Yesterday the skies over Nibiru nearly tore themselves apart. At first, I thought it was just another thunderstorm—you earthlings call this season autumn, and storms are common. But this was no ordinary storm. The winds shook the ground, the air itself felt like it wanted to rip us away, and the darkness never seemed to lift.

Zena, Luna, and I barely made it to Luan Academy with our Glyphs—Aurabeak, Ignazura, and Meerno—before the storm swallowed the town. Inside, Professor Orion kept us calm, even when the walls rattled and the windows sang like glass harps. And of course, Nova couldn’t resist mocking me, as if I’d somehow caused the whole thing by catching a time glyph. Typical.

But the truth was much worse.

The storm wasn’t random—it was alive. The next morning, Orion revealed the name of the Glyph behind it: Skeliwave.

He’s an uncatchable. A skeletal scorpion with water for skin, dragging the seas in his wake. Wherever he stirs, storms rise. If he truly awakens, Orion says the floods could reshape all of Terraformia. He’s not a Glyph we can battle, cage, or outwit. He is… inevitable.

Nova doesn’t believe in Orion’s talk of “hope.” She thinks it’s just pretty words while the world drowns. Maybe she’s right. But last night, when the seam opened and the storm tried to tear me apart, hope was the only thing that kept me standing.

Skeliwave is still out there, hidden beneath the tides, waiting. And I can’t shake the feeling this storm was just his way of saying hello.