Echoes of Light

The city regained power by mid-afternoon, but the return of light brought no relief. It was unsteady—pulsing in a rhythm that felt organic rather than electrical, a quiet throb beneath the surface of everyday noise. Citizens chalked it up to another grid malfunction. Broadcast channels repeated the same reassuring message:

SYSTEM RESTORATION IN PROGRESS — PLEASE REMAIN CALM.

Elias had long stopped believing the announcements.

He and Mira walked through the market district, where storefront lights flickered like mechanical fireflies. Vendors pretended nothing was wrong, arranging synthetic fruit displays and recalibrating payment pods. People clung to routine; it made uncertainty feel smaller.

Mira, however, could not stop looking up.

“It’s brighter than usual,” she said, shielding her eyes from a flare that rippled down the boulevard. “But not… steady.”

“You’re noticing patterns again?” Elias asked.

“Yes. It’s pulsing slower than this morning. Almost like breathing.”

Elias scanned the street. He saw only malfunctioning lamps and an overworked grid—nothing more.

But Mira’s intuitions had never been arbitrary. She perceived the world as if tuned to a frequency others couldn’t hear.

“Try not to stare too long,” he murmured. “You don’t want unwanted attention.”

Mira nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced.

They continued down the lane toward Elias’s workshop, a narrow building crushed between two abandoned transit offices. Elias unlocked the door with a manual key—it gave him more comfort than the optical locks the city used now—and pushed it open.

Inside, dim daylight filtered through the high window, falling across scattered parts: dismantled drones, old stabilizer coils, a half-rewired processor board. It smelled of solder, dust, and something faintly metallic. Familiar.

Mira perched on the edge of the workbench as he checked the diagnostic panels.

The backup generator hummed normally, but the external sensors refused to sync.

“When was the last time the city grid behaved like this?” she asked.

“Never,” he said. “Not in the twenty years I’ve lived here.”

Mira swung her legs. “Then something new is happening. Something the city doesn’t understand.”

“Or something it does understand,” Elias replied, “but won’t tell us.”

She met his gaze. “Do you think the light from the tunnel… could be part of it?”

He paused before answering.

“Yes,” he said. “But I don’t know how.”

Neither spoke for a moment as the workshop creaked around them, settling with the shifting current from outside.

Then the generator flickered.

Elias straightened. “That shouldn’t happen.”

The lights dimmed again, then surged—stronger than the generator should allow. A wave of illumination flowed through the ceiling lamps, too bright, too synchronized.

Mira stiffened.

“It’s here.”

The light cascaded down the walls like liquid, bending around corners, pooling on surfaces before dissolving into thin, luminous threads. Elias reached for the emergency breaker, but before he could flip it, the threads gathered into a whirlpool of radiance forming directly above the floor.

A soft resonance filled the workshop—neither music nor static, something in between. Harmonious. Precise.

Mira slid off the table and took a step forward.

“Mira—stop.”

But she didn’t.

The light pulsed in response, expanding like a living breath—once again layered in shifting colors, faint and indescribable.

“It feels familiar,” she whispered.

Elias pulled her back, the resonance thinning sharply as if disturbed. The light collapsed inward, spiraling into a pinpoint glow before winking out entirely.

Silence.

Both of them stood motionless.

Elias exhaled first.

“That wasn’t electricity,” he said.

“No,” Mira agreed softly. “It was choosing a shape.”

Choosing.

The word unsettled him more than anything else she had said.

He knelt and examined the floor where the light had focused. No scorch marks. No heat residue. Nothing except the faint smell of clean air where dust had been burned away.

“It reacted to you,” Elias said.

“It appeared before you touched me,” she countered.

He couldn’t deny it.

And that was the problem.

Before he could speak again, a sharp knock sounded on the workshop door.

Elias stood instantly. “Stay behind the bench.”

Mira moved without question.

He opened the door just wide enough to see who stood outside.

A woman in a matte-black municipal jacket faced him. Her build was lean, her posture precise, her expression calm in a way that suggested authority rather than ease. A small emblem glowed faintly on her collar—the insignia of the Grid Oversight Council.

“Elias Renn?” she asked.

His stomach tightened.

“Yes.”

“I’m Inspector Anara Vale. The Council is conducting routine inquiries regarding irregular fluctuations reported in this district. We’ve tracked one of the anomalies to this location. May we step inside?”

Routine. No inquiry from the Council had ever been routine.

Elias maintained a steady voice.

“My workshop has its own generator. If you detected fluctuations, they may be from the grid trying to override my power lines.”

“Possibly,” she said. Her eyes were already scanning the room behind him. “Still, I need to verify.”

He did not want her inside. Not after what had just occurred.

But refusing would escalate suspicion.

He stepped aside.

Anara entered with silent, measured steps. Her gaze swept the workshop—tools, components, wiring, the generator console. She took in everything in seconds.

“Backup systems only,” she noted. “Independent. Old models. You prefer them?”

“They break predictably,” Elias replied.

She allowed the faintest hint of a smile. “Redundancies matter. Especially today.”

She approached the generator and touched the diagnostics panel. The lights on the console flickered, adjusting to her palm signature.

Mira watched from behind the workbench, barely visible. Anara’s gaze flicked toward her—subtle but unmistakable.

“And who is this?”

“My daughter,” Elias said without hesitation. “Mira.”

Anara nodded politely.

“Hello, Mira.”

Mira bowed her head slightly. “Hello, Inspector.”

The inspector turned back to Elias.

“There is an energy signature recorded at approximately 13:14 local time,” she said. “It does not align with generator output or grid feedback. Do you know what caused it?”

Elias kept his expression neutral.

“Probably a surge from the municipal net trying to sync with my outdated systems. It happens.”

“Not at this amplitude.”

He felt Mira’s hand slip around the back of his coat. She knew he was lying. She knew the inspector did too.

Anara stepped closer.

“Elias,” she said carefully. “The Council is not looking to penalize civilians. We’re trying to understand what’s happening before the situation escalates.”

“Escalates how?”

She paused.

“Off the record… you’ve seen the lights, haven’t you? The ones that don’t behave like outages.”

Silence pressed between them.

Elias finally answered, “I’ve seen… irregularities.”

Anara exhaled, the first hint of relief he’d seen.

“Good. Then you understand why we must monitor these events. Something is affecting the grid, and possibly the city’s population. People have reported headaches, hallucinations, momentary visual distortions. Have either of you—”

“No,” Elias said quickly.

But Mira, behind him, whispered, “Sometimes.”

He closed his eyes.

Too late.

Anara’s posture sharpened.

“What kind of symptoms?”

Mira stepped forward before Elias could stop her.

“Not hallucinations. More like—memories. Or… something trying to speak.”

Anara froze.

“Speak?”

Mira nodded. “In feelings. Not words.”

The inspector’s expression changed—not to fear, but to recognition.

Elias caught it immediately.

“You’ve heard similar reports.”

Anara didn’t deny it.

“I need both of you to come to the Council facility,” she said. “Not for punishment—for safety. Something is happening across the city, and individuals like Mira may be more affected than others.”

Elias positioned himself between Anara and the girl.

“No. We’re not leaving with you.”

Anara met his gaze evenly.

“This isn’t optional.”

The lights in the workshop suddenly brightened.

All three turned.

Threads of radiance seeped through the ceiling again, more intense this time—forming quickly, coherently, as if drawn to their voices. Elias felt the resonance building, like a harmonic pressure behind the walls.

Anara’s eyes widened.

“What is that—”

The light converged into a dense sphere hovering near Mira.

Not threatening—protective.

Mira stared at it without fear.

“It followed us.”

The room vibrated with a low, resonant hum.

Anara took a cautious step back.

“That’s impossible.”

Elias reached for Mira, pulling her close as the sphere rippled outward in luminous waves.

“Mira,” he whispered, “don’t touch it.”

“I don’t need to,” she murmured.

The light expanded, filling the workshop in a warm, soundless bloom.

And then, as quickly as it appeared—

Everything went white.