She glows. Violet and gold streaks swirl around her—not metaphorically, but literally. Tiny orbs of light spiral through the air, like living atoms, each pulse a heartbeat of the universe itself.
Aether, in a purple hoodie and yellow headphones, freezes at the red light, one foot on the curb of White Ladies Road, steadying his bike. The thick, humid air fills his lungs—cold, heavy. For a second, the world seems to pause. Cars blur, moving in slow motion; people move like shadows. Then his attention is caught—by a shimmer. Tiny orbs of light, brighter than stars, swirl around her, reaching for him. A sudden waft of cinnamon fills the air, the same hue as the exposed skin on her cheeks.
His chest tightens, an invisible thread pulling him toward her, but then—a blaring car horn shatters the moment. His heart pounds. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog.
Did he really just see that?
He looks around. The world carries on as usual—no one frozen, no one staring at invisible light. Helix is already babbling about something, his voice distant, muffled in Aether’s ears.
But Aether’s skin still hums with that strange, familiar vibration.
The woman in the heavy olive coat and turquoise scarf still stands out from the crowd. For a brief moment, he felt balance. But now that the moment is over, life presses down, its weight palpable on his chest. He doesn't realise it yet, but something ancient has returned. Something melanistic, a light older than time itself, coming back to Earth after a long galactic journey.
A voice inside whispers, “You’re not seeing with your mortal eyes anymore.”
Aether hears it clearly. But decades of doubt scream louder, telling him to keep quiet. Not even Helix Stone, his friend and colleague, can know.
Helix glances over, catching Aether’s fixed gaze. He assumes the woman caught his eye, noting the way his face softens with awe. She must have “it,” he thinks. The shine, the thing that makes Aether’s always pointing out. Helix doesn’t ask, and Aether doesn’t answer. The doubt inside him is too loud, too consuming.
As Aether watches, Helix’s attention shifts to a black-hooded figure tagging a nearby wall. Not just any graffiti—this is the now-iconic MONAD symbol. The same seven-circle pattern, six around one, all linked in perfect symmetry.
The wet air turns into a light drizzle, collecting on his lenses. The sharp scent of aerosol cuts through the air, mixing with the noise of the spray can. Helix doesn't know it yet, but the original artist, Mensa, works in the same building as them. The geometric symbol stirs something in him—nostalgia, perhaps, or hope—but he doesn’t know why.
Even from here, Helix hears the high whine of a Kearley police drone. The symbol, once a source of inspiration, has now become a target. Apparently, MONAD offers hope for some, and a threat for others.
The drone swoops in, a mechanical shadow against the mist. Its cold, blue eyes lock onto the tagger as it hovers, broadcasting static warnings. Like rats, where there’s one Kearley drone, there are sure to be more. The hooded figure glances up, sprays the drone’s blue camera with quick, practiced precision, and vanishes into the city centre, shedding his hoodie like a snake shedding skin.
Melanated, Helix assumes—not because of the act, but because of the art. The kid wears the look of someone standing up to a bully, and Helix feels a pull—like a memory that’s eluded him for years.
The traffic light changes. Helix glances back at the woman in the scarf before biking on. She meets his eyes, and for a brief moment, there’s a connection—one of shared melanin. Aether holds her gaze longer than he should, wondering if she’s wearing augmented reality contacts. Maybe it’s all just a misperception, a digital overlay, but for one split second, they are bound by the same frequency.
The sound of a car horn behind them shakes Aether out of the moment. “Oh my god. Tell me you saw her,” he says, his words landing harder than expected.
Helix raises an eyebrow. “Who?”
Aether hesitates before answering. “The woman. The one in the scarf.”
Helix squints through the mist. "Yeah, I saw her. But she was practically covered head to toe. What about her?"
Aether doesn’t answer. He just pedals on, the image of her lingering in his mind, the air around him still humming with the aftershock of what he saw. His pulse races with an energy he can’t explain.
He knows, deep down, that this moment—it’s not fleeting. Whatever he’s connected to, it’s bigger than him, bigger than anything he’s ever known. And the journey ahead of him will unravel everything he thought he knew about the world, about himself.
There’s a type of overcast in Bristol that blocks more than just the sun, casting a shadow not only over the city but also over the spirit of the melanated. The unmelanated, however, wear the gloom like a second skin—closed body language and cold stares that mirror the lightless city around them, becoming the human embodiment of their environment. But soon, it will all change.