Sometimes, destiny is like a gift sent from the past to the future, wrapped in ribbons woven from prophecies. No one can ever tell what lies hidden inside until the day it is opened: a blessing, a curse, or a dance of the two.

For both Luther Ravenswood and Aaron Attenborough, the night of August 31st, 2028, would forever be etched into their memories.

“Ringggg!”

“Yayyy!”

“Finallyyyy!”

“Everyone, stay seated! Just five more minutes so I can finish explaining this equation!”

The final bell of Lincoln High School rang through the halls, and its sharp peal was drowned out by the roar of jubilant cheers rising from the crowd of students. The sound marked the long-awaited end of a long and boring school day.

In Mr. Bryce’s classroom, at the back-right corner by the window, a guy slowly lifted his head from the desk.

Luther Ravenswood had been asleep for two entire periods, and now, at last, it was time to go home. The side of his cheek bore faint redness and swelling from resting too long on the hard wooden surface. He stuffed his books into his bag at a slow pace before rising to his feet and stepping out of the classroom amidst the chaotic flood of departing students.

“Bye, Tucker!”

“See you tomorrow!”

“See y’all!”

His classmates chattered as they said their goodbyes.

As for Luther, he neither greeted anyone nor did they speak a single word to him.

The golden glow of the late afternoon sun draped itself across the ivy-covered brick walls of Lincoln High, casting a brilliant hue over the scene at the school’s main gates.

Students of all grades poured out of various buildings, filling the walkways within minutes. The air was saturated with a sense of relief and exhilaration, the kind that always followed liberation from dreary classes and monotonous lectures that could lull a person into sleep quicker than a bottle of Nyquil.

Close-knit groups of friends clustered together. The school courtyard became a sea of people overflowing with retold stories and animated discussions of plans for the evening.

It was like a miniature universe, encapsulating the lively spirit of youth, a place where every group and every clique had its own space and importance.

As Luther walked, he could overhear a group of students discussing their plans for the night, Halloween. (Author’s note: in this universe, Halloween is celebrated on August 31st.)

“Did you guys know that tonight there’s going to be a blood moon?” one student asked in a hushed yet excited tone.

“A blood moon? What’s so special about that? I remember we just had one a few years ago,” another student replied, didn’t sound too impressed.

“But this time it falls exactly on the Day of the Departed, and that only happens once every five thousand years! That’s why this year’s Halloween is being celebrated so big everywhere! There’s even the Parade of the Dead downtown starting at six o’clock. I heard there will be more than a hundred floats.”

“Wow!”

“My cousin and I are going trick-or-treating in Petersburg tonight. The people there only hand out fancy candies.”

“Yeah, right, as if they’d let strangers into that neighborhood.”

“I’m not lying at all! My cousin has a friend who lives there, and they’re going to take us inside,” the guy answered with a wide grin.

“Wowwww!”

“Trick-or-treating? Seriously? How old are you guys again?”

A guy wearing a soccer jersey walked past and burst out laughing.

“It’s Petersburg we’re talking about! Do you even realize how hard it is to get into that place? The people living there are all celebrities, wealthy business magnates, key political figures, and even the governor’s family,” the first student retorted, clearly not happy about the attitude.

The guy in the soccer jersey scoffed.

“What a coincidence. I’m also going to Petersburg tonight, but I’ll be attending a party.”

“Oh, please, if you’re going to make something up, at least be creative. Don’t just copy me word for word like that,” the other shot back.

“Why would I need to copy you? Did you guys know that today also happens to be Aaron’s birthday? His family is throwing a huge party. He invited his entire homeroom class, along with everyone in the soccer team!”

“Aaron? You mean Aaron Attenborough??? Are you serious?”

There were plenty of students named Aaron at Lincoln High, but only one lived in Petersburg and also played for the school’s soccer team: Aaron Attenborough.

It was safe to say that very few people at the school were unaware of him.

“Talk about being born with a silver spoon in his mouth,” his friends would say, half-joking.

Standing six feet tall at just fourteen years old, with a balanced physique, sharp and defined facial features, and deep brown eyes, Aaron was for sure the guy in many students’ dreams.

The soccer guy shrugged:

“If you don’t believe me, go ask the others on the team, or anyone in his class.”

Right at that moment, someone called him out from a distance:

“Hey, David! We’re coming by to pick you up at six o’clock before heading to Aaron Attenborough’s house, alright?”

He made sure to say the name Aaron Attenborough loud and clear.

“Got it!”

“Damn, lucky you. I bet the party is going to be wild,” a boy muttered.

“I’ll take lots of pictures for you guys!”

“Get lost, you bragging jerk!” another boy yelled, his voice dripping with envy.

In stark contrast to this vibrant and animated atmosphere was Luther, a solitary figure, quiet and still amid the chaos.

He walked through the school gates at an unhurried pace, like an isolated island of calm drifting within a noisy, crashing sea of people. It was as though everyone around him was trying to keep their distance, and it also felt as if he existed in another dimension, one that ran parallel to the world of laughter and friendship surrounding him.

He left the school grounds and headed toward the bus stop located one block away.

A bright yellow bus was already parked there, glowing under the fading rays of the setting sun. A handful of students were scattered across the seats inside. Luther picked a seat near the back, where the noise of conversations seemed somewhat muted.

But not for long. A pretty girl with short, wavy blonde hair slid into the seat beside him.

“Hey Leo, why the long face today? Stomachache? I have some medicine for that,” she asked a guy sitting in the seat in front of them.

“Ugh. Miss Emmanuelle scolded me again today. That woman is seriously such a cranky old hag. Who even cares how many valence electrons oxygen has? As if I’ll ever need that knowledge for painting! I’m against forcing a true artist like me to study science subjects,” Leo grumbled.

“Hahahaha, she’s famous for her bad temper,” the girl replied with a laugh.

She kept chatting with other students, her words flowed in a rapid stream, and soon she became the center of attention even when she sat all the way in the back.

Her voice carried throughout the bus; her magnetic way of speaking seemed to draw others in without much effort. She was almost “directing” the conversations that unfolded around her, still brimming with energy despite the long day.

And yet, in all that liveliness, she never once glanced at the boy sitting right next to her, as though she were avoiding any interaction with him on purpose.

If a reader familiar with typical high school stories were to witness this scene, they might conclude right away, 'Here we go again, another story about bullying.'

But no, they would be utterly mistaken.

Even though Luther was enduring a cold, almost dismissive form of social exclusion, he made no effort to break through that invisible barrier.

He reached into his schoolbag and pulled out an old, battered portable music player, slipping the wired earphones over his ears.

Had the kids around him noticed, they probably would have gasped in amazement: What kind of ancient relic is that? But as usual, no one paid him the slightest bit of attention.

Soothing melodies opened a doorway into another world at a slow pace. As the soft singing flowed into his ears, the clamor inside the bus was pushed further and further away, replaced in full by rhythms and harmonies that only he could hear. The music pulled him inward, immersing him in a private world where the lives bustling around him faded into nothing more than a blurred backdrop.

His gaze drifted toward the bus window.

The scenery along the roadside passed by in a hazy blur, like a watercolor painting. Buildings, trees, and the occasional pedestrian all flitted by, each scene no more than a fleeting moment from the lives of strangers. Luther’s thoughts wandered with those fleeting images, drifting into distant reflections much like the landscapes that slid past and fell away behind him.

After forty minutes, he stepped off the bus at a slightly run-down station.

Luther walked through familiar streets in his neighborhood, his every step quiet and unassuming.

His uneven-cropped hair, as though chewed by a cat, stirred in the wind. A little lower, his blue eyes were of such a deep shade they could be mistaken for black at first glance.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, stretching the shadows of buildings, trees, and Luther himself far across the pavement. Lost in thought, he brushed shoulders by accident with a figure coming from the opposite direction. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his expression anything but friendly.

The stranger’s muscular body seemed sculpted from stone, tattoos snaked across his arms, and his eyes carried the weary fury of someone who had just endured a three-hour nagging from his wife for forgetting to take out the trash.

He whipped around, his scowling face twisting as though fate had just handed him the perfect opportunity to pick a fight.

In that brief moment, two worlds collided. The man’s eyes blazed with anger over the accidental bump. He fixed his glare on Luther’s back, who kept walking away as though nothing had happened.

The man lunged forward and seized his arm, spinning him around with a rough pull.

“You think …”

The angry words barely left his lips before they stopped midway.

Then, for no apparent reason, the rage on his face evaporated, and a strange look of confusion replaced it. His brows furrowed, and he tried to remember what he was doing.

And even that puzzlement faded away in just a few seconds. Without another word, he turned around and walked off, brushing aside the boy’s presence as though he was nothing more than a wisp of smoke.

As for Luther, throughout the entire incident, he neither uttered a single word nor showed any reaction. This was his life, his reality. He had grown far too accustomed to being ignored, to going unseen.

It was as if he were a ghost, wandering the mortal world, unable to leave behind even the faintest trace or echo of his existence.