Julian lifted his left palm, holding it up into the thin, gray Saturday light. He watched the spot with an intensity that made his eyes ache. He knew the symbol. Even though the skin was clear now, the mysterious of it was etched into the back of his retinas.
With a sharp, grounding exhale, Julian shook his head, forcing his hands to stop trembling. "Stop it," he whispered to the empty room. "It was just a dream. The news, the stress... it's just my brain misfiring." He decided to stop thinking about it. He needed normalcy. He needed the mundane routine of a Saturday morning to wash away the lingering taste of chills and horror.
He pushed himself off the bed, his joints popping, and headed into the cramped bathroom. The mirror was spotted with age, reflecting an ordinary boy with tired eyes. He brushed his teeth with precision, the minty sting of the toothpaste helping to clear the fog from his brain. He splashed cold water on his face—once, twice, three times—until his skin felt numb. He carefully combed his dark hair.
Dressing in his usual faded hoodie, he headed downstairs. The wooden steps creaked under his weight, a familiar music that signaled the start of a real day. As he reached the bottom, the rich, savory scent of browning butter and toasted bread met him, wrapping around him like a warm blanket.
He saw his mom, Sophia Stevenson, standing at the stove. She was the picture of suburban domesticity, her hair tied back in a loose bun, a few stray curls framing a face that was beginning to show the gentle maps of middle age. She was humming a soft, tuneless melody as she flipped sandwiches in a heavy cast-iron skillet.
"Oh, you're awake," Sophia said, not turning around, but her voice brightening at the sound of his footsteps. "I made breakfast for you. You woke up so late I figured my son was finally going to use that day off today, right?"
Julian stopped in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. The sight of his mother in her faded floral apron, moving amidst the cramped kitchen, felt like an anchor pulling him back from the jagged edges of his nightmares.
"Yeah, Mom," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. "I have to use it now. My body feels like it's made of iron." He paused, glancing at the clock on the wall, then back at her. "Mom, if you woke up early... why didn't you wake me up? You know I usually freak out if I'm not at the gates by dawn."
Sophia turned then, a spatula in one hand and a plate in the other. She offered him a smile that was both tender and a little sad, the kind of look that reminded him she saw right through his mask.
"Well," she said softly, "my son has been working far too hard. You've been pushing yourself for months, Jules, not even using that one day off that only comes once a month. I've heard you tossing and turning through the walls. You haven't had a good sleep in longer than I can remember, so I purposely didn't wake you up. The docks can survive one day without you."
Julian watched her as she moved back to the sink, a small knot of concern tightening in his chest. Now that he wasn't rushing out the door, he noticed the details he usually ignored in the morning blur. He noticed the way she moved—a bit slower than she used to, her gait favoring her left side. Her shoulders, once straight and proud, were slightly hunched as if she were perpetually bracing against a wind only she could feel. The light from the kitchen window caught the deep lines around her eyes, mapping out a decade of worrying about bills and bread.
"Thanks, Mom," Julian murmured. He sat down at the small, scarred wooden table, and Sophia placed a plate in front of him.
The breakfast was two homemade sandwiches, golden-brown and steaming, filled with eggs, cheese, and thin slices of ham. They were "filled with love," as she always said—the kind of meal that felt like an apology for the unfairness of their world.
"You should sit down too, Mom," Julian said, pulling out the chair opposite him. "You've been on your feet since before the sun was up. I can smell the laundry from here—did you already finish the whole pile?"
Sophia waved a hand dismissively, though she did take a seat, letting out a soft sigh of relief as she sank into the chair. "Someone has to keep this house from falling apart while you're out. Besides, I like the quiet of the morning."
Julian took a bite, the crunch of the bread and the warmth of the filling bringing a genuine look of satisfaction to his face. For a moment, the cosmic horror of the lunar news and the silver symbols that he dreamt felt like a different lifetime.
"Mom," Julian said between bites, " Since, I'm free today, I'm gonna go see my friends. Today is Saturday. So, Yuri, and Ryon should be at Yuriko café."
Sophia leaned against the counter, watching him eat with a soft smile, though her eyes remained protective. "Okay. But don't be late for dinner, Jules. I'm planning something special, and if you're late, I won't be happy. You know I don't like the house being so quiet when it's dark out."
"I won't be late, Mom. I promise," Julian said honestly, meeting her gaze. "I'll be back before the streetlights even think about coming on."
He finished his meal, kissed her cheek, and headed out. The morning air was crisp, the Rustia sky a pale, clear blue. He headed toward the Yuriko Café, the designated meeting spot.
The café was roughly two miles away, a distance that most people would cover with a quick bus ride or a taxi. But Julian was a stingy person by necessity. Every cent saved on a bus fare was a cent that could go toward the electric bill or a new phone that didn't have a shattered screen. He walked on foot, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, his boots clicking rhythmically on the pavement.
He moved through the lively Saturday scenes of the suburb. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass, that sharp, sweet aroma of severed greenery that always signaled the weekend. Further down the block, a group of kids raced their bikes, the metallic click-clack of their gears echoing off the pavement. Their laughter was bright and piercing, the kind of sound that should have felt joyful.
"Stingy," his friend often called him when Julian refused to split a taxi, but as Julian walked, he felt that every step was a way of reclaiming his own reality. He passed the local park, where a young couple sat on a bench, sharing a pair of headphones. They were wrapped in their own little universe. To anyone else, it was a peaceful morning.
The walk didn't take much time; his pace was brisk, driven by a restless energy he couldn't quite name. As he reached the commercial district, the scenery shifted. The grass gave way to cracked asphalt and the smell of exhaust and cheap frying oil. The Yuriko Café sat on the corner of 4th and Main, its neon sign a beacon of pink and violet light that struggled against the morning sun. The stylized cat on the sign winked at him.
He arrived at the front of the Yuriko Café. He stopped for a second, his boots resting on the threshold of the café. He looked back at the two miles he had just traversed. The neighbors were still washing their cars. The kids were still riding their bikes. The smell of grass was still sweet.
"Peaceful," he whispered to himself, the word feeling heavy and foreign. He checked his watch.
8:03 AM.
The café had opened exactly three minutes ago.
"Perfect timing," Julian said with a nod of satisfaction. He liked precision. It gave him a sense of control in a world that felt increasingly chaotic.
He pushed the door open, the chime of a bell announcing his arrival. The interior was cozy, filled with mismatched velvet chairs and the rich, dark aroma of roasted beans. He was the first customer there, the space quiet and bathed in the soft morning light. He chose a table in the corner, one that gave him a clear view of both the door and the window, and pulled out his phone.
He dialed Ryon's number. Ryon Reeve was a collage student unlike him. They had been inseparable since Grade 6, two outcasts who had found a common language in sarcasm.
"Hey Ryon, I'm at the café. Where are you?" Julian asked the moment the line picked up. He wanted to urge him along; the silence of the café was allowing his mind to drift back to the dream, and he needed a distraction.
"Wait, you're actually free today? The sun must have risen in the west." Ryon's voice crackled through the speaker, accompanied by the sound of a door slamming and heavy breathing. "I'm on my way, man! Keep your shirt on! Or don't, but that's a different kind of morning."
Julian managed a small, weary smile, the first real spark of normalcy since he'd woken up. "Just hurry up. I'm already at the table."
There was a loud, metallic bang as a door slammed shut, followed by the rhythmic, heavy thumping of someone sprinting down a flight of stairs. "I just had to find my car keys—which were, for the record, in the freezer. Don't ask. I'm moving! Give me ten minutes!" Ryon huffed.
"Ten minutes, Ryon. Not ten 'Ryon-minutes,' which actually means twenty," Julian countered.
"Ten actual minutes! I'm practically speeding!" Ryon shouted before hanging up.
Julian set his phone on the table, the cracked screen catching the light. He sighed, leaning back into the chair.
"What would Nya like to order~ Master~?"
The voice was high-pitched, playful, and followed by a deliberate, rhythmic purr. Julian looked up to find a girl standing over his table. She was dressed in a full cat-cosplay outfit—black lace, a frilly apron, and a pair of velvet ears that twitched slightly when she moved. She leaned over, resting her chin on her hands, giving him a practiced, seductive look that was part of the café's "theme."
Julian didn't blink. He was used to the antics of the Yuriko Café; it was the only place in town with cheap enough coffee and a staff that didn't mind them loitering for hours.
"A cup of cat-pechino," Julian ordered, his voice deadpan. He paused, looking past her toward the back of the shop. "Where is Yuri?"
The girl straightened up, twirling a strand of her hair. "Young boss Arima hasn't arrived yet," she replied, referring to Yuri Arima, whose family owned the establishment. "She's usually here by now, but you know how she is—probably lost in a book somewhere."
"Okay. Thanks," Julian said, offering a small, polite nod.
The girl gave a little "mew" and scurried off toward the espresso machine. Julian turned his gaze back to the window, watching the street. He was waiting for Ryon, and he was waiting for Yuri. But deep down, in the quiet spaces of his mind, he felt like he was waiting for something else. Something that was currently hidden in the sky.