I always thought the sky was just... the sky.
Blue when it's happy, gray when it's pissed off, dark when it's tired. A simple ceiling for a simple world.
I mean, I live in Florida — the wildest thing I usually see in the sky is a drunk guy flying a Walmart bag like it's a kite during hurricane season.
So yeah, when the sky blinked at 12:03 PM on a Tuesday, I figured I was either dreaming… or about to die.
It started normal enough. I was in my room, halfway through a bag of Takis and fully avoiding my math homework, watching random anime clips on YouTube. School had ended for the summer three days ago, and I was living like a king — a broke, introverted king who hadn't seen the sun in hours.
Then my screen froze.
Not the normal "Wi-Fi acting up again" kind of freeze. I mean everything — my phone, TV, laptop, even my digital clock — just glitched out at the exact same time. Dead silence. No hum from the AC. No buzzing phone. Nothing.
Then I heard it — a low, pulsing hum.
Not in the room, but in the air. It was like the sound of a plane passing overhead, but it didn't come from one direction. It came from everywhere — the walls, the floor, even inside my bones. And then came the voice — loud, clear, and way too close.
"Hello, humans of Planet 043-NG. I am Lunaria Vel Syntra, honor student of the Grand Clinnore Universal Academy."
Her voice echoed like she was shouting inside my skull with a megaphone made of lightning.
"The Ascension Tournament is being held. Participants will be gathered from across galaxies, star clusters, and dimensions. And lucky you! Your planet's been randomly selected as a wildcard entry. Think of it as… cosmic charity."
She said it like we'd won the lottery and not been thrown into an alien version of the Hunger Games.
"Those who wish to enter, just say the words: 'I want to enter.' That's it. Boom. Done. You're in."
"If you want more information, I'll only be speaking to your planet's officials. Designated questions only, please."
Then came the pause. A deliberate silence — probably to let the insanity of what she just said settle into our brains like wet cement.
"Of course, I'm not totally heartless. If you choose to enter, you'll get one buff of your choice — no limits. Due to your low population, it's recommended you select a partner. If the person you choose accepts, your buff will become stronger. If not, the buff will disappear and you'll enter… well, naked and afraid. So think wisely, okay guys?"
Cue mass panic.
My mom dropped the dish she was washing. Sirens wailed in the distance. Car horns blared. People were screaming, praying, shouting at the sky. Social media lit up. Livestreams. Memes. Screencaps. The phrase "I want to enter" trended in every language.
And then it got worse.
That giant "eye" in the sky — some kind of rippling, glassy portal — snapped shut like a camera lens. But the chaos didn't stop.
A few hours later, government officials across the globe came together for a live broadcast. A world representative was about to speak when — mid-sentence — a portal shimmered into existence right beside him.
Out stepped a girl. Lunaria.
The same glowing purple eyes. The same cosmic uniform, black and white with strange silver accents. Her long hair shimmered like someone had trapped a galaxy inside every strand.
She didn't wait to be welcomed.
"Is it dangerous?" one of the officials asked.
"What are the tournament rules?" another asked.
"What exactly are buffs?"
She rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard it.
"Tch. No wonder your species hasn't evolved past planetary squabbles. Lack of understanding."
"Yes, it's dangerous. Hundreds of races from across the universe will be participating. The only rule is simple: Be the last one standing at the tree in the middle of the map. As for buffs — I simplified the term so you primitive creatures could grasp it. In truth, it's a temporary enhancement created through the manipulation of your race's DNA. The effect varies depending on the individual's will and desire."
Then, without another word, she walked right back through the portal and vanished.
Moments later, glowing rune-like symbols appeared in the sky. Giant, floating characters that somehow translated perfectly in every language. A single word:
Participants.
And then… it began.
People from all over the world began shouting the phrase. Some were serious. Some were laughing. Some thought it was fake. But it wasn't.
Within the hour, names started appearing in the sky — names written in shimmering gold light beneath the runes. Real names. People from across the world. The chosen.
I stared at my screen, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.
This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a movie.
This was real.
And somehow, deep in my chest, I knew:
If I didn't enter, I'd regret it for the rest of my life.
Not because I thought I could win.
Not because I wanted a wish.
But because something out there was calling me — and I wanted to answer.
Before I could second guess it, I stood up, walked out to the front yard, and looked up at the sky. The runes pulsed softly, like they were waiting.
I took a breath.
And I said, "I want to enter."
A flash of light shot down from the sky, hitting me dead center in the chest.
It didn't hurt.
But it felt like I had just been rewritten.
And there, above me, glowing in the sky like a billboard meant just for me, was my name.
Zavier King.