Brooklyn had changed—just not on the surface.
The skyline still shimmered with glyph-lit towers.
Air taxis still hummed above agency routes.
But beneath the shine, the pressure was building.
Like the city was holding its breath—and Jahil Roze could feel the freeze settling in.
Two days had passed since the cathedral collapse.
Jahil and Velira walked side by side through one of the surviving sectors—an old merchant quarter half-consumed by snow.
Velira kicked a chunk of ice ahead of her as they moved.
"This place is... quieter than I remember," she said.
"Or you're louder," Jahil replied.
She stuck her tongue out at him—then immediately regretted it when a gust of cold air slapped her in the face.
The streets around them were still active, in a battered kind of way.
Vendors hawked relic scraps, modified mecha components, synthetic rations.
Drones zipped by overhead, broadcasting glyph-check announcements.
But even through the noise—there was a tension.
Everyone moved just a little faster. Watched a little harder.
As they turned a corner, Jahil paused.
Ahead, a wide section of the district was cordoned off—surrounded by glimmering glyph barricades.
Inside the sealed perimeter, the air warped like heat over asphalt—except the distortion was wrong.
It pulsed.
It folded inward.
Like the world was glitching.
Velira (whispering):
"That's... a Breakpoint, isn't it?"
Jahil nodded once.
The dome shimmered in the winter light—almost invisible until you focused on it.
A tear in space-time itself, throbbing with a sick rhythm.
As they stood there, a squad of agency evac officers ushered civilians away from the edge.
Among them, a figure stood out instantly.
She was tall—lean and poised like a coiled spring.
Storm-gray hair swept back into practical braids.
Golden eyes sharp as flint.
Skin kissed by sun and battle both.
Wearing modified agency gear—black and white accented with metallic blue, her uniform built for aerial operations.
A high-frequency relic spear rested casually in one hand.
She exuded command without needing to say a word.
Velira nudged Jahil.
"She looks... important."
Before Jahil could reply, the woman spotted them—and approached.
"You two," she said, voice crisp but not unkind.
"Sector's locked down. Civilian evacuation underway. Recommend you move along."
Jahil nodded slowly.
Velira hesitated.
"What's causing it?" she asked.
The woman—Zephyra—glanced back at the distortion field.
"Nobody knows for sure. When relics, glyph systems, and machine networks resonate wrong..."
(Beat.)
"Things tear."
Velira frowned.
**"That's it? Just... bad resonance?"
Zephyra shrugged.
**"That's the theory. Whatever it is—it’s lethal if you're too close when it breaches."
She turned back to them, scanning briefly.
Her gaze lingered a second longer on Velira.
Nothing said.
But something noted.
"Move clear," Zephyra said.
"For your own good."
She stepped away, rejoining her squad.
As Jahil and Velira turned to leave, Velira muttered:
**"So... that's a Breakpoint."
"They happen often?"
"Often enough."
Jahil kept his voice low.
**"First responders treat them like rift infections. Dome goes up, heroes go in."
Velira shivered.
**"What's inside?"
"Whatever reality leaked through."
Behind them, the shimmering dome twisted—
And cracked.
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