"We're doomed!" a terrified bondsman screamed, his heavy hoe slipping from blistered hands as he stumbled backward into a row of withered stalks.
"What's happening? What did you see?" a young bondswoman cried, clutching her linen apron as every eye turned toward the heavens.
"Look!" another laborer shouted, dropping to his knees. "God's Hammer is upon us!"
A second man followed, his forehead pressed against the earth. "Lord, have mercy! Father, forgive us! Please... just make it go away!"
The young woman gasped, refusing to believe what she saw as daylight faded beneath an unnaturally dark sky. "No... this can't be happening. Not today..."
Yet it was. The heavens split apart with a deafening roar as a blazing meteor tore across the sky like a spear of living fire, staining the clouds an eerie violet.
"Move!" another bondsman shouted, breaking into a frantic sprint. "I refuse to die here!"
"Jonathan, wait for me!" another cried, racing after him. "I don't want to die either!"
The overseers struggled to regain control.
"Where do you think you're going?" the lead bondsmaster roared, raising his whip. "Get back here, you cowards, or I'll kill you myself!"
His threats only fed the panic.
Workers scattered across the fields, diving beneath broken carts, hiding behind rusted farm equipment, or throwing themselves into shallow drainage ditches. Leather whips cracked through the air as the overseers desperately tried to restore order, but fear had already taken hold.
Only one worker remained perfectly still.
As the blazing meteor descended toward the earth, its brilliant light reflected in the calm eyes of the woman harvesting corn only moments before.
"Benita!" a nearby bondsman shouted. "Get down! Have you lost your mind?"
She never looked away. "I'm not crazy, Thomas."
"Then what are you doing?"
"I'm watching."
"Watching?" Thomas stared at her. "Can't you see that's the sign of the end? That thing is going to kill us all!"
Benita's lips curved ever so slightly. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"
Thomas looked at her as if she had gone mad. "Beautiful?"
The burning star carved a brilliant trail through the darkened sky, its golden sparks dancing across the purple clouds. For the first time in years, something beautiful existed above the miserable world she had always known.
"It reminds me of something," she whispered.
Thomas swallowed. "What?"
"My grandmother used to tell me stories."
"What stories?"
"She believed heavenly messengers sometimes crossed into the mortal world."
Thomas shook his head. "This isn't a messenger, Benita. It's our destruction."
She remained silent.
The flaming star disappeared beyond the distant forest before crashing into the earth with unimaginable force.
The explosion shook the ground beneath her bare feet.
Benita slowly closed her eyes. "So... This is the end."
Just as the apocalypse delivered its final blow, the entire dream dissolved into darkness.
A young man bolted upright in bed.
His mattress springs groaned beneath the sudden movement as he was violently ripped from sleep.
It had only been a dream.
Yet the image of that falling star dragged him awake with a bloodcurdling scream.
"NO!"
His cry shattered the silence of the night. Cold sweat soaked through his shirt as his heart slammed violently against his ribs.
"Easy..."
He struggled to steady his breathing, clutching the twisted bedsheets with trembling hands.
The shadows stretching across his bedroom seemed strangely alive, twisting into shapes disturbingly similar to the figures from his nightmare.
"It's only a dream," he whispered.
His copper-honey eyes slowly swept across the familiar room—the dresser, the stack of paperbacks, the discarded sneakers beside the bed.
Reality gradually returned.
"Get a grip," he muttered. "You've survived worse than a nightmare."
His soaked shirt clung to his skin. A vicious migraine pounded behind his eyes. He pressed both hands against his temples, but the pain only intensified.
"Think... What did I see? The falling star... The earthquake... The woman... The end..."
Fragments lingered just beyond his reach. The blazing meteor. The trembling earth. The overwhelming certainty that disaster was coming.
Every attempt to remember more sent another wave of pain crashing through his skull until he finally gave up.
"Just another nightmare," he told himself.
Or was it?
If only I knew what it meant... he thought.
A chill crawled down his spine. He climbed out of bed and walked into the bathroom. The overhead light stung his eyes. He turned on the cold water and splashed it across his face.
The icy shock forced a sharp breath from his lungs, but it cleared the lingering haze in his mind. After drying himself, he changed into a fresh charcoal-gray T-shirt and a pair of worn denim jeans.
"Maybe some fresh air will clear my head."
He grabbed his keys from the counter and stepped outside.
Elmopolitan was still alive despite the late hour. Traffic rolled steadily through the streets. Neon signs painted the sidewalks in crimson and blue. Street vendors called out their final bargains while music drifted from nearby clubs. The scent of grilled meat and roasted spices filled the cool night air.
"Hey, handsome!" one vendor called. "Last call on the kebabs!"
"No thanks," the young man replied with a polite wave.
"Come on! You look like you've been walking forever."
"I'm fine. Just not hungry."
"Your loss. Best kebabs in Elmopolitan!"
The young man smiled. "I'll take your word for it."
The cool breeze gradually eased the headache that had haunted him since the nightmare.
For the first time since waking, his thoughts began to clear. He glanced at the Omega watch strapped around his wrist.
It had been his father's farewell gift before sending him to Elmopolitan to learn independence. The familiar weight reminded him of both home and the expectations he carried.
"It's getting late," he murmured. "Almost midnight already..."
Only then did he realize how far he had wandered. Walking all the way back no longer seemed practical.
A taxi waited beneath a nearby streetlight. He raised his hand.
"You need a ride?" the driver called, lowering the passenger window. He was an older man with graying temples and kind, tired eyes.
"Yeah," the young man replied as he climbed into the back seat. "Thanks for stopping."
"My pleasure. Where to?"
"Bilmo House. Allen Avenue, near the park."
"Allen Avenue?" The driver eased into traffic. "That's about fifteen minutes from here. You must've been walking for over an hour."
He glanced at the young man through the rearview mirror.
"Couldn't sleep?"
The young man rested his head against the cool window.
"Couldn't sleep. Bad dream woke me up. Been walking ever since."