The three sat on the living room floor. Sky and Mishka loomed over the artifact, which rested on a coaster. Gray, geometric lines decorated the triangular sides and for a brief moment, they lit into a white hue. Getting up on their knees, the two rustled even closer and Lark chuckled.

“You guys should look at a mirror. Sky might need another set of eyes 'cause they're are about to fall out.”

“Unbelievable. I don’t really want to know how your grandfather got his hands on this — if your watch was worth half-a-million dollars—then maybe this could be worth millions if you can figure out what it does…”

“Don’t feel too jealous now, what would your younger brothers think of having a green-eyed monster for a brother,” Lark said.

Wangshi pursed his lips overhearing the conversation as he made his way to the kitchen.

Sky shook his head. “Hey, you’re not allowed to threaten me with my own siblings. That’s my privilege of being the eldest. They adore me.”

Lark chuckled and then lowered his voice to ask, “So you guys think it’s alien tech too, right?”

“Not a hundred percent sure, but it certainly has the form. The gray lines that glow and the vibe I’m getting.”

“You’re going off of a vibe?”

“Yeah,” Sky admitted. “It reminds me of an electronic, but the glow-y, abstract patterns on the sides tell me otherwise. Does that seem sound to you?”

Mishka held up a hand. “Alright, no more talking. I need to concentrate.”

She secured her Magpower eyewear tech over her black hoodie, making herself appear as a sort-of strange cat engineer. It slipped over the triangular ears and strapped to the back of her head like a science-lab goggle. The instrument telescoped her vision so that she noticed even the smallest of details. Lark remembered her wearing it during their robotics competition last year when they were putting together small, complicated bits.

She adjusted the magnification power lens on her right eye, while she used her free hand to sketch.

Her left hand looped several times before Lark realized she was outlining the path of the gray lines.

As she pressed down on a switch on her glasses frame, the 100x lens slid up, while the 1000x winded down. A yellow light embedded on the right side of the frame followed her head movement.

In between the gray lines, she added octagons. Unlike bold stop signs, she drew them as if they were moving. Some of her lines curved and in other spots, she scratched in shadows. “Absolutely, fascinating,” she mumbled, while Lark and Sky tilted their heads.

The two observed her work in silence for the last half hour, so when she removed her headgear, he immediately asked her what she thought. She passed over her sketchpad to him and answered, “Honestly, I have no idea.” She helped herself to a tea-cake, while Lark cradled his head against the table to keep it from exploding.

Perhaps used to Mishka’s senseless honesty, Sky patted Lark’s shoulder. He leaned in from the side examining the intricate lines drawn. “You have to ask the right questions, like why does it look like there are shapes moving inside it?”

“Excellent question.” Mishka sat up with her back straight and held the pyramid in her palm. “Imagine this is currently in an ‘on’ state rather than an ‘off’ state. Take it as energy running through it. I have no idea what kind of energy it is, but the moving shapes remind me of the Trinity Watch’s transformable states such as manual to digital or digital to sundial and vice versa.”

She looked expectantly at Lark’s wrist.

Rolling his eyes, he propped the Trinity Watch up against the table. He tapped three times on the face of the watch and a holographic menu popped up with a list of applications. He chose settings and tapped for sundial mode. After making his selection, the menu disappeared, and the watch sat still for three seconds until a halo formed around it.

Maybe it was because they were all studying it so closely now, but he had never realized how the halo wasn’t a perfect circle. Its sides bent at certain corners; not as straight and dented like a polygon, but certainly not as rounded as he used to believe.

Within the burst of light, Mishka shook Sky’s shoulders and wagged a finger at the device, “See! It’s starting!” and stray lines rose from the halo partially veiling the smartwatch.

Lark recalled the time they were back at the auction house catching glimpses of the smartwatch coming undone before reassembling. Their expressions haven’t changed since that time. Catgirl was at the edge of her seat, while Sky followed in deep concentration, not wanting to miss a single detail. It was the same for him too.

As soon as the auction host wore the mechanical version, a projection hovered above the gallery capturing the moment the host tapped on the square frame and selected digital mode from settings. Mesmerized by the small burst of light that covered the watch; the audience sat buzzed by the excitement in the air. Pieces of the watch linked and unlinked like a puzzle before coming together into one circular frame. The starting bid began at $50,000.

“What an idiot. Should’ve spent that money on a flying car,” some would say, but he ignored the jealousy and envy talking. Life wasn’t fair. And when it isn’t fair, you splurge without thinking of the consequences. A little over half a million dollars up front and he won the exclusive, alien-tech smartwatch.

He clasped his palms together, rubbing out the sweat while watching the curtain of white light weave over the circular frame.

Rest periods were required after transformations, so Lark didn’t often use this function. Nor did he use this setting in front of others; it was just too eye-catching. Allowing the face of the watch to vanish and reappear in a different state—who would even notice moving shapes in the light—but even with a close eye on the veil, he barely caught the light fracturing into moving shapes before a sundial-designed structure emerged in all its glory.

Sky smushed his hands in his face; his eyes red from not blinking. For Lark, it was as if a flower sprouted on top of his head when Wangshi entered the room with a fresh pot of tea.

“The transformation state is one example of how it’s ‘on’. Others would be when you use applications such as the sound barrier or holographic properties, but it’s difficult to see the moving shapes during those. So that’s why I asked you to do the transformation. It’s also more flashy.” Her eyes twinkled at the last bit of information.

Lark drank until only the wet twigs and crushed petals were left on the bottom of the cup. He had to figure out why his grandfather squirreled alien-tech away inside his study—but there were some answers you couldn’t have just by asking—like what was it for, were the cultists looking for it, and how in the world did his grandfather procure it?

He cleared his throat and asked, “What do you think this tech does?”

Mishka answered his question as if it came out of a textbook. “Form follows function. You see this principle in biology, architecture, and even robotics. But, we live in a generation where alien technology exists, which threw common sense out the window. So your guess is as good as mine.”

His head thumped again.

“But now that I think about it, from what we’ve seen, alien-technology act like support beams to already made structures like your watch or cars. It’s possible to add functions like anti-gravity and sound-proofing, but we’ve never seen how it's been done. It could be that… this is a source of those functions.”

She paused as that information settled in everyone’s minds.

The source? Was it really a clue to reverse-engineer alien-technology—a part of the missing link? So he was right, his grandfather did know something about the origins of alien-tech.

Wangshi stood up and retrieved a sheathed sword from behind his back, his eyes scanning the room as if he saw something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Sky gripped Mishka’s hand and held her close to him.

Where was he even keeping that? Lark’s heart turned cold. He felt the same death-defying pressure when they faced the assassin at the funeral home.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry young masters, I’ll be right back.” Wangshi raced to the bookcase with the sword and rotated into the study. Mishka’s jaw dropped, while Sky looked at Lark with an eyebrow raised. Like Lark, he knew about the secret laboratory but wasn’t allowed inside. However, Lark was more focused on what Wangshi saw or more like sensed.

He raced to the curtains and closed them.

The sword was Wangshi’s only remnant of his unknown past. Even when he was only all skin and bones, he would eat and drink with one hand, while keeping a firm grip on the sword with the other. Sleeping was the same. The sheath contained a flawless black coating, and its blade fiercely sharp. Lark would never forget the moment Wangshi first pulled it out to demonstrate how to kill someone.

Gray skies and a mournful atmosphere surrounded him from that morning till afternoon. Solemn meet and greets felt tedious when he didn’t know anyone from the company and attendees who claimed to be personal friends with his grandfather. Without a body to bury, the expedited funeral process was like a reprieve to him.

Holding the urn in his arms, he made way to the parking lot when a person dressed in all black blocked his path. Thinking it was someone who stayed after the funeral, Lark told him the usual ‘thanks for coming,’ speech until he came face to face with a gun locked between his brows.

He hadn’t tried to run at all, which may have been stupid thinking back to it now. But it was as if his entire body turned into a statue and all he could hear at that moment was his heart pounding up to his ears.

Instead of the ringing gunshot, he expected to end his life, a clear, smooth ‘shiiiii’ buzzed through the air. The force behind the sound was so sharp and concentrated, it sliced the cultist’s hand in half. He would never forget that sound, like the dense timbre of rain, splattering against the pavement.

“What’s going on?” Sky hissed and Mishka’s expression contained a million questions, and he wasn’t sure if he could answer any of them.

Before he could say anything, Wangshi returned from the secret laboratory. The sword was still sheathed, but his hand never left the handle. Wangshi directed his gaze from Mishka first then to Lark.

“Young masters, this matter of the alien object is very dangerous. You all must maintain absolute secrecy for your safety. Otherwise, you two will become walking targets and the enemy is not constricted to cultists, but others who want to covet pure alien technology. As far as I know, this object is one of a kind, which makes its possession even more invaluable.”

Mishka nodded, but her eyes were glued to Wangshi’s sword. Lark wasn’t sure if she was going along with Wangshi’s words out of compliance or fear.

Then Sky sighed and fished for his motorbike key. “I can’t say I like the sound of this, but I never signed for normalcy when I became your best friend.”

Lark cracked a smile. “You’re stuck with me and my paranoia. It’s kinda too late to say sorry about that.”

“Whatever.” Sky snorted and looked at his smartphone. “It’s already getting late and I need to take Mishka home. But you owe me one for nearly giving me a heart attack though.”

“Sure, another date with the twins this weekend? I have a surprise for them, which I've been meaning to show you guys too anyways.”

“Great. More secrets.”

Mishka nudged Sky in the ribs. “More alien-tech?”

“It’s actually something magical.” Rendering Mishka speechless with her usual as curious as a cat gaze, he closed the door in glee and sauntered over to the couch, rolling over it like a dead log.

Fingering the edges of the ring in his pocket, he wondered if it fell under the same category as the pyramid. He took it out and held it up to the light. The distorted lines didn’t appear to have the same freaky luminosity as the pyramid. But if what his grandfather hid in the desk was pure alien-technology… did Wangshi mean this ring was impure?

Form follows function…Mumbling to himself, he slipped it around his middle finger and rubbed his thumb against it, hoping it would at least change colors. Nothing happened. Even though rings were commonly used as status symbols, there was nothing noteworthy about its design.

Maybe the cultists used it as a way of recognizing other members?

Remembering the ring’s former owner, he quickly took it off.

For a terrorist group to be so against technology, the anti-alien cultists sure seemed to use a lot of it. But what did they want from him? There’s never been a documented case against individuals. Was the plot against him simply an anomaly or did they want something specific from him or his family like the pyramid? And if they sought alien-technology, why denounce them? But above all, the agency’s role in dismantling the group was most peculiar. They could appear within minutes of the attack and restrain the cultists, but even after fifty years, the group hadn’t been obliterated…

As soon as he saw the bookcase revolve, he shoved the ring back inside his pocket and scampered to the kitchen. His chest ached. It was obvious, his grandfather and Wangshi made an arrangement without him. But what could’ve been so important that they felt the need to hide it?

Wangshi relaxed his shoulders into the snug armchair, watching Lark wiped the sides of the teapot with a small cloth. He raised his cup as a steady mixture of reddish-brown liquid stirred inside. Thick steam wafted into his nose, and the mature caretaker stilled, the warm-savory scents inculcating his palate with milky modesty. “It would appear our roles have reversed, young master.”

“Considering you’ve taken care of me for almost over a decade, it’s only fair that I should take care of you in your old age,” he teased.

Wangshi’s goatee shook over the tea. “If you say so young master Lark, but I bet you’ll have to work hard for the next couple hundred years.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he answered, revealing a small wisp of a smile.

A group of red-robed figures stood knee-deep in stagnant mud, which stretched in fields. Clumps of green plant filaments clung to their clothes as they marched towards an exposed cave. One member used their long hanging sleeves to partially cover the opening in their hood.

“Can’t handle the dankness, my dear?” a roguish voice crooned.

There was a brilliant flash of blue under the pale moonlight as the figure’s hood fell upon slender shoulders. With arms still raised around their face, a flash of metallic silver glinted within the gaps of their sleeves.

“Do you feel like dying tonight?” The reply, soft like a tickle, had anything but sweet undertones.

“Save the dirty talk for dinner. Though I’d say this place smells better than the pot roast you cooked the other—”

Murky water split in waves across the quagmire. In a second, the member appeared before the rogue, and the glint of silver was nowhere to be seen, but a tear in the rogue’s shoulder said otherwise. The rogue cupped his wound and hissed, “Bitch.”

He licked his lips and moonlit rays caught a spear of blood-red light on his hands. His opponent crimped the corners of their mouth into a tight smile; elbows tucked in, ready for a second clash. A muddy wave kicked into the air, but a second later the water stilled into a brown-green film after a large figure loomed over the two.

“Keep it in your pants, ya two!” A giant, over seven feet tall, towered menacingly over them. But rather than looking up, the two instead looked straight at the person leaning on the giant’s arm.

“Ten yars ayn’ y’all still don’t git alawng.” The leader shook his head side-to-side, waving around a mop of greasy hair. He used the back of his hand pushed the wiry strands out of his eyes. Unlike the other three’s dark-metallic green rings, his index finger held a dark blue ring, a color most similar to the bottom of the ocean.

He splayed his fingers, and shaped them in a way that turned the crescent moon into a full-circle. “Awders done came. We do ayn’ follow. Y’all hear?”

The question followed with a daunting silence. But the rogue grunted and placed his hands behind his robe and turned away from the Bitch.

“That’s darn gud,” he said, showing a bright row of crooked, yellow teeth. The giant did not keep the same faith and stayed in between the two.

With a hearty guffaw, the man hungered for the night sky, stretching his head as far back as he could to catch all the stars within his gaze. Nothing about nature is sensible; the same logic goes for this world too, he thought. Soon, the promised day will come. And with that, his hand crushed the moon.