The hope for a sunny weekend, so common in spring, had faded under the relentless downpour that had lasted all night. Michael had endured a restless sleep, his dreams leaving him both anxious and exhilarated.

  In the first dream, a strange backdrop, murky and insubstantial, morphed into a golden meadow—or was it amber? Perhaps bronze?—bathed in the glow of a fiery, red-tinged sky. A girl was walking toward him.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. When she reached him, she extended her hand. Without hesitation, he took it. Her fingers were soft and warm, yet surprisingly firm as they intertwined with his.

  “I think I know you…” Michael said.

  The girl tilted her head, a faint smile on her lips. Before he could say anything more, a jolt yanked him backward. Her fingers slipped from his grasp as someone held him tightly by the shoulders.

  “Wait! Come back!” he shouted, his voice nearly lost under the roar of rain that began to pour. It started as a gentle drizzle but turned into a violent deluge that overwhelmed the world around him.

  As the scene washed away, he found himself standing in the small park in Rosenfield where he used to play as a child. But the sense of familiarity quickly dissolved. The park blurred and faded into a dense curtain of water, so thick it blocked out everything. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe.

  His chest tightened. “I… can’t…” he gasped. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the rain softened, and the scene dissolved into the dull gray haze where it had begun. The girl was gone.

  When he woke, he lay still, staring at the ceiling. His muscles ached as if he’d been wrestling something in his sleep.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. For a fleeting moment, he thought the girl had melted into the rain like some strange dream-ghost, but he brushed the thought aside. Dreams were just dreams. They didn’t mean anything.

  And yet, as he got ready for the day, he couldn’t shake the unease settling in his chest.

  By eleven, when he stepped out to meet Jonata, the rain was still coming down in torrents. His shoes were quickly soaked through with water and mud, but he didn’t care. He had too many questions, and everything else paled in comparison.

  At the café, Jonata was already waiting at a corner table, tapping his fingers idly against his mug of coffee.

  “Finally! You look like you walked through a hurricane,” Jonata said with a grin.

  Michael dropped into the seat across from him, shaking rainwater from his jacket. “Nice to see you, too.”

  Jonata laughed. “Seriously, you don’t look okay. What’s going on?”

  Michael leaned in, lowering his voice. “You promised me answers, Jonata. No jokes. Let’s get to it.”

  Jonata’s grin faded. His expression shifted into something more serious, almost solemn. He glanced around the café, leaning closer as if the walls themselves might be listening. “Alright. Brace yourself, Michael. There’s a lot you’re not ready for, but you need to hear it.”

  The night before, at the party, Jonata had watched Michael for a long time. He seemed awkward, out of place. The thought that this insignificant, clumsy figure was the person he had been waiting for—searching for, even—made him feel sick. While waiting for the right moment to finally confront him and get it over with, Jonata noticed the party humming around him—chatter, laughter, occasional bursts of music, all irrelevant noise to his growing impatience.

  “Are you sure Erica made this?” someone near the snack table asked, holding up a plate of tiramisu.

  “She probably followed that TikTok recipe—what’s her name? The one who’s famous for desserts?” another voice chimed in.

  “Sofia Bakes,” Erica said, grinning. “And yes, I followed her recipe. It’s life-changing.”

  Jonata’s gaze remained fixed on Michael. He watched as the boy navigated through the balloons scattered across the floor, his oversized jacket swaying awkwardly with every step. His shoes squeaked faintly against the polished floor, but Jonata wasn’t paying attention to details like that—he was locked onto Michael’s every move.

  This has to happen now, he thought, fists tightening as he watched Michael approach. He’s the one, no matter how ridiculous it seems.

  Michael stopped in front of him, silent. Jonata watched him closely, almost daring him to say something. The voices from around the room floated past him—someone near the stereo discussing the next song, laughter erupting from the snack table—but Jonata barely registered the background noise. All that mattered was the boy standing before him.

  “What do you want?” Jonata asked, his tone sharp.

  Michael shrugged. “Just saying hi.”

  “For the first time in ten years?”

  Jonata arched a brow. You’ve got to be kidding me. He studied Michael’s face for a moment, then turned toward the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Michael glancing in the same direction. That garden outside—isolated, secure. Yes, that was the place where everything was supposed to happen, where Jonata would finally lay it all out for him.

  “It’s easy to do that with someone who cares about you and doesn’t know how to defend themselves,” Jonata said, his tone sharper now. His lip curled slightly. “I saw you illuminating Erica at school. That was low.”

  Michael shifted, the same confused look on his face as before. He really has no idea, Jonata thought. He doesn’t even know I’ve been watching him.

  “What are you… no, I didn’t…” Michael stammered.

  “Tried what, exactly?” Jonata repeated, though his mind had already jumped to the events of that afternoon.

  At least he’s stopped pretending, Jonata thought grimly. So this is his level. He has the Light, sure, uses it instinctively—but that’s it. No idea what it is, no control, doesn’t even know what to do with it. He should have expected this.

  That afternoon on Winston Road, Jonata had tested him. It had been ridiculously easy. First, he’d provoked him, looking down at him with cold indifference—nothing too harsh, just enough to offend him, rile him up. For rookies, it’s easier to use the Light when they’re mad. The stronger the anger, the more natural it feels. And it had worked. Jonata had felt the Light stir in Michael—raw, untamed, but with a surprising amount of power. It had started vibrating within him, ready to ignite. He had watched as Michael approached, his steps quick, his palm raised. That flicker of Light had begun to emerge, shaky and inexperienced.

  Excited, Jonata admitted to himself. He’d felt a thrill when he raised his own hand, letting the Light pulse through him effortlessly. Then, it had all been too easy. He had illuminated Michael, imposed his will on him, forced him to walk home without realizing it, without remembering a single detail of the journey. Michael had woken from the trance at his doorstep, clueless and unaware of what had just happened.

  And now here he was, standing in front of him again—just as clueless as before.

  Jonata leaned back slightly. So, he’s not even trying to hide how clueless he is. He had the Light—Jonata could see that—but he didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know how it worked. Typical, Jonata thought bitterly. Why do I always have to deal with people like this?

  “You found yourself standing at your front door, like you’d teleported or been hypnotized, didn’t you?” Jonata said, watching Michael’s reaction closely.

  Michael nodded, reluctant but unable to deny it.

  “But you have no idea what happened. Have you ever heard of the Light?” Jonata asked.

  The television played a slow, syrupy tune while, in the middle of the living room, a few kids were attempting dance moves, teasing each other all the while. Jonata thought that, judging by the way Michael was watching them, this guy’s got the attention span of a gnat—if I don’t hold him steady, he’ll drift off completely.

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  “I’ve been looking for someone with the Light for years,” he had explained in a conciliatory tone. “I knew there was at least one here in Rosenfield, and I couldn’t understand why they hadn’t come forward. The thing is, you really have no idea, do you?”

  “The ‘Light’? So I didn’t imagine it? It’s real?”

  He sighed. It was just as he had thought. Good, he thought, now’s the time.

  He stood and gestured for Michael to follow him. They headed toward the door under the worried gazes of the others. To almost everyone, Jonata was “the tough guy,” “the bully.” Even Michael was dragging his feet, shoulders slumped, like a prisoner walking to the gallows.

  Jonata couldn’t help but smirk in satisfaction. He’d never wanted that reputation, but he didn’t mind it either. He’d worn it like a tailored suit: after all, he had nothing to feel guilty about—he’d never hurt anyone. Just a little innocent illumination here and there, always careful not to get caught. No big deal.

  Once they reached the path, two guys smoking a joint stepped respectfully aside. They stubbed the joint out in a cup and hurried back inside. One of them, Jonata recalled, had told him to get lost a few months ago. Naturally, Jonata had made sure it was the other who got lost: shame I hadn’t been there to see his face when he found himself in a tiny village miles from Rosenfield, clueless as to why.

  Now they were alone, but it still wasn’t enough.

  “Not here. They can see us from the window,” he said to Michael.

  They walked to the side yard. Finally, the time has come. But in Michael’s posture, Jonata caught worry, a hint of barely concealed fear that he didn’t like at all.

  Anything but a crybaby, he thought, silently praying to any god who might be listening. “What do you want? I haven’t done anything to you; I didn’t mean to bother you,” Michael said.

  “Don’t play dumb.” By then, Jonata was starting to lose his patience. “Do you really think I want to hurt you?”

  “Then why did you bring me here?”

  “I thought you had questions.”

  “Not like this, not here. Let’s go back inside.”

  At that moment, Jonata feared Michael might truly leave. He needed to find a way to inspire even a sliver of trust—or this evening would end in nothing but frustration. He decided to try appearing friendly, but he didn’t know how, and his face twisted into a fake smile. Ridiculous. This guy’s making me feel like a damn fool. Is this seriously happening?

  He fought the urge to lash out immediately, to grab Michael and force him to listen. How could someone so clueless hold this kind of power?

  But then, as Michael hesitated, as that faint spark of defiance flickered in his eyes, Jonata felt something else—a flicker of hope. He has no idea what he is, what he could be. But he’s here. He exists. The thought steadied him, cooling the frustration for just a moment. He hadn’t been wrong. There’s someone like me, after all. No one else understands, not really—but maybe he could. If I don’t screw this up.

  The surge of irritation returned as Michael shifted his weight, looking like he was about to turn away again. Clueless idiot! If he walks away now, that’s it—I’ll be back to square one. His fingers twitched, and his jaw tightened. No. I won’t let that happen. I can’t.

  “So, you don’t want to know about the Light,” he bellowed, “don’t want to know how it works, what it is? You don’t care, do you?”

  Michael stared at him, silent, his expression unreadable. He seemed resolute, less afraid than before. Then he turned to leave, and Jonata tried to stop him by grabbing his arm, but Michael slipped away.

  Michael squared his shoulders, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “You think you can just push me around? That I’ll just roll over like everyone else?”

  Jonata faltered for half a second, his lips twitching as he fought back the urge to step back. What the hell? He’s sharper than I thought. He masked his hesitation with a smirk, driving his voice harder. “Big words for someone who doesn’t even know how to use the Light.”

  Jonata took a few seconds to think. He could wait until the next day or until they met again at school, but there was a risk Michael would avoid him. How many more days—or weeks, or months—could he afford to lose? Maybe he could ask Erica, their mutual friend, for advice. But how could he do that without revealing the Light to her? No. There was only one thing he could do: he sprinted after Michael, intercepting him just in time to block the exit to the garden.

  The confrontation turned physical. Michael tried to push his way through, but compared to Jonata, he was fragile. And Michael didn’t seem all that determined. Maybe, deep down, he wanted the same thing Jonata did. Fine, Jonata thought, he’s asking for it. He shoved him back forcefully, sending him tumbling onto the grass.

  “Look at you,” Jonata said. “You’re shaking in your boots.”

  Jonata must have looked completely insane to Michael, judging by the boy’s disgusted expression. Michael stood up and dusted off his pants. Calm and determined, he no longer seemed frightened. In the face of imminent conflict, he looked ready to dig his heels in and fight back. Jonata was starting to like him.

  “Of course not,” Michael replied, clenching his fists.

  “Oh, come on. You can do better than that… You’re just a wimp!”

  “I am not!”

  “Yes, you are. A useless little wimp.”

  “Why are you insulting me? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Me, insulting you? I wouldn’t stoop so low. It’s your… uh… chicken face! Your chicken face is doing all the insulting on its own!”

  Michael’s eyes widened, and he nearly laughed. That insult had been truly pathetic.

  Does he know? Has he figured out I’m bluffing, just trying to irritate him? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Jonata could still see determination and resolve in Michael’s expression. Good sign.

  Now Jonata decided to up the ante—but no more mistakes. He needed to make Michael truly angry, to push him past the breaking point. The first thing that came to mind was to bring up Erica. He didn’t like the idea; she was worth a hundred Michaels—and maybe even a hundred Jonatas. But it would work. He was certain of it.

  “You know your Erica, back in there? One day, she told me she thinks you’re ridiculous.”

  “That’s not true. We’re friends. Stop talking nonsense.”

  As he said this, Michael turned to leave again, but Jonata didn’t let him. Now their faces were only inches apart. Jonata stared into Michael’s eyes, but Michael couldn’t hold his gaze. He tried to slip away but failed. When Jonata grabbed his arm and yanked him back, he felt Michael trembling. It wasn’t fear. No, it was a sensation Jonata knew well. It was anger. It was the Light surging to the surface. He could see it in every movement, in the tension of Michael’s muscles, in the fire in his eyes.

  It’s working, Jonata thought. More! More!

  “You really think Erica’s your friend? She’s way out of your league—she pities you, Michael. That’s why she keeps you around.”

  Michael tried to defend himself, but Jonata pressed on.

  “She laughed at you when you walked in wearing that ridiculous jacket!”

  “It’s the same one you have!”

  For God’s sake, not the jacket. Not my mom’s jacket. His mother had given it to him just days before she passed away. But she had gotten the size wrong, and he’d never had the heart to exchange it. And now Michael, that insignificant little creature, had worn a jacket just like it, oversized and ill-fitting. Did he think that would change anything? That it would soften Jonata? Fool. Jonata should have illuminated him on the spot and sent him back into the party whimpering like a puppy. But he held back.

  “At least I had the decency to take mine off indoors. And don’t change the subject. Didn’t you notice the way she looks at me? Erica wants me.”

  “That’s not true! She does what I tell her!”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes, you saw it yourself!”

  “Sure, that’s easy. You make her do what you want with the Light.”

  “I…”

  “The Light doesn’t care about feelings, Michael, or your little high-school crushes. It cares about power. And I’ve got it—you don’t.”

  “Don’t you dare talk about me and Erica!”

  “I dare because I can, and I’m better than you. I’m stronger. I’m smarter. She wants me.”

  “You’re just an arrogant bastard. You don’t deserve the Light.”

  “Oh, look at that. The scared little kid has finally grown some claws.”

  “You don’t scare me.”

  “That’s it? That’s your anger?”

  “You have no idea…”

  “More!” Jonata yelled, goading him. “You’re a coward!”

  Michael puffed out his chest, his fists clenched, ready to attack.

  “More!”

  Michael advanced toward him. Jonata could see it in his eyes, the tension in his body, the rigid set of his features: he’d lost control. It was only a matter of moments now. He’d done it.

  Jonata extended his right arm, palm outstretched. It wasn’t necessary—anyone who knew how to illuminate could do it without raising their arm—but he wanted Michael to see the Light. And there it was, that familiar tingle creeping up from his wrist to concentrate in his hand. The tingle became a burn, a flame. Yet there was no pain. He was the flame. A faint, melodic hum followed the Light’s surge, a resonance so pure it seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of his bones. It was the sound of power awakening, primal and undeniable.

  He knew exactly what Michael saw at that moment. He knew because he had seen it himself while practicing with his mom. The palm of his hand lit up with an unearthly yellow glow, a hue he had never encountered before. Not fire, not sunlight, nothing of this world. A pure yellow. It was in Michael now, in his eyes, his memories, his very being. He didn’t just see it with his eyes; he felt it with every fiber of himself.

  Then Michael’s anger faded. His light dimmed, extinguished like a candle snuffed out between fingers. Jonata knew he had won. A wave of hollowness followed, as though the Light had taken a part of him as it receded. For a fleeting moment, he felt both lighter and emptier, an echo of power lost—or stolen.

  He had won because Michael’s anger had dissolved, dissipating into the gelatinous substance where Jonata now made him float, utterly helpless. Sparks flickered everywhere in Michael’s mind, fusing with his thoughts, melting them like molten lead, until everything was submerged, leaving him breathless. Suddenly, a flash of light blinded him, and then—nothing. Until Jonata released him, and Michael found himself back in the garden, surrounded by familiar sights and sensations.

  Jonata knew the feeling well. He knew what had happened in Michael’s mind and, a few minutes later, described it to him in vivid detail, leaving him speechless. He explained that he would answer all of Michael’s questions as best he could and that Michael needed to stop worrying about him—he only wanted to help. He told him they could train together, and that with effort, Michael could reach his level. Then he invited him to the café near his house, where he spent his afternoons.

  That’s where Jonata was waiting now. No one would disturb them, and they could talk in peace.

  Michael nodded without saying a word, and then they went back inside. Jonata calmly put on his oversized jacket, still feeling the thrill of excitement and joy. There was nothing left to do. He gave Erica a quick nod and, without saying a word to anyone else, walked out.

  Name: Jonata

  Illumination type: Predator

  Level: Intermediate

  Name: Michael

  Illumination type: Predator

  Level: Beginner