The windshield trembled under the steady push of the wind. Trees blurred into dark streaks along the sides of the road, and the sky faded toward the part of the day Ethan Blackwyn never fully trusted.

He rested his forehead against the cold glass. For a moment, he saw his reflection: pale skin, straight dark hair. Nothing that set him apart from any other nine-year-old. But his eyes always gave him away—one deep brown, the other pale amber, catching what little light remained.

Outside, the sun sank behind the mountain. The last golden light slipped between the trees. To anyone else, it would have been just a sunset, another ordinary ending to an ordinary day. But to Ethan, it felt like something more.

His heart beat faster. He knew what came next. He always did: darkness. And even if he never admitted it out loud, he hated it.

“I wish it wouldn’t end,” he murmured.

His expression changed. “Wait,” he whispered to himself. “I’ve got it.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and rolled the window all the way down, letting the wind rush into the car. He leaned forward and counted under his breath.

“One, two, three—”

He pushed off with his knees and leapt outside.

He didn’t fall. Instead, he surged forward, suspended above the highway as if the sky itself had caught him midair. Light flared beneath his feet, and he ran across the open air toward the mountain.

That stone beast towered higher than any building he had ever seen. At its peak was a single eye—or rather, a crack—so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it.

Ethan stopped at the edge of the abyss. Heat gathered in his palm. A sword of fire formed there, golden flames rising from the hilt and curling along the blade. He gripped it hard. “You’re not going to put out the light!” he shouted as he charged forward. “You won’t beat me!”

He drove the glowing blade into the beast’s eye.

The mountain split apart and light erupted from within. The dying sun burned once more behind the clouds, ripping the sky in two.

Ethan pointed his sword at the shattered remains of the mountain.

“Take that, stupid mountain!”

“Ethan, what are you doing?”

A voice jolted him.

He blinked, and the world snapped back into place. He was still in the back seat. The window was open, and the seatbelt hung loose beside him.

His father’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “Ethan! Put your seatbelt on. Now.”

He fumbled for it until it clicked into place.

“You know you’re not supposed to take off your seatbelt,” his father said, his jaw tight. “Never. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And roll that window up.”

Ethan did. The wind cut off, leaving only the engine’s distant hum.

“I was just looking at the mountain,” Ethan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Then look at it from your seat.”

“He’s just enjoying the ride,” his mother cut in, turning in her seat with a gentle smile. “That mountain looks beautiful… like it’s on fire.” She glanced at her husband. “Don’t you think, Adam?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty,” his father replied without taking his eyes off the road. “But rules are rules.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Then how should I be, Amy? It’s dangerous.”

“All right, all right. Ethan won’t do it again. Right, sweetie?”

Ethan let out a resigned sigh. “Yes, Mom.”

“There. Let him enjoy the ride. Don’t ruin his excitement about going to see Grandma.”

“And the party, Mom. It’s going to be awesome!”

“Of course it is! Now how old did you say your mom is turning, honey?”

Ethan’s father exhaled, and the tension eased in his hands on the wheel. The boy knew that silence. Last time his parents fought, Mom hadn’t talked to Dad for three whole days.

“She’s turning eighty. So when we get there, Ethan, you’ll help her with whatever she asks. That’s your present for her.”

“Whatever she asks?”

“Whatever,” he said. “No excuses.”

Ethan nodded. With his mother, he could negotiate. With his father, not a chance.
‍

Still, the thought of his grandmother loosened something inside him, and he remembered her last birthday clearly: the big cake with strawberries and cream, the whole family singing loudly, though not especially in tune.

After blowing out the candles, Ethan had whispered, “Take a bite. Just a tiny one, please.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Only because you asked.”

She leaned toward the cake with exaggerated slowness. And then—chomp! She took a bite straight out of it.

When she straightened, her dentures were stuck in the frosting between two strawberries.

The entire table burst into laughter. Ethan nearly fell off his chair. She plucked them free, then lunged at him and clamped her toothless mouth onto his cheek.

“Birthday bite!”

Cream smeared across his face, and he laughed so hard he didn’t even try to wipe it off.

After that, whenever he misbehaved, she would narrow her eyes and warn him, “Don’t make me go for the other side.”
‍

The memory faded as the car rolled deeper into the evening.

“It’s getting dark,” his father said, glancing at the fuel gauge. “We’ll stop soon. Fill up and grab something to eat.”

“Do we have to?” his mother asked. “It’s almost pitch-black out there.”

“I’d rather not push it. Full tank is better.”

The trees were no longer green shapes but shadows pressed together along the roadside, and the headlights were the only sure thing ahead.

Then something moved.

At first he thought it was branches shifting in the wind, but the movement was too sharp. One shape vaulted along the tree line while another skimmed low beside the road.

He leaned closer to the glass.

Wide wings folded and opened. One hung a moment too long, suspended in the air, as if it wanted him to notice before surging forward again. Their long bodies twisted midair. They had flat heads and tails tapering to points. They looked like crows torn from a dream, stripped of their eyes.

“What are they?” he whispered. Louder now: “Dad… Mom… there’s something out there.”