Something had happened last night.
They didn’t know what.
But they knew it was real.
And fear travels faster than any messenger.
By the time Helen called for volunteers that morning, the entire community was already gathered near the steps of the town hall — some clutching jackets, others clutching tools, many clutching each other.
I stood beside Tom and Elena while Minerva’s drones hovered in a slow sweep, scanning for anomalies. Ava floated just above my shoulder, a faint blue glow in her core like a nervous heartbeat.
Helen stepped forward and cleared her throat.
People quieted immediately.
“You all felt something last night,” she began. “We don’t know what it was, but we do know this: it came from the ridge.”
A murmur swept through the crowd.
Helen continued, calm and steady. “We also know we can’t pretend it didn’t happen. We can’t depend on Robert alone to handle every dangerous thing that appears. Not because he isn’t capable—”
Tom barked, “He very much is not capable!”
I elbowed him.
“—but because one person cannot protect an entire community,” Helen finished smoothly.
She looked at me meaningfully.
I didn’t disagree. But hearing it said out loud felt like a weight settling across my shoulders.
“We are forming a dedicated Anomaly Response Team,” Helen said. “A group trained to investigate, scout, and respond to anything strange or dangerous that appears around town.”
People exchanged wary glances.
“Anyone may volunteer,” she said. “No one is required to. But those who join will receive training, equipment, and guidance.”
A beat of silence.
Then Helen added:
“And Robert will be advising us.”
Half the crowd turned to stare at me.
I sighed inwardly.
So this is leadership.
The first person to step forward surprised me.
Greg.
Tall, quiet, expression unreadable. His clothes were worn and patched, but his build was solid — the kind that only comes from years of manual labor and not a single day of giving up.
He stopped in front of Helen. “I’ll help.”
Helen nodded with gratitude. “Thank you, Greg.”
The crowd murmured. Greg had always been… different. Gentle. Strong. Silent. People respected him without really knowing him.
And after what he did for Tom, many saw him differently now — almost reverently.
The second volunteer was Marianne, boots still muddy from yesterday’s installation.
She smacked her gloves together. “If weird crap is gonna crawl out of the ground, someone’s gotta beat it back down. Might as well be me.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Some of the tension eased.
Then Luke stepped forward, scratching his beard.
“Well, hell. Ain’t lettin’ Marianne show me up.”
She elbowed him. He elbowed her back.
I smiled. That was basically a binding oath between them.
After a moment, a young woman stepped forward — early twenties, short hair, eyes sharp.
“My name’s Kara,” she said. “I used to do wilderness search-and-rescue. I know tracking, first aid, and how to not die in the woods.”
Helen nodded approvingly. “Welcome.”
A teenage boy stepped forward hesitantly. “Can… can I help too?”
His mother grabbed his arm immediately. “Absolutely not!”
“But Mom!”
I stepped in. “We need adults right now. Once we have a working system and proper training, maybe later.”
He deflated but nodded reluctantly.
A few more stepped forward:
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Rooney, former park ranger
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Jenna, EMT
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Clark, volunteer firefighter
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Miguel, carpenter with survival training
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
By the end, we had:
Not many.
But enough for a beginning.
Tom leaned in. “Nine people to fight the apocalypse? Great odds.”
“You’re the tenth,” I said.
His face dropped. “I… retract my sarcasm.”
“You can’t. It was registered.”
Minerva beeped approvingly. “Sarcasm logged.”
Tom groaned.
We gathered in the community center. The room still smelled faintly of antiseptic from Elena’s earlier visit.
I stood before the volunteers with a whiteboard, Ava hovering beside me like an eager professor’s assistant.
“Alright,” I began. “First things first: thank you.”
Greg grunted in acknowledgment. Marianne waved dismissively.
“You’re helping us build something we’ve never needed before. Something humanity has never needed before.”
They straightened at that.
“What we encountered on the ridge is not a demon. Not radiation. Not a weapon. It is a natural dimensional structure called an Anchor.”
Greg raised a hand.
“Yes?”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Only indirectly,” I said. “Anchors stabilize the planet during its transition. But the transition itself can create anomalies. Spatial distortions. Biological effects. Things we don’t fully understand yet.”
“Sooo,” Marianne drawled, “dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“Thought so.”
Ava floated forward. “We need you to be the eyes and ears of the town. When something strange happens, you investigate. When something dangerous appears, you report and contain.”
Greg frowned. “And if something attacks us?”
Minerva answered. “I will provide defensive drones for field deployment.”
Luke blinked. “We get drones?”
“You get three," Minerva said. “Do not lose them.”
“We are absolutely gonna lose them,” Tom muttered.
“No we’re not,” Marianne countered, punching his arm.
“Ow!”
I continued, “Your role is not to fight anomalies alone. Your role is to assess threat level and buy time until I arrive.”
Jenna raised her hand. “Why not just have you handle everything?”
I took a deliberate breath.
“Because the world is changing faster than we can track. I can’t be everywhere. And I won’t see everything. But all of you? Collectively? You can.”
Greg nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I turned to the whiteboard and wrote:
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Recognition
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Containment
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Distance Protocols
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Witness Assessment
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Emergency Signaling
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Field Anomaly Signs
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Survival
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Basic Mana Safety
The volunteers stared.
Marianne squinted. “What the hell is ‘mana safety’?”
Ava lit up like someone had asked her favorite question. “Mana is the energy leaking into the world due to dimensional stress! It reacts to thought, emotion, and intent. Most of you can’t channel it—but you can still get hurt by it!”
Everyone stared.
Ava continued, “For example: If you see a glowing distortion in the air, do not stick your hand into it. If something looks like it shouldn’t exist, do not poke it with a stick. If the laws of physics appear to temporarily malfunction, do not assume it is safe just because it looks interesting.”
There was a long silence.
Marianne raised a hand. “People are actually dumb enough to poke glowing anomalies?”
Tom pointed at himself. “I am.”
“That tracks,” Marianne said.
Tom glared. “I’m standing right here!”
We moved to the tables lining the room. Minerva’s drones carried in supplies I fabricated earlier that morning.
Each volunteer received:
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a reinforced field jacket
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a mana-resistant visor
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a short-range MinTab for communication
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a portable beacon for emergency signals
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a collapsible containment cordon
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a short manual titled If It Looks Wrong, It Probably Is
Marianne flipped through hers. “Did you write this?”
“Yes.”
She held up a page. "'Do not attempt to capture anomalies in jars’?”
“That was added after an incident with Tom,” Minerva said.
Tom threw up his hands. “It was ONE TIME!”
Rooney laughed so hard she nearly fell off her chair.
After the meeting, Greg approached me outside, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Robert.”
“Greg.”
“You weren’t surprised when I volunteered.”
“No.”
“Why?”
I looked at him. At the quiet strength etched into his posture. At the calm in his eyes that somehow survived the world ending.
“You’ve already protected this town,” I said softly. “More than once.”
He looked away briefly, jaw tight. “Couldn’t protect everyone.”
“You protected Tom,” I reminded him. “And that saved more than one life.”
Greg swallowed hard, then nodded once.
“I’ll do whatever’s needed,” he said. “Just tell me what direction to swing.”
I smiled faintly. “You may regret giving me that permission.”
A rare ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Maybe.”
Later that afternoon, as I stepped outside the community center, Ava drifted down beside me.
“You’re taking this well,” she said softly.
“What choice do I have?”
“Most system-bearers aren’t asked to build teams until years after awakening.”
“Earth doesn’t have years.”
She flitted nervously. “The accelerated transition… it’s not supposed to happen like this. Anchors rarely pulse this early.”
“Can it be stopped?”
“No,” she said gently. “But it can be survived.”
“Great.”
“But Robert… there is something else.”
She looked up at me, her glow dimming.
“When the Anchor pulsed, it touched you more strongly than any other human.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means your role is growing faster than you realize.”
I felt the weight of her words settle in my chest.
“Is that good?”
Ava hesitated.
“…It depends on whether you survive it.”
Back at the compound, Tom paced back and forth on the porch like a panicked squirrel.
“You made me join the anomaly team!” he shouted as soon as he saw me. “Why?! Why would you do that to me?!”
“Because you’re loyal.”
“Loyalty does not protect me from reality glitches!”
“Because you’re brave.”
“BRAVE?! You watched me run screaming from a floating rock!”
“Because,” I said calmly, “I need someone on the team who won’t do something stupid trying to look heroic.”
Tom blinked.
“…oh.”
He stopped pacing.
“So I’m like… the cautionary voice?”
“Yes.”
“The grounding presence?”
“Yes.”
“The guy who tells everyone to not touch the glowing thing?”
“Yes.”
He squared his shoulders with sudden pride. “I can do that.”
Ava floated by. “You literally touched the glowing thing last time.”
Tom glared at her. “Character development is a journey, Ava.”
That evening, the volunteers met for their first patrol. They spread out in pairs around the perimeter of town, checking for distortions, shifts, or anything unusual.
Minerva’s drones formed a moving grid above them.
I stayed awake, monitoring everything from the compound.
Tom’s voice came through the comm:
“Team Two checking in — uneventful so far. No monsters. No spatial tears. One raccoon giving me weird vibes.”
“Noted,” I replied. “Ignore the raccoon.”
“It’s staring into my soul.”
“Still ignore it.”
A few minutes later Kara chimed in:
“Team Three reporting — got movement in the woods but it’s just deer. Healthy. No glowing patterns. No anomalies.”
Good.
So far, so—
A crackle burst through the comms.
Greg’s voice.
Low.
Tense.
“Robert.”
My heart dropped.
“Yes?”
“There’s something on the ridge.”
My breath froze.
“What kind of something?”
A long silence.
Then Greg said, in a tone that was calm… but carried something else beneath it:
“It’s watching us.”
Ava went still beside me.
Minerva’s drones turned toward the ridge as one.
Tom whispered on the comm, terrified:
“Robert… is that the same watcher from last night?”
No one answered.
The ridge glowed faintly in the distance — a soft, pulsing blue.
And behind that glow…
Something darker blinked.
Once.
Twice.
A single shimmering point, like a star that shouldn’t be there.
I exhaled slowly.
“Everyone,” I said quietly into the comm, “fall back to the safe zone.”
Because one thing had become painfully clear:
And they were getting closer.