Ezekiel waited at the bus stop, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cracked pavement. The city hummed with activity, but Ezekiel felt disconnected, as if the world moved around him while he remained rooted in place. His father's voice echoed in his mind from that morning: "Just focus on doing your best, son.". I would attempt to reach the competition; you know, however, how work is.
He knew how work was. He had known it for years. His father's promises were so often repeated, they lost any meaning.
Ezekiel wrapped his grip further around the strap of his backpack and stood still as the bus pulled into his stop, pumping exhaust into the air. He boarded and sat by the window, staring out at the cityscape.
Tomorrow was the day he had been preparing for—a robotics competition he had poured countless hours into—but excitement was eclipsed by the familiar dread of disappointment.
The following day, the auditorium was charged with electricity. Most competitors busied themselves presenting their projects, while the air came alive with excitement. Ezekiel's team, the Silver Circuits, had all set up their robot: a sleek autonomous machine that could navigate through complex mazes. He glanced at the door every few minutes, hoping to see his father's usual figure stroll in. Still, as the hours ticked by, he grew less hopeful.
Competition was on, and Ezekiel gave his best efforts to it. His job was to lead the robot into the final round—a test of precision and programming. But as he reached the control station, he saw a car through the glass doors of the auditorium. His father's car. It drove by without slowing, disappearing into the distance.
The weight of the moment crushed him. His hands were shaking as he gripped the controls with his synapses spinning in frustration and sorrow. The robot jolted wildly, careening out of its lane, blaring buzzer announcing loss, which his teammates stared at him with bewilderment and disappointment.
The ride home was silent. Ezekiel's mother had driven him, speaking polite but distant words of encouragement. When they arrived, he stormed into the house, slamming the door shut behind him. His father sat in the living room, his tie loosened, staring at a spreadsheet on his laptop.
"You missed it," Ezekiel said, his voice low but trembling with anger.
"I said I'd try, Ezekiel," his father said without lifting his eyes. "Work's been crazy—"
"You didn't even try!" Ezekiel shouted, cutting him off. His mother stood in the doorway, her face a mask of concern. "Do you even care about anything I do? Or is it just easier to pretend I don't exist?"
"That's not fair," his father said, finally looking up at him. "I work hard for this family—"
"For you," Ezekiel snapped. "Not for me. Not for us. Just for your job, your reputation. I'm just… nothing to you."
The words hung in the air, heavy and irreversible. Ezekiel's father opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. Ezekiel turned on his heel and left the room, ignoring his mother's attempts to console him. He grabbed his coat and stormed out of the house.
The streets were silent and still, like a cold night breeze did little to cool his anger. He walked through rows of darkened houses where the people within were oblivious to the turmoil within his heart. His thoughts churned: endless cycles of neglect, the weight of expectations, the suffocating silence after every broken promise.
He found himself on an empty street at the edge of the neighborhood. The streetlights had been flickering and casting dappled shadows on the pavement. He looked up at the sky; stars were not visible through a haze of city lights. "Maybe they'd notice if I just disappeared," he muttered with bitter sarcasm.
As if answering to some signal, everything around him seemed to change. A blinding light came suddenly upon him and forced his hands over his face to ward it off. The earth was sucked away from beneath his feet, and a weird sense of floating weight came upon him. He was panicked; yet, before he could yell out, the world around him closed into black.
Ezekiel awoke to warmth on his face. He opened his eyes and gasped. The sky was the color of a living painting, a flowing cascade of neon pinks and blues and purples. Towering skyscrapers made out of shimmering iridescent material stretched towards the heavens, with surfaces full of refracted light that echoed the colors surrounding it. Hovercrafts zipped through the air, leaving trails of light behind as they went about their business. Holograms danced on billboards, touting products and services in words Ezekiel couldn't decipher.
He sat up, his heart pounding. The road he was walking on was gone; now he was walking on a pathway pulsing with each step. The air hummed with an electric pace, and darts flitted through the air around him, emitting softly trilling sounds.
"Where am I?" he breathed, his voice barely audible.
Standing, attempting to clear the strange scenery from his head, he noticed a figure. She was about his age and kneeling down beside an unusual-looking drone from some futuristic fantasy movie. Her hands worked efficiently to assemble components that came off it.
"Hello!" Ezekiel yelled, his voice slightly carrying through the open landscape.
The girl looked up, startled. She had dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail and wore a jumpsuit covered in tools and gadgets. "You're new," she said, standing and dusting off her hands. "Welcome to Luminos."
"Luminos?" Ezekiel repeated, his mind struggling to process everything. "What is this place? How did I get here?"
The girl smiled faintly, though her eyes carried a hint of weariness. "You're not the first to ask that. Come on, I'll explain on the way." She gestured for him to follow, picking up the drone and slinging it over her shoulder.
As they strolled, he saw a better view of the city: stunning, he felt, with the undertone of tension there. Shadows marched up the alley between skyscrapers, while several of the holograms flew raggedly, distorted to his eye. The streets throbbed, but still, as if something necessary was missing within it.
"What is your name?" she asks, jolting into the silence like that.
"Ezekiel," he said. "And you?"
"Nia," she replied. "I've been here for some time. Long enough to learn that this place isn't quite as flawless as it appears."
"What are you talking about?"
Nia hesitated, her features clouding over. "You'll learn soon enough. For now, just keep close. Luminos has a funny way of challenging people."
"Testing how?" Ezekiel asked, but Nia did not answer. She took him to an open plaza where a few other children were gathered, their faces a mixture of curiosity and caution.
"This is Ezekiel," Nia announced, drawing their attention. "Another new arrival."
There were the introductions themselves: Jasper, the über-energetic boy who could not sit still; Luna, the girl who does not speak much but whose eyes pierce right through him; Milo, the tall, assured teenager who commanded respect with his presence; Riya, a young girl with a sketchbook full of colorful drawings; Tarek, the stocky boy who moved like a martial artist with fluid ease; and Zoe, the girl who cowered on the edge of the group, arms crossing in defenses, eyes wary.
Each of them had his own story, his own reasons for being here. As Ezekiel listened, he realized they all shared something in common—a sense of being lost, abandoned, or misunderstood.
"You're one of us now," Milo said, his tone firm but kind. "Stick together, and we might just figure out how to survive this place."
Ezekiel nodded, a flicker of hope igniting within him. For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel entirely invisible.