Era of the Living Moon

The basement fell into an uneasy quiet after the chaos above. Aurora and I sat on the cold concrete floor, backs against the wall, letting the adrenaline slowly drain from our systems. My limbs felt impossibly heavy, like gravity itself—the very force I'd just manipulated—was exacting revenge by weighing me down. The quill was gone, but I could still feel phantom tingles in my fingertips, echoes of power that had rewritten reality itself just minutes ago.

Aurora's head tilted back against the wall, her eyes closed, sword long since dissolved back into moonlight. The silver glow that had emanated from her during the fight had faded, leaving her looking almost normal—if exhaustion could ever look normal on someone usually so composed.

"Do you think—" I started to ask, not even sure what question I wanted to form. About the System? About what was happening upstairs? About what would happen next?

A shrill, piercing sound cut through the silence.

Then another, overlapping the first, creating a dissonant electronic wail that bounced off the concrete walls.

Our phones. Both simultaneously erupting into the unmistakable blare of an emergency alert.

Aurora's eyes snapped open. We locked gazes for a split second before fumbling for our devices, movements clumsy with fatigue and dread.

My phone vibrated violently in my hand as I stared at the screen. Bold red text pulsed across the display, the harsh light illuminating my face in crimson.

EMERGENCY ALERT: NATIONAL SECURITY THREAT TAKE SHELTER IMMEDIATELY THIS IS NOT A DRILL REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE DO NOT APPROACH INFECTED INDIVIDUALS

Below it, a scrolling ticker: "DEFCON 1 DECLARED – MAXIMUM READINESS – STAY TUNED FOR PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS"

"DEFCON 1," I whispered, the words sounding hollow in the basement's stale air. "That's..."

"Nuclear war readiness," Aurora finished, her voice unnaturally flat as she stared at her own screen. "They're treating this like a nuclear attack."

The realization crashed over me in waves. This wasn't just happening here. Not just our university, not just New York. This was everywhere.

"My mom," I choked out suddenly, the thought hitting me with physical force. "She's in Boston for that conference. And my dad—he's at the lab across town."

Aurora's face drained of what little color it had left. "My sister. She's at home with my grandmother in Queens."

The system screen, the stats, the abilities—all of it seemed distant and unimportant compared to the crushing weight of knowing our families were out there. In this new, broken world where people transformed into silver-eyed monsters without warning.

My fingers moved on autopilot, tapping my mother's contact. The screen showed the call connecting, the seconds ticking by as the ringing echoed hollowly in my ear.

One ring. Two. Three.

"Come on, come on," I muttered, my free hand clenching into a fist so tight my nails bit into my palm.

Aurora was doing the same, her phone pressed hard against her ear, lips moving in what might have been a prayer.

Four rings. Five.

The automated voice hit me like a physical blow: "We're sorry, but all circuits are currently busy. Please try your call again later."

I tried again. And again. Each time, the same robotic message played back at me, indifferent to my growing panic.

"It's not going through," Aurora said, already trying her next contact. "None of them are."

I switched to texting, typing frantically.

Mom, are you safe? The system, these abilities—it's happening everywhere. Please respond.

The message hung on "sending" for several seconds before an error message appeared: Failed to send.

"The networks are overloaded," I said, trying to keep my voice steady even as something cold and terrified twisted in my stomach. "Everyone in the country is probably trying to call someone right now."

Aurora switched to her data, pulling up Instagram, then Twitter, then a news site. Each attempt met with the same result—an endless loading wheel or an error message.

"Internet's gone too," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "Or at least too overloaded to function."

I tried switching to data myself, desperately searching for any connection to the outside world. Nothing. It was as if someone had thrown a switch, cutting us off completely.

"It's like the apocalypse movies," I said, staring at my useless phone. "The ones where communication networks are the first thing to go."

Aurora set her phone down, her hands trembling slightly. Not from fear of combat—she'd faced that head-on—but from the terrible helplessness of not knowing. "What do we do?"

I looked down at my own screen, at the stat page still hovering faintly in my vision behind the emergency alert. Level 2. Five stat points to allocate. Tools in a game I never asked to play.

"We survive," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "We figure out this system. We get stronger. And we find our families."

Aurora's gaze hardened, the momentary vulnerability giving way to something steelier. She nodded. "You're right. Standing here panicking won't help them."

"We need a plan," I said, closing the emergency alert and focusing on my stat page. "First, we allocate our points. Then we need supplies. Water, food."

"Weapons," Aurora added. "For me, at least. Something physical in case my powers fail."

The emergency alert on our phones pulsed again, a second notification appearing beneath the first:

ATTENTION: AVOID ALL MAJOR POPULATION CENTERS MARTIAL LAW ENACTED IN FOLLOWING AREAS: NEW YORK CITY, BOSTON, WASHINGTON D.C., LOS ANGELES, CHICAGO, HOUSTON, PHILADELPHIA, PHOENIX, SAN ANTONIO, SAN DIEGO

The list continued, major cities across the country enumerated in cold, digital text.

"We're in one of those population centers," Aurora pointed out, her jaw tight. "We need to get out of the city."

I nodded, my mind racing through options, through variables, through the thin lines of what might be possible. "But not before we find our families."

She leaned closer to look at my stat screen. The blue glow illuminated her face, casting sharp shadows across her features. Even exhausted, covered in dust and sweat, she looked determined. Ready.

"How are you going to distribute those points?" she asked, the practical question anchoring us both back to the immediate problem.

I studied my stats, trying to make sense of the best approach:

Nathaniel Moretti

Level: 2

Main Class: Astral Equationist (★★★★★)

Stats:

CI: 23

CON: 12

INT: 18

STR: 14

AGI: 13

Available Points: 5

"I need to understand these stats better," I said, thinking aloud. "Intelligence seems obvious—knowledge, calculations, mental ability. That's definitely important for my class. But Cosmic Insight..." I trailed off, remembering how the quill had felt in my hand, how the universe had opened itself to me like a book written in a language I was only beginning to understand.

"It's your ability to perceive and manipulate the System itself," Aurora suggested. "The higher your CI, the more you can see and change the code."

I nodded. "That makes sense. When I was rewriting gravity, it felt like I was trying to change something that actively resisted me. If my CI was higher..."

"You might have better control," she finished. "Less resistance."

"But I also need to survive long enough to use these abilities," I added, thinking of the zombies upstairs, of the danger that surely waited outside. "Constitution gives me more health, more endurance."

Aurora glanced at the warped door. "You've seen what's out there. We're going to be doing a lot of running."

"Agility," I muttered. "I need to be faster."

I stared at the distribution screen, feeling the weight of the choice. In normal circumstances, this would have been like picking skills in a video game—entertaining, reversible, inconsequential. But now, with life and death balancing on the edge of a digital stat screen, each point felt monumental.

"How would an Astral Equationist think?" I asked myself quietly. "What would maximize my chances?"

I thought about the quill, about the way reality had fractured before my eyes to reveal the code beneath. About how I'd almost failed because I couldn't understand the equations fast enough, couldn't process them, couldn't control them.

I exhaled slowly and began to allocate my points.

"Two points to Intelligence," I said, watching as the number shifted from 18 to 20. "I need to process information quickly, understand the code I'm seeing."

Aurora nodded.

"Two points to Cosmic Insight," I continued, the number rising from 23 to 25. "Better control over my abilities, less resistance when I try to rewrite reality."

"And the last point?" Aurora asked.

I hesitated, weighing the options. Strength would let me defend myself physically if needed. Agility would help me dodge, run, stay alive. Constitution would give me more health, more stamina.

"Constitution," I decided finally. "One point. I need to stay on my feet longer, endure more." The stat rose from 12 to 13.

As I confirmed the allocation, a subtle warmth flowed through me. It wasn't dramatic—no glowing aura, no surge of power—just a quiet sense that something fundamental had changed. My mind felt sharper, clearer. The faint outlines of lunar code that had started to fade back into invisibility became more distinct again, as if my perception had expanded.

"We need to move soon," I said, pushing myself to my feet. The fatigue from using my ability still lingered, but it had dulled from crippling to manageable. "Find supplies, weapons, maybe other survivors who received classes."

Aurora stood as well, rolling her shoulders as if testing her own recovery. "We should head toward Queens first. My grandmother's place. It's closest. And she build her house like a fortress."

"Agreed. And it's away from the densest parts of the city." I checked the emergency alert again, scanning for any new information, any clue about what was happening beyond our basement refuge.

"Let me try one more time," Aurora said, dialing her sister's number again. Her face fell as the same automated message played. "Nothing."

I reached out, squeezing her shoulder. "We'll find them."

She covered my hand with hers for just a moment, the brief contact conveying more than words could. Then she pulled away, all business again.

"Let's check what we have. Empty our bags, pool resources."

We dumped the contents of our backpacks onto the floor—textbooks, notebooks, pens, a half-eaten protein bar, Aurora's water bottle, my battery pack, some loose change. The meager supplies of students whose biggest concern that morning had been an astrophysics lecture.

"Not exactly apocalypse ready," I muttered.

Aurora managed a tight smile. "We'll make it work. We always do."

Above us, muffled sounds filtered through the ceiling—crashes, distant screams, what might have been gunfire. The emergency alerts on our phones continued to pulse rhythmically, bathing the basement in intermittent red light.

Outside our basement sanctuary, New York City—and perhaps the entire world—burned.