As if to defy the summer season, the Thursday dawn is curtained by dark, storming clouds, yanked in suddenly just before the sun woke up.

A transparent umbrella protecting him from the worst of it, Donovan hurriedly jogs to the school building, his feet sinking into puddles of water as his sole shield from the downpour is beaten at by the violent hammers of the rain.

It's not like he hates the rain, he reasons to himself as he slides past the school doors, accompanied by the wet breeze behind him and rain water hitting the floor. The other students, taking off their shoes and looking through their lockers, throw him a surprised glance- he had run here all the way from the station, so he was decidedly earlier than he usually was.

Ms. Lovella would likely hit him to check if he was actually real.

Humming as he skips through the halls, Donovan glances at the storm outside from the wide-windows of the second floor. Its wrath brewed over the whole city, swirling dark and grey split by vivid blue lightning, casting a shadow over every nook and cranny, like a strolling overlord demanding it be known.

Thunder knocking against the school walls, Donovan yawns, the back of his hand pressed to his face as he slips into class. Maybe, in respect to the vicious force of nature ruling over them today, the school would close early. He'd like to get a couple more hours of rest in- or at least a couple more hours of reading.

He'd gotten horribly close to finishing a novel last night, but had to end it just before the last few chapters as midnight struck. He never stayed up past midnight anymore.

His classmates were strewn about the room- Leo was perched aginst Violet Gold's desk again. It had become this unnatural sight since Tuesday, the two of them hanging around each other as if they'd been doing it their whole lives. Leo's pale cheeks weren't even dusted with red; it was eerie.

"Hey Nova," a voice squeaks, cheery and bright.

Donovan winces at her volume, ignoring her.

He plops into his seat, pulls a book out of his bag and lays it on his desk- only to stop as someone's legs slide into his view as they hop onto his desk.

"Hello? I said hi!" She complains, tapping a pink nail against his desk.

Donovan plops the book on top her legs, beginning to read.

"H-hey!" She says, grabbing the book from him and shutting it with a snap, a scowl framing her pink lips. "You're ignoring me."

He blinks, looking left and right before up at her, his gaze sliding over pale pink curls to vivid pink roots.

"Were you talking to me?" He asks, eyes wide, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize. What's up, Star?"

Her eyes narrow, "I said your name! You're not that dumb."

"Should have used my *actual* name. I'm selectively deaf," he says, reaching out with both hands to take his book.

She lifts it over her head, and his hands dart backward- the last thing he wants is for her to slam his thick fantasy tome on his head. While he wouldn't mind getting out of school, he didn't want it to be because of a concussion.

"Nova *is* your name-"

"Nova is the name of a two-bit stripper in Vegas," he counters, lips thin.

"It fits so perfectly with Star!" She says, rolling her eyes, "Donovan sounds like the name of an old grandpa." As if an agreement, a blast of thunder rocks outside, the world seemingly shaking at the sound.

The class decidedly ignores it.

"Alas, then it seems like we cannot be friends; the age gap is too big to bridge." His words drip all the emotion of an eighty-year old saint delivering demonic sermons to a group of bloodthirsty cannibals in winter in a disease-ridden rainforest. As someone who'd heard that sermon, he was confident in replicating that bastard's tone.

"Ugh, you even talk like an old person," she says, rolling her eyes *again*, "Nova and Star would make a lovely duo."

"What kind of duo?" asks Frey, perching himself onto his desk facing the pair. His green hair, usually neat and parted, runs wet strands down his face, droplets dripping to the floor. Wordlessly, Donovan digs into his bag and hands him a pile of pocket tissues.

"Oh, I don't know- karaoke!"

"I don't sing." Donovan counters.

"Figure-skating?"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"I'd rather get hypothermia."

"Olympics?"

"Do they have duo competitions?"

Star pauses, thinking.

"I think so. If not," Frey glances at Star, a mischevious sparkle in his eyes. Donovan immediately leans away. "you could always use her as a disc to throw."

Silence reigns between them for a second, and the storm takes the moment to let out another roar, a spear of lightning striking the clouds beyond the window.

"Are you making a flat joke, Frey?" Star asks finally, sounding incredibly unimpressed.

"Low-hanging fruit." Frey shrugs, unrepentant.

"Someone has to take them," Donovan agrees, leaning back in. He'd thought Frey was going to say something far worse than that.

The guy had a real talent for pissing people off. Donovan could relate; he'd done the same thing plenty of times in Aureole.

"Anyway, what's wrong with Nova?" Star says, the full force of her purple glare resting on him, "Accept it! It's been a year, I'm not gonna drop it."

Donovan sighs, Frey snickering at his misfortune. "Star, it makes me sound like either an intergalactic superhero or a prostitute. Maybe both. Please spare me."

"Never!" She declares, slamming the book onto her lap. "If you call me Star, I call you Nova."

"Fine then, Priscel--"

"What was that?"

"...Star."

She grins, "Nice to meet you, Nova!"

Privately, Donovan decides to wait a couple days before tackling the subject again.

"By the way, did you guys hear about what the Occult Club did on Tuesday?"

Donovan frowns, turning to face Frey as he rakes through his memory.

"...Some weird summoning thing, wasn't it? I saw the posters."

"Mm-hmm," Frey says, nodding, clearly pleased to have obtained both their attention, "Serena, Patek-"

"Theo Patek?"

"Yeah, yeah, him- and Kleo and Lenin. They did this whole weird sermon thing in the library, with candles and everything."

"Scented?" Star asks, glancing at the foursome sitting near the front.

"Uh, maybe?" Frey shrugs, "Anywa-"

"What scent do you think they used?" She asks, tapping her chin.

"I don't know, pumpkin?" Frey huffs, waving the question away, "So-"

"Nah," Donovan says, "They're demons; they should've used something sweet, like vanilla or chocolate."

"Demons don't like vanilla or chocolate, stop changing the subjec-"

"They're hedonistic, desserts are their thing."

Star sniffs, handing the book back to Donovan as she slips off the desk, "Well, if I wanted to attract a demon, I'd use a woman's perfume, or somethin' spicy."

Frey wrinkles his nose, "Don't leave, I was still talking! And stop distracting me!"

"Oh," Star glances at the clock, then jumps back on to Donovan's desk. He places the book back on her lap.

"Anyway, rumour is, this big storm is because of their ritual, and..." he leans in, dropping his voice to a whisper, "something is going to happen before school ends today."

Him and Star share a glance, and then look at Frey.

"Nah, not gonna happen."

"Yeah, not buying it, sorry."

"Guys! Come on! This is cool!"

The day ends stormy and miserable, but nothing out of the unusual happens at all; all the students return home safely.

----------------------------------------

Donovan, scribbling on a notebook in the last period of the day, lets his mind drift. It's the end of the week, and he really can't be bothered to pay anymore attention to Calculus.

Instead, his thoughts turn down an old path- is this... really his life now?

The shining sun outside the window. The modern sprawl of skyscrapers as his home, the constant hum of electricity crackling through the air. Pristine clothes and air conditioning, cute dogs and cats, fast food and cafes with friends. Video games and movies and college, academics and peace and--

His finger twitches.

And weaponless.

He doodles a house on his notebook, rickety and old, slanted wood planks framing a messy stone rectangle, arcing windows dotting the front like an afterthought.

It had been his choice to come back here- he'd spent thirty years in Aureole, crawling his way up the brutal ladder of power, just to open a way back home for himself. At the time, when he'd ripped apart the void, he'd done it without hesitation, plunged in without a look back.

But still... he was only human, no matter what memories he had. Vener didn't run through his veins and etra didn't lounge in his mind. He couldn't be sure of his choice.

He was purely a regular person now, and not the mountain-breaking, sky-ripping sovereign of power he'd been.

He was just ordinary Donovan.

He hums, drawing a little him in front of the building.

That wasn't so bad. Modern life was fun- at the very least, he didn't have to worry about things like world-ending catastrophes around every corner.

"Hey," someone pokes his shoulder from the right, "Class is over," They say quietly, tucking their books back into their bag as they zip it up.

"Oh." He says, rubbing his eyes, "Thanks, Zona."

"No worrie--"

Donovan stands up, his chair crashing against the desk behind him. Wide-eyed, he scans the classroom, a thick, acidic wave of anxiety roiling through his body.

Frey stands up, hands raised, trying to calm him down, a flicker of worry crossing his gaze as the rest of the class slowly backs off, throwing him startled, wide-eyed looks of concern and fear, "Donovan, hey, what's u--"

A bang shakes the classroom, making them all jump, half of them making for the door and the other half seeking safety under the desks or standing shock-still, frozen, as screams shatter through the air- before anyone can make it out, tendrils of purple light lit up the floors, the walls, the windows.

Silence. Like all the noise has been sucked out of the world.

No one moves or breathes as they watch this odd, thin energy snake the classroom, circling beneath their feet, like some living 2D creature groping for its prey.

Gulping, Star tries the lock, only to hear it click- it's shut, locked.

Donovan twitches, slamming his foot down on the light, lips twisted in frustration. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

It's not the method he's used to, but this feeling, a faint buzz running through his body, is just far too familiar. His heart runs wild against his chest as the reality of the situation sinks in, the purple light growing brighter and brighter.

His classmates seem to have regained their senses as they scream and plea and beg, throwing chairs against the windows in a bid to escape. Donovan shoves his hands in his pockets, ignoring them.

It was pointless.

"Not this fucking shit agai--"

In a blink, the light recedes into a singular point in the center of the class. In a burst of purple light that burns through the room, scorching the walls and the chairs and smashing through the windows, the class disappears.

On April 20th, on an otherwise normal and average day, twenty-seven people go missing following a city-wide blackout.