Aarav didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of that world—the other side—flickered back in. The buildings, the light, the strange calm of it all. And that announcement.
Final wave of citizenship registration.
He needed in. Fast.
By morning, he was dressed and out the door before his alarm could do its job. No breakfast, no messages. Just a notebook, a half-charged phone, and a frayed backpack.
The cracked-glass storefront waited like it always did. Forgotten. Silent. But the second he stepped into it, the shimmer came alive again.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
One step forward. And the world peeled open.
He landed softer this time. Less panic, more preparation. He was getting used to the transition—still weird, still disorienting, but not terrifying. Not anymore.
The streets were busier than before. Not crowded, but alive. Vendors floated small hover-carts alongside them, and the soft buzz of a distant announcement drifted through the air.
"...last day for third-cycle citizenship registration. Processing stations open until third bell. Verified non-locals are encouraged to apply..."
He caught enough to know what it meant.
This was it.
He needed help. And fast.
He walked toward the busiest square he could find. Most people ignored him, but one woman—mid-30s, short hair, green wrap jacket—gave him a long look. She had a badge clipped to her belt and a device in her hand that pulsed faintly.
"You look new," she said.
Aarav hesitated. "Is it that obvious?"
"You're standing under a transit beam." She pointed above them. "If it activates, you're toast. Come on."
He stepped aside quickly. "Thanks."
"Name?"
"Uh. Aarav."
"And where are you coming from?"
Aarav opened his mouth, then froze. He hadn't prepared for this. Just then, he heard a man in the next line say to an officer, "Vireen District."
Without missing a beat, Aarav repeated, "Vireen District."
Reva glanced sideways at the man, then back at Aarav. Her eyebrow lifted, but she didn't press.
"Alright. Vireen it is."
"No ID patch, no biometric tags. You're either lost, hiding, or very bold."
He swallowed. "I'm just trying to apply for citizenship. I heard the announcement."
She raised an eyebrow, then smiled slightly. "You're cutting it close. Come with me. I'm Reva. Municipal registrar liaison."
She led him through the square, past a few curious glances, and into a side corridor that opened into a clean, high-ceilinged space with floating counters and scanning panels. A few others stood in line, most looking nervous.
"Third wave," Reva said, guiding him to a console. "Surprised we're offering citizenship to people like you?"
Aarav nodded. "Yeah. Honestly, I figured a place this advanced wouldn't even need more people."
"That's the funny part," Reva said. "After the war that unified the continent, we had more infrastructure than population. The cities were designed for ten times what we had left. So we opened the gates—carefully. The first two waves filled in the gaps. The third's about long-term culture. Innovation. People who can bring something new."
Aarav absorbed that. It made sense in a strange, futuristic way. Build the world first, then find people to help it grow.
"This is the last wave," Reva continued. "After this, it's closed for a generation. You're not just applying to live here. You're applying to shape what it becomes."
He blinked. Then straightened his shoulders.
"Got anything to trade?" Got anything to trade?"
Aarav blinked. "Like what?"
"Something useful. Doesn't have to be flashy. Just has to mean something here."
He thought quickly. "I... I write stories."
Reva tilted her head. "Upload one. The system's got an auto-translator. If it pings high on emotional fidelity or structural novelty, you'll get a voucher review."
He fumbled for his notebook. Pages filled with half-finished ideas. Jokes. Characters. One short story he'd scribbled in a train once—a simple piece about a man who lies for a living until he forgets the truth.
He scanned it in.
The console pulsed. Then again. And then a soft chime.
"Pre-approval," Reva said. "They liked it."
Aarav let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"You've got 48 hours to validate it with a cultural interview," she added. "After that, you'll be a registered provisional citizen."
He nodded, still dazed.
"One more thing," Reva said. "You'll need a local guide. System won't let you move freely until the interview's done."
"Do you have someone in mind?"
She smirked. "Yeah. Me. You're on my route now, Aarav. Don't get lost."
He laughed, the first real one in days.
He was in. Not officially. Not yet. But he had a name, a guide, a ticking clock, and a story that just opened a door in a new world.