“Did you see that?! He just vanished!”

  “Stupid kid! Shouldn’t have gotten so close!”

  “It’s definitely some kind of trick.”

  People couldn’t tear their eyes away from the Rift.

  No more than ten minutes had passed, yet the street had become unrecognizable. Police cordons blocked the approaches to the square; metal barriers were hastily set up right on the roadway. The crowd had been pushed back, but it only pressed tighter—people stood shoulder to shoulder, craning their necks, raising their phones.

  Reporters arrived faster than the ambulances.

  Cameras, microphones, live broadcasts—everything erupted almost simultaneously.

  “An unexplained luminous phenomenon appeared in the middle of the street, disrupting the peace of ordinary citizens,” one said, looking straight into the lens.

  “A strange anomaly, its origin yet to be determined,” said another.

  “The government has not yet issued a statement,” was repeated over and over.

  “There are reports that an unidentified young man approached the object and disappeared,” they added with cautious tone.

  The phrasing differed, but the meaning was all the same.

  “Step back from the barrier!” a policeman shouted through a megaphone.

  “Any casualties?!” medics asked, scanning the crowd.

  “It’s aliens!”

  Someone laughed nervously.

  A child cried somewhere.

  Someone cursed, eyes glued to the glowing crack in the air.

  All the sounds—voices, orders, sirens, reports—blended into a single hum.

  The noise of human fear, not yet crystallized into understanding.

  And only the Rift remained indifferent.

  When the growling ceased, the clatter and ring of daggers fading to an echo, the Darkness around Dan began to settle like ash after a fire.

  No screams. No movement.

  Only the crunch of bones underfoot and an occasional crackle—the world breathing its last moments.

  Dan walked forward, not hurrying.

  He didn’t need to find the path—he could see where the threads of magical energy led.

  The space ahead distorted with a weak, fractured impulse, like the shudder of a dying heart.

  In the center of the collapse, where reality itself seemed thinned, a sphere hovered.

  The Core.

  Small. Uneven.

  Glowing with a murky, sickly light—like the light of an old lamp.

  Around it pulsed the remnants of a world: fragments of matter, shreds of space, warped lines of magical energy. All of it held together only because the Core was still alive.

  Dan stopped a few paces away.

  He reached out his hand.

  The Darkness did not burst forth.

  It did not flare up.

  It gathered into a dense, cold mass, as if night itself had been compressed into his palm.

  The Lord of Darkness placed his hand upon the sphere. The Core shuddered, reacting to the all-consuming void of Dan’s magic.

  He clenched his fist.

  A crunch.

  A dull sound echoed, like a membrane bursting. The Core’s light flickered, its shell cracked—and the sphere began to dim from within, like a flame starved of oxygen.

  The next second, it crumbled, flowing through the Lord’s fingers like sand.

  The space around trembled.

  The world began to crumble.

  Fragments of reality disintegrated, dissolved, vanished into the void. A piece of sky broke off like a concrete slab and turned to dust.

  “Well, time to go,” Dan muttered, turning toward the fading Rift behind him.

  “Look! Something’s happening!”

  “That thing… It’s, it’s disappearing?!”

  The light inside the crack began to dim, as if someone were slowly turning off a spotlight. Space contracted, pulled toward the center, the lines of reality bending as if being sucked down a narrow neck.

  People froze.

  Against the still-bright but rapidly fading glow, a black silhouette emerged.

  Unclear. Blurred.

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  “Hey! Look, there’s someone there!”

  “An alien!!!”

  “Police, what are you standing for?! Grab him!”

  But before the officers could train their flashlights on the figure emerging from the portal, it vanished, leaving behind only a barely perceptible black haze.

  “He’s gone…” several people shouted at once.

  The hum intensified.

  Not fear—the unknown.

  The most contagious form of panic.

  People’s eyes darted, they argued, yelled at each other, trying to latch onto any version of events.

  And only one man wasn’t shouting.

  The city’s police chief—Brock—stood slightly apart, gripping his radio, and stared at the spot where the Rift had just vanished.

  “That’s the same guy…” the thought arose on its own. “The one the witnesses described. The one who stepped inside.”

  Brock slowly exhaled.

  "Did he save everyone? Or is he the cause?"

  Brock rushed toward where the Rift was breathing its last.

  “Chief Brock!” patrol officers yelled. “Don’t go there!”

  But the chief didn’t listen to his subordinates; he was already standing where, moments before, he had clearly seen a human silhouette.

  A sound like a pop echoed.

  The Rift collapsed and disappeared.

  “Strange,” the chief muttered. “Why is it so… cold here? No... not cold, but...”

  Goosebumps ran through his body.

  He stood exactly where the Lord of Darkness had stepped back into the world of men. A chill went through Brock to his bones; it felt as if life had left this place, leaving only emptiness.

  But the feeling quickly passed. The warm May wind brought Brock back to his senses.

  “Did I imagine it?” he wondered, scratching his chin.

  Not a trace remained of the Rift. The world was returning to its usual course. And only the crowd continued to buzz. Soon, the tension began to ease. Some left, some called their loved ones, some still argued with the police.

  Medics wandered through the crowd looking for those in need of help.

  “Over there!” a paramedic shouted.

  A man lay unconscious on the ground. Three medics rushed to him. One lifted his head and pulled out smelling salts.

  “Aah!” The man woke with a cry, jolted by the sobering smell of ammonia.

  “Are you okay?” asked one of those who had come to help.

  The man sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

  “I think so…” he whispered uncertainly. “Suddenly felt very sick. Much better now, thanks.”

  “Good. Sit for a bit. Don’t get up too quickly.”

  The man nodded.

  The rescuers moved on.

  High above the square, on the roof of a multi-story building, stood Dan.

  He looked down at the people, the flashing lights of cars, the gradually dispersing crowd.

  "Right in the city center…" he thought. "It's all happening faster than I anticipated."

  He was about to vanish when he felt a gaze.

  At the very edge of the square stood a boy of about nine, squinting, looking straight at the roof.

  The Lord met his gaze. He smiled faintly and slowly brought his index finger to his lips.

  "Shh."

  The boy blinked. The figure on the roof evaporated. He blinked again and nodded.

  The night continued.

  All the morning news was devoted to the night's events around the Rift.

  Conspiracy theories, fragments of facts, eyewitness accounts taken out of context—all merged into a dense informational noise that didn't bring one closer to the truth but, on the contrary, pushed it further away.

  “Did you see that?!” an indignant female voice called from the room as Theo was getting ready for work. “Such crazy stuff!”

  “Yeeeah…” he muttered sleepily, packing his laptop into his bag. “Agreed. Whatever it was—you’re right.”

  “Do you think it’s aliens?!” the girl asked firmly.

  Theo froze.

  Sleep vanished as if swept away.

  “Laura!” he laughed. “Oh, if only!”

  “Well, why not?” Laura peeked out of the room, completely serious. “Some glowing thingy appears in the middle of the city, some guy comes out of it… and vanishes! Does that seem normal to you?”

  “Aliens do-o-o-on’t exist,” Theo drawled, putting on his shoes. “I’m off.”

  “Wai-i-it!” Laura stumbled out into the hallway. “Have a good day!”

  Theo smiled, leaned down, and kissed her on the forehead.

  “You too. Don’t get killed in here,” he said, laughing.

  Laura snorted.

  The door closed behind Theo.

  Outside, it was unexpectedly pleasant.

  The sun was already up; a warm wind blew from the river, carrying the smell of water and heated asphalt.

  "Finally, summer…" Theo thought, leaving the building. "Seven in the morning, and the sun is already shining. A good day."

  “Boss!” A policeman leaned over the desk. “You were there, right? What do you think… what was it?”

  Brock didn’t look up immediately.

  “I was,” he said slowly, recalling the night's events. “Don’t know.”

  The morning at the police station was noisy.

  Phones rang off the hook with calls from "vigilant citizens." Some had seen aliens. Others—terrorists. Some were sure it was a test of a new weapon.

  Amid this din, Brock wasn't thinking about the shouts or the theories.

  He was thinking about the silhouette. A human silhouette.

  "Friend… or foe?"

  Brock was a smart man—otherwise, he wouldn't have been made chief of police for the entire city. He didn't make rash decisions, didn't trust first impressions, and never drew conclusions without facts.

  A tall man in his fifties, with a neatly trimmed beard and a solid build. For his age, he looked more like a graying athlete than a desk-bound official. His shirt was always pressed, his trousers had perfect creases, his jacket was clean, and a brown tie accentuated the warm shade of his brown eyes.

  He was respected.

  And more importantly, he was liked. For his gentle but stern character. For his fairness. For his ability to take a punch.

  His desk was always in order. Not a single extra paper. Pens strictly in their places. A family photograph—and every morning he mechanically wiped the dust from it before starting his day.

  A real chief. A real leader.

  “Alright, people,” Brock said loudly but calmly. “Today, tomorrow, and all next week—we’re in for hell.”

  The chatter died down.

  The room grew almost quiet, save for the incessant phone calls.

  “You will encounter idiocy, madness, and mass hysteria,” he continued. “We are only interested in facts. Evidence. Things you can touch, measure, or record. Everything else is conjecture.”

  He paused.

  “If someone tells you a little green man broke in last night and stole their granny—first make sure granny is sitting in the kitchen drinking tea, and then leave the apartment.”

  “And if someone calls saying their husband visited a portal and grew a second arm…” Brock allowed himself a slight smirk. “Threaten them with a fine for a false report.”

  Laughter broke out in the station.

  The tension eased. People exhaled.

  “Now get to work.”

  “Yes, boss!” the police station responded in unison.