Chapter 1: My Son’s Dream

“Dad, I saw that red planet again—the one with a crack across its belly. But no one believes me.”

I set my book down and turned to the boy curled up on the couch. His wide eyes shimmered with the remnants of a dream too vivid to fade. My son, Hoàng Long, was only six—a bright, curious child who asked endless questions about the universe. But lately, his imagination had taken a turn into the strange and uncanny.

“Was it another dream?” I asked, gently pulling a blanket over his small shoulders.

He nodded. “But it didn’t feel like a dream. I was standing on a long bridge, looking down at the planet. It wasn’t spinning, but the lights on its surface kept pulsing… like it was breathing.”

I smiled. “A planet that breathes?”

“I’m serious! There were glowing rings floating around it. Every time it ‘breathed,’ the rings changed color—like they were alive too.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Long had never watched a science fiction movie. He hadn’t even learned about the solar system yet. But this was the third time this week he had described the same vision—and each time, the details grew more precise.

Yesterday, he even drew a picture: a blue planet split down the middle, a curved bridge in the sky. It was done with nothing more than school crayons, yet there was something eerie—almost… adult—about it.

In the bottom corner of the drawing, he had scribbled:
“Window of the First Dawn.”

I froze when I read it.

I had never spoken to him about the Windows.

I still remembered the last thing my father left me before he passed: a small, sealed metal box. I never opened it. I never understood his parting words:

“When Earth cracks in your dream, open the box.”

I’d assumed it was just the rambling of an old man slipping into senility. But now, with my son dreaming of a split planet and writing about a “Window”…

That night, after Long fell asleep, I went into the study.

The box was still there—in the bottom drawer, covered in dust, waiting.

I set it on the desk. My hands trembled as I opened the lid.

Inside lay a small metallic orb, cool and smooth, fitting perfectly into my palm. Spiral carvings ran across its surface, etched with symbols that reminded me of stars and forgotten maps.

And when I touched it—

A wave of cold fire surged up my arm and into my mind. Images burst behind my eyes: the long bridge, the planet, the rings. Then a voice echoed, distant but unmistakable:

“Window of the First Dawn… has opened.”

I staggered back and dropped the orb.

The wall clock behind me stopped ticking.

I turned to the front door… but it no longer opened into the hallway.

Instead, I saw a crimson sky.

And a bridge… suspended over a void.

My son’s dream was no longer just a dream.
It had begun.