles as her imagination ran wild with theories. Were they part of the mob? Yakuza? Oh god, oh god, why? What did I do? She'd never borrowed money, never gambled, never even jaywalked with intent! This had to be a colossal mistake. A case of mistaken identity.
The man with the gun gestured curtly with the barrel. "Out now. Quietly."
Stumbling, her legs trembling violently, Aiko obeyed. She stepped out into the hallway, and the two men followed closely behind her, crowding her. Constantly reminding her they were still there with every heavy footstep.
The man with the gun holstered it smoothly, but the threat remained palpable. The other man kept a firm grip on her shoulder, guiding her firmly but not painfully towards the stairs. Her mind screamed protests, but her body moved on autopilot, numb with terror. Down the creaking stairs, through the silent, grimy lobby, and out into the cool night air. Parked directly in front of the building was a large, unmarked black sedan with tinted windows.
The man whoâd first spoken stepped forward to open the rear door, gesturing for her to 'Get in'. Aiko scrambled inside, collapsing onto the smooth leather seat. The man with the gun slid in beside her, filling the space with his oppressive presence. The other man got behind the wheel, reaching over to engage the door locks which slammed into place with a solid thunk.
"Seatbelt," the man beside her instructed.
Aiko nodded mutely, fumbling with the belt, her fingers shaking so badly she could barely click it into place. Once she did, the car pulled away from the curb with a smooth, silent motion, merging into the late-evening traffic.
Silence pressed down on her, thick and suffocating. The city lights streamed past the tinted windows, and with every passing streetlamp she her normal world slipping away. The man beside her stared straight ahead, radiating impassive vigilance. The other man kept his focus on the road.
"M-mistake," she managed to stammer out, the word barely audible. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak louder, though her voice trembled. "Th-there must be a mistake. You have the wrong person. I'm nobody. I work in an office. I pay my taxes. Please, you've got the wrong person."
The man beside her didn't turn his head to reply, continuing to stare straight ahead as he recited with a flat monotone: "Aiko Tanaka. Resident of apartment 3B, 44 Acorn Street. Employed as Junior Analyst at Henderson Consulting. Graduate of Boston Metropolitan University, majoring in Business Administration." He paused, then finally turned his head slightly. The manâs expression hidden behind his dark sunglasses and unemotive face. "Based on your reaction when I stated your name and address alone, and your current level of visible distress, I am confident we have the correct person."
The cold precision of it extinguished the flicker of mistaken identity hope. They knew everything. This was deliberate. Targeted. The mob boss theory surged back. Henderson had to be involved. It was the only connection that made a shred of sense. Maybe he'd borrowed money, gotten in over his head, and now they were collecting his employees to pressure him? The sheer, terrifying unfairness of it threatened to choke her.
"You have no reason to be frightened, Miss Tanaka," the man driving called out to her. "Our employer merely wishes to speak with you. We were instructed that you were not to be harmed, and those instructions remain in place. Please try to relax, we will be arriving shortly."
It offered her no comfort. Harm could mean many things. And being dragged from your home at gunpoint by men who looked like they bench-pressed small cars wasn't exactly a harmless tea invitation. Aiko shrank back into the leather seat, pressing herself against the door, trying to make herself as small and insignificant as possible.
The city gave way to wider avenues, then to a district of sleek, modern towers. The car glided smoothly into the entrance of an underground parking garage beneath one of the taller buildings on the block, a monolith of steel and tinted glass that somehow managed to look âevilâ. The barrier lifted automatically, the camera mounted at the entrance recognizing the car. They descended several levels into a cavernous, brightly lit, and unnervingly empty level, and the car pulled to a stop near a discreet elevator bank marked 'Private Access'.
The two men got out, with the man with the gun looping to the other side to open the door for her. Aiko unbuckled herself with trembling hands and stepped out, her legs feeling like jelly.
They motioned for her to head towards the elevator, so she did, and as she walked forwards she could feel the two men walking closely behind. Once they reached the elevator one of the men pressed a call button. And after a brief wait the doors slid open silently, revealing a mirrored interior with tasteful gold accents around each pane.
Aiko tried to avoid looking at her own terrified reflection, but that proved difficult when even the floor and ceiling possessed the same reflective quality as the walls.
Once they were all in, the man who'd spoken first pressed a single button marked 'PH' and the elevator ascended with silent, unnerving speed. Aiko's ears popped slightly. The numbers on the display climbing rapidly: 10⦠20⦠40⦠60⦠80â¦
Upon reaching 84 the elevator chimed softly and at their signal the doors slid open.
Aiko stepped out into the most luxurious apartment she had ever seen. They were in a penthouse foyer that stood vast and echoing. With polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of crystalline chandeliers. Abstract sculptures that probably cost more than her lifetime earnings stood on minimalist plinths. The air was cool, filtered, and smelled faintly of expensive leather and cologne. But the most striking feature was the windows. Or rather, the lack of functional windows. Every window in the penthouse was tinted an impenetrable, glossy black. So dark that she couldn't even see the lights of the city through them. No skyline, no stars; just a void, making the room feel like being inside a luxurious, sealed tomb.
The two men guided her wordlessly across the expanse of marble towards a sweeping staircase that led to a higher level. At the top of which was a wide hallway with a set of double doors made of dark, heavy wood. One of the men opened it and gestured for her to enter.
The doors led her into an office that was larger than her entire apartment. Floor-to-ceiling blacked-out windows formed one wall. A massive, modern desk of polished black wood dominated the centre, and right behind that desk sat a man.
She assumed this was the boss of the two men outside, even though he looked nothing like the mob boss she had been imagining on her way over. He looked to be in his late fifties, with close-cropped grey hair and a sharp, intelligent face. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal grey suit paired with a striking red tie. The mob boss regarded her with cool, assessing eyes as she entered, his expression unreadable.
But Aiko's gaze only lingered on him for a couple seconds. Because standing slightly to the side, near a bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes, was someone else. And the sight of her sent a jolt of pure, primal terror through Aiko that dwarfed anything the suited men or the mob boss had inspired.
The figure was undeniably female, slender and dressed in simple, dark clothes that consisted of trousers and a hoodie. But she was unnerving to stare at. Her skin had an unnatural, slightly greyish pallor, like she had smeared it with ash. Her hair was a tangled mess of dark gray hair, with a pair of short black horns poking out from her skull.
But it was her eyes that froze Aiko's blood. They glowed a sickly, pulsing violet light emanating from where her irises should be, casting faint shadows on her high cheekbones. Whilst her sclera was an unnatural shade of black.
Rift-Touched.
The words screamed themselves inside of Aiko's mind. Humans altered by exposure to the chaotic energies bleeding through the Verge, or worse, captured and partially transformed by the monstrous entities from beyond. Twisted, dangerous, enemies of the Luminaries. Mindless monsters in human skin. Fear, cold and absolute, clamped around Aiko's heart. Her mind wondered why such a monster was just casually standing off to the side.
The man behind the desk decided to break the silence. "Well? Is this the girl you were looking for?"
The Rift-Touched woman's head snapped towards Aiko. The violet light in her eyes flared, intensifying, becoming almost painful to look at. But instead of menace, an expression of pure, unadulterated joy spread across her unnaturally pale face. It was a grin too wide, too bright, filled with too many sharp, white teeth.
She nodded vigorously, her tangled hair bouncing. "Yes! Yes, yes, YES!" The voice was high-pitched, breathless, laced with a strange, crackling undertone, yet somehow it sounded hauntingly familiar.
Before Aiko could process why the voice was laced with a touch of familiarity, the Rift-Touched girl moved. Not with monstrous aggression, but with a sudden, explosive burst of childlike enthusiasm. She crossed the vast office in a single heartbeat. Aiko flinched violently, raising her arms instinctively, bracing for the monster to tear into her with its claws.
Instead, slender arms wrapped around her in a fierce, crushing hug. The faint hum vibrated against Aiko's chest. The scent that hit her wasn't decay or ozone, but a bizarre, nostalgic mix of strawberries and something metallic, like old coins.
"It's really YOU!" the girl squeaked, her voice muffled against Aiko's shoulder. She pulled back just enough to beam that unnerving, too-bright smile directly into Aiko's terrified face. The violet eyes pulsed with excitement. "Oh, Aiko! It's been SO long! I've missed you so much! You haven't changed one bit even after all these years!"
Upon hearing it a second time Aiko figured out why the voice sounded so familiar. The sheer, overwhelming, slightly chaotic exuberance cutting through the monstrous appearance. Recognition slammed into Aiko with the force of a freight train, obliterating the terror, leaving only stunned, impossible disbelief.
The violet eyes, the grey skin, the sharp fingertips⦠They framed a face Aiko hadn't seen in almost a decade, but still recognized even after all that time. The shape of the nose, the curve of her lips when she smiled.
"E-Elara?" Aiko breathed, the name escaping her lips in a shocked whisper. The world tilted. The opulent office, the impassive mob boss, the terrifying journey⦠it all receded into a blur. The only thing that existed, impossibly, terrifyingly, wonderfully, was the glowing-eyed, monstrously transformed face of her childhood best friend, beaming at her with pure, unadulterated joy.