76°00'08.2"S 53°43'31.2"E

  Near the Paseo, Nuevo Trujillo

  Spanish Antarctic Colonies

  22.05.2024- 14:15 UTC +03.00

  “Keep going. We need to go as west as we can, before I tell you to turn,” I said to Cecilia.

  I kept watch, flying in my ghostly form above the car. I could not tell if I willed myself to move, or if the car dragging my body and Cecilia along was the reason, but I did fly parallel to the car.

  “Keep going.”

  “Hanying is getting nervous again. No, actually, she says it is fine,” Cecilia explained through our connection. A large abomination of metal, a T-Drone, was flying in our direction from our right, before it decided to change course and head the opposite way.

  It was the nearest one we had reached in the past thirty minutes. I could hear its propellers pushing it forward, while a camera whirred at the center of its body. It spun quickly, taking in the scene, documenting, surveilling. My stomach churned in fear as I saw it spin quickly. My intuition was that it was impossible to trick such technologies of not just one, but tens of those drones surveilling the sky.

  But my Domain Curse begged to differ. At this point, I was sure the confidence it instilled in me when I was “turning into a ghost” as Oriol put it, was part of the deal.

  “Turn left, turn left!” I said with urgency. The car – and my hovering consciousness – veered to the left into one of the main avenues of the Northern Chinese District. A T-Drone somewhere in the eastern sky turned its scope to where we were previously, but we were in the clear.

  My breath got caught between my teeth as we drove right into the Avenida Sol de Medianoche. Thousands of frozen statues, crystallized bodies of people of all ages and descent, lined the sides of the street, crowds frozen in place by the white mist the Domain collapse had released. Avenue Sol was the main commercial boulevard, starting from the north of the District and leading centrally.

  “Qué espanto,” I heard Cecilia’s voice. “What a terrible thing.”

  I hovered lower to the ground, drawn by my curiosity to the sight. I recognized VIA NERO, a Spanish-Italian clothing shop that my mother would often take me to buy clothes. I hated that shop, but seeing it all covered in ice, facades shattered, and mannequins toppled, created a lump in my throat. A group of five people, their features long melted through days as frozen statues, hugged each other next to a bench by one of the shops. From their height, I could tell they were probably a family.

  Across the street was a bar – its name eluded me. It was Lucia’s favorite spot. Glasses broken, frozen, remains of people scattered around, a neon light that still flickered: all indications it was busy when the Collapse happened. Eerie silence had replaced the usual funky music.

  “ángel? Should we stop?” Cecilia asked.

  “Yes,” I said, and I returned to my body. I opened my eyes, while Cecilia parked by the side of the road. No T-Drones were visible in the sky, but it was better if we lay low while we waited for me to recharge. Cecilia turned the engine off, but left the keys in the ignition, ready to drive us, if needed.

  Oriol’s expression reflected the same thoughts as mine: no matter how much time would pass after the collapse, none of us would forget what it caused.

  “This must be horrible for you,” Esteban said. I realized he was referring to me – it was the first time he seemed to show empathy for my person. “I mean, this was your neighborhood.”

  “Yes. I wonder who else I have lost that day,” I said, “I think I want to find my parents. When we get back. Before anything else. What if they think I died? What if they are looking for me?”

  Cecilia and Hanying exchanged a worried look at the front seat, and Hanying was ready to speak when Oriol interrupted her.

  “It is a deal.”

  “We need to find Salva,” Hani said.

  “How? Comms are down,” Esteban said.

  “I know where we need to be,” she insisted, cryptically.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Where is your home, ángel?” Oriol asked.

  “San Isidro. In the center.”

  “Down,” Hani said.

  We all listened, crouching behind the seats of the car, and waiting still. It was not the first time we had to do this, but it never got less scary. We all held our breath as three T-Drones, one after the other, crossed the Avenue Sol. Its lights shone across the street, even our car. For a moment, it felt like they lingered above, or maybe I simply expected them to. But they continued their scouting. We stayed like that for a good while, until Hani let us know it was fine.

  “Okay then. San Isidro first,” she added.

  I nodded in appreciation, but I saw Hani’s expression reflecting on the rear-view mirror: her eyes were lost in the sky, as if she was weaving a new plan. Was that why it was called a luckweaving Curse? Did she have to plan her luck herself?

  “I think I am ready to go,” I said, rejuvenated by the prospect of finding my parents.

  “Are you sure?” Cecilia asked.

  “Yes. Start the watch,” I said to Oriol, who tapped his stopwatch.

  I closed my eyes, I pictured Cecilia’s face, and once more, I found myself hovering above the city, in a night sky being mended piece by piece into day again.

  “Oriol says we should not overextend you. It seems like eight to ten minutes is a limit for you,” Cecilia said.

  “It’s fine. We are good, start driving,” I said.

  ? ? ?

  The avenue Sol was a long and arduous trip. Driving slowly past all the lost souls was bad enough, but having to stop and start again every few minutes got tiresome for everybody. Even though T-Drones came close, I always knew to warn Cecilia just in time and avoid any deadly encounter. Progress was slow but steady.

  “Oriol says it is time for a break,” Cecilia said, around the fifth or sixth time we repeated the cycle. We were almost at the end of our trip, approaching the Southern Chinese District through a street parallel to the main avenue. I was also feeling the exhaustion.

  “Sounds good. Find a good spot and-

  Submit.

  The word echoed in my head, and a cold hand grabbed me by the back of my neck. It pulled me away from Cecilia, and I felt our connection weaken. Instead of our invisible cord snapping, it was severed, and I found myself hurled across the night sky. I imagined myself landing clumsily in my ghostly form, onto cold metal.

  “What the…”

  You owe.

  All I could see was the metal ground, but as the voice commanded, I stood up. My vision stabilized – I was no longer hovering above my companions’ car. I was at the top of a building. Above me, the sun was starting to shine, the celestial dome almost half-way through turning back into day. I was not alone: four T-Drones hovered around the roof, casting their spotlight around me. Surely they could not see me? But who brought me here?

  “Approach, child,” a voice, the same voice as before, but now not in my head, but real. I looked beyond the T-Drone’s spotlight at the middle of the building: a bearded man, dressed in a purple robe. He was one of them, the Sagrados. Not any of the two I had met at the top of the Santiago Towers, I did not think so. He appeared younger, or at least his voice did. I could not see much, the way the drones’ light blinded me.

  As if the man had read my thoughts, he snapped his fingers. The T-Drones whirred, and the lights shone brighter.

  “Who are you?” I asked. He ignored me.

  “Fascinating. So dangerous, already in a few days,” the man said. I tried to peek through the light, but all I could see was his purple robe waving as he stepped just at the edge of my vision. “Appears to be able to maintain Forma Seráfica even untethered.”

  The man was talking, but not to me. I heard a click, as if he was recording. I looked high, at the T-Drones. Their cameras spun, taking tens of pictures every second.

  “Who are you?” I shouted. “Cecilia, can you hear me?”

  “Erratic spectrum. But still interacting with high-frequency photons.”

  I could not move, and I had lost connection with Cecilia. The man spoke to himself, barely making sense, and I could not get through to him. But I had to find a way to escape.

  Untethered, did he say?

  “Drone E-43, upload scans. B-22 and B-23, reduce gamma radiation. Maintain just enough ultraviolet,” he continued commanding. He was communicating with the T-Drones – as he spoke, the bright light became manageable, and he finally walked closer.

  His eyes were so dark that his pupils had overtaken the white part of the eyes. His beard, dark and luscious, and his skin pristine – he was barely thirty. His lips remained firmly sealed.

  He could not see me. He was trying, however.

  “Adjust radiation filtering. There must be a right frequency,” he made a step forward – and that was his mistake.

  I felt relieved by whatever hex he cast on me. I lunged at him, grabbing him by the neck, an unimaginable wrath boiling down from my stomach.

  “Hermano Sagrado,” I said, taken over by an inexplicable wrath, “don’t you dare lay your filthy circuits on me!”

  I saw my hand, the one I imagined strangling him, materialize into pure light. His eyes turned normal, their black disappearing, his pupils darting left and right, trying to understand who and what strangled him.