It happened in the middle of the night.

No warning. No sound.

The sky simply… cracked.

At first, people thought it was lightning. A strange, silent flash stretching across the darkness. But it didn’t disappear. It stayed there—glowing, expanding, tearing the night open like something was pushing through from the other side.

Everyone saw it.

Cities stopped. Streets emptied. Eyes turned upward.

And inside that fracture… something moved.

Not clearly. Not fully. Just shapes—shifting, watching, waiting.

Then, just as suddenly as it appeared…

It closed.

No explosion. No collapse.

Just gone.

By morning, the world looked exactly the same.

The sky was clear. The streets were normal. Life continued.

But something felt off.

Small things at first. A misplaced object. A missing message. A face you thought you remembered—but couldn’t quite picture anymore.

Then people started to notice.

Something wasn’t right.

Not broken.

Not destroyed.

Just… missing.

No one could agree on what it was. Everyone felt it differently. Like trying to remember a dream that fades the moment you wake up.

But deep down, there was one terrifying thought no one wanted to say out loud:

What if whatever was behind that crack… didn’t come through—

but took something with it instead?