DAWN
The crowd roared like thunder.
“To the left—he dribbles past the midfielder—nutmegs the defender—he’s unstoppable tonight!”
The commentator’s voice boomed through the packed stadium as Jim Parker danced across the pitch like he owned it. The ball stuck to his feet as if the laws of physics bent for him alone. He cut inside, dodged two sliding tackles, and lifted his chin.
“Parker... one on one with the keeper...”
A hush fell over the stadium. Millions of eyes watched. Billions held their breath through their TV screens.
Jim smiled. Just a small curl of confidence at the corner of his lips. He chipped the ball over the diving keeper—GOAL!
The stadium erupted. Fireworks split the night sky. Flags waved, fans screamed his name.
“Parker has done it again! Five goals in a single match! Six World Cups! Sixteen Ballon d’Ors! The greatest footballer the world has ever known!”
His teammates hoisted him into the air. Confetti rained down. Cameras flashed, capturing the legend of Jim Parker for eternity.
He raised his arms, drinking it in—the love, the glory, the immortality.
And then—
“MISTER PARKER!”
The stadium vanished in an instant.
Jim blinked. The roar of the crowd was gone, replaced by the droning hum of a ceiling fan and the sharp stink of chalk. Instead of a stadium, he was staring at Mr. Henderson’s crimson face, the man’s mustache twitching like an angry caterpillar.
“Do you mindnotdreaming your ridiculous little fantasies in my class, boy!?” Henderson barked, his knuckles white around a piece of chalk.
A ripple of laughter went through the room. Jim sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes. “Huh? Oh—I... I’m sorry, Mr. Henderson...”
“Sorry?” Henderson’s eyes narrowed. “This is thetwentieth timethis week I’ve caught you sleeping. Do you not have a bed at home, Parker?”
The class chuckled again. Jim’s ears burned. He mumbled, “I was studying all night, sir. That’s why—”
“Enough with the lies!” Henderson’s voice cut like ice. “One more time and you’ll find yourself outside the principal’s office. Do I make myself clear?”
Jim nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Henderson turned back to the board, muttering under his breath about “lazy dreamers” and “wasted youth.”
Jim slouched low in his chair, wishing he could disappear. His dream—his perfect world—had crumbled in seconds. The stadium cheers still echoed faintly in his head, mocking him.
From the desk beside him, Mark leaned over with a grin. “You really can’t stand history, can you?”
Jim smirked weakly. “I’ll never understand how you all stay awake. His lectures are like... watching paint dry. In slow motion.”
“History is fascinating. You’re just weird,” Mark teased.
“Yeah, right.” Jim rolled his eyes.
The bell shrieked. Relief swept through the classroom like a gust of wind. Backpacks zipped, chairs scraped, students bolted for the door.
Jim stretched, grateful for freedom. Mark slung his bag over his shoulder. “Hey, I just got a new football. Want to test it out after school?”
Jim’s grin returned. “Do you even have to ask?”
The afternoon sun hung low, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. Jim and Mark strolled side by side, football talk dominating their every step.
“Cristiano clears Messi, Mark. I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Jim declared, spinning his hands as if he were already analyzing tactics on a whiteboard.
Mark snorted. “No, he doesn’t. Leo is way better than Ronaaaldo.” He exaggerated the name, dragging it out in a mocking sing-song.
Jim shoved him with his shoulder. “Blasphemy.”
Mark shoved him back, laughing. “Facts.”
They kept at it, volleying arguments the way they volleyed a ball—fast, sharp, endless. Their voices filled the street, bouncing off the old brick walls.
But then—Jim’s laughter died.
Ahead, on the crossing, a frail woman shuffled across the road, her shopping bags dangling heavily from her arms. The world seemed ordinary for a heartbeat—until the growl of an engine split the calm.
A truck came barreling down the lane. Too fast. Too close. The driver hadn’t even seen her.
Jim’s breath caught.
“Mark—”
The woman froze like a startled deer.
Jim’s body moved before his mind caught up.
“JIM, WAIT—!” Mark’s voice cracked, but it was already too late.
Jim sprinted into the road, every muscle firing at once. The truck’s horn blared, a deafening scream, but he lunged forward, wrapped his arms around the woman, and yanked her out of the path just as the truck thundered past—mere inches away.
The wind slammed into him. Tires screeched. Time stuttered back into motion.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Jim’s chest heaved. His pulse roared in his ears.
“Uh... are you okay, ma’am?” he managed, his voice shaky.
The woman clutched his arm, trembling. “I... I’m fine. Thanks to you.” Her voice was faint, choked with fear. She gave him a look—half shock, half gratitude—and hurried away without another word.
Jim stood there, heart hammering.
Then Mark stormed up to him, face pale. “What thehellwas that, dude?!”
Jim blinked, still dazed. “What?”
“You could’ve killed yourself!” Mark’s voice cracked, equal parts anger and panic.
“I couldn’t just... let her get hit by the truck.” Jim rubbed the back of his neck, his tone awkwardly calm. “Now c’mon.” He started walking as if nothing had happened.
Mark gawked at him, then narrowed his eyes. “...I’m snitching.”
Jim frowned. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“I’m telling Miss Parker,” Mark said, smug but shaken.
“You won’t.”
“I would.”
Jim groaned. “Traitor.”
But Mark only smirked, though the fear hadn’t fully left his eyes.
By the time they reached the corner where their paths split, the weight of what just happened still lingered. They exchanged a wave goodbye—casual, almost forced—and parted ways.
Jim walked slower now, silence pressing in. His hands shoved deep into his pockets, his thoughts heavy.
That reckless dive, that desperate need to help—it wasn’t new. It wasn’t random.
It was his father.
He could almost hear the man’s voice, warm and steady:“If you can help, you don’t hesitate. Not ever.”
Jim swallowed hard, staring at the pavement. His father had died when he was six, yet the echoes of him lived on in moments like this.
Every time Jim saved someone, every time he stepped in without thinking, it was like chasing a shadow of the man he’d barely known.
He whispered into the evening air, “I wish you were here so I could tell you what I did today.”
The street was unusually quiet as Jim cut through the park, the shortcut he always took home. The air was still, almost heavy, and for a moment he thought maybe it was just the weight of what happened on the road pressing down on him.
Then it came.
A thunderousBOOM!split the evening sky. The ground shuddered beneath his sneakers, birds exploded out of the trees, and a flash of light seared across the horizon before crashing into the far side of the park.
Jim froze, wide-eyed. Smoke curled upward, tinted with a faint glow of blue.
“...What the hell was that?” he whispered.
Every rational thought screamed at him to turn back, to go home, to forget this ever happened. But his feet carried him forward anyway, crunching over grass and broken branches. His chest pounded—not with fear exactly, but with something stranger. Curiosity.
He pushed through the clearing and stopped dead.
There, half-buried in scorched earth, was no meteor, no wreckage—just a single object, glowing faintly in the settling smoke.
An amulet.
Its surface shimmered with impossible light, veins of silver running through the gemstone at its center. Blue fire pulsed inside it like a heartbeat.
Jim’s mouth went dry.
The air around him vibrated, low and guttural. The closer he stepped, the louder it became—until a voice thundered directly into his skull.
"Jim Howard Parker."
The sound wasn’t human. It was ancient, deep, like stone grinding against stone, echoing through him rather than around him.
Jim staggered back, his breath hitching. “Wha—what the—”
The amulet pulsed again, as if waiting. Calling.
Panic surged through him. Police sirens wailed faintly in the distance—headed this way. His instincts screamed louder than the voice did. He lunged forward, snatched the amulet, and shoved it into his bag.
Then he ran.
Leaves snapped beneath his feet as he tore through the park, lungs burning, heart racing. By the time he stumbled onto the quiet streets near his house, he hadn’t once looked back.
But back in the clearing, unseen by human eyes, the smoke curled into shape. A silhouette lingered in the haze, watching the direction Jim had fled.
Its voice was a whisper, low and dangerous.
"It chose... a human?"
