Year 412. That morning, the air in District 4 of Caelum hung heavy with cold dampness that seeped through clothes and chilled the bones.

  Graham walked alone toward the cave at the edge of the forest, a secluded spot he had claimed as his own whenever the world felt too loud.

  Thin mist clung to the narrow footpath like ghostly fingers, and the weak morning sunlight struggled to pierce the dense canopy of leaves overhead, casting dappled, pale patches on the moss-covered ground.

  A sudden commotion erupted from the bushes—harsh caws mixed with panicked human shouts. Graham froze for a heartbeat, then broke into a run.

  Through the foliage, he glimpsed a man staggering, arms raised futilely against a swarm of black crows.

  Their feathers gleamed unnaturally, and their eyes burned with a malevolent crimson glow that made Graham’s stomach twist. He lunged forward to help, shouting, but one of the crows veered sharply and raked razor-sharp talons across his left forearm.

  Hot blood welled instantly, soaking his sleeve; the pain was white-hot, like fire lancing through muscle and bone. Graham screamed, legs buckling. The world tilted, colors bleeding into gray, and darkness swallowed him whole.

  When consciousness returned, the sky had changed. The sun was sinking below the western horizon, leaving behind a fading orange glow that quickly surrendered to deepening purple.

  The air had grown colder, carrying the scent of wet earth and decaying leaves. Graham woke with a stiff body, his left arm still wrapped in rough cloth now stiff with dried blood.

  Pain stabbed every time he moved his fingers. He sat up slowly, head spinning, mouth dry.

  The man he had tried to save was gone. Only the hush of the forest remained, broken occasionally by the calls of night birds beginning their songs.

  Beside him, half-buried beneath a carpet of dry leaves, lay an old, weathered book. The faded title on the cover read in bold, archaic script:

  STARRY SKY, TOWERING EARTH

  Graham’s trembling fingers brushed the leather binding. He opened it slowly. The pages smelled of dust and old ink. Words leaped out—passages about a distant God, the fragile balance of the world, and shadowy creatures known only as the Abyss.

  Descriptions of endless darkness, of hunger that devoured light itself. Fear coiled in his chest, cold and tight, yet something else stirred beneath it: a spark of desperate curiosity, a refusal to look away. The book offered no answers, only questions that burrowed deep. But in that moment, it planted a seed of unyielding determination in him.

  Graham rose with difficulty. The sky was now fully dark. Stars began to appear one by one, cold and distant. He started walking back toward the village, every step heavy, his left arm throbbing as though something alive pulsed inside the wound.

  When he rounded the final bend, the world stopped.

  The village was gone.

  The night was pitch black, lit only by the faint glow of embers still burning in the ruins. Thick smoke curled upward, carrying the acrid stench of charred wood, blood, and roasted flesh that made Graham retch on the spot. Houses that had once been warm homes were now blackened skeletons, timbers cracked and collapsed. The screams that had once filled the air were gone, replaced by an oppressive silence broken only by the crackle of dying flames and the low howl of night wind.

  The stars overhead shone brilliantly that night—too bright, too beautiful for the devastation below. Graham ran, stumbling over debris, breath ragged. His home was a ruin like the rest. The door hung off its hinges. Inside, the familiar smell of his mother’s cooking was drowned by the reek of death. His parents lay on the floor amid splintered furniture—faces frozen in agony, bodies torn by claws no human weapon could match. Graham’s knees hit the ground hard. Nausea surged again, violent and unrelenting. He retched dryly beside their bodies, tears blurring his vision as sobs tore from his throat—raw, animal sounds he couldn’t control.

  In the corner, half-hidden beneath a fallen shelf, sat a small wooden box his mother had always kept on the mantel. Hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped it, Graham pried the lid open. Inside lay a single crumpled sheet of paper.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “FOR YOU, GRAHAM… MY SON”

  The words swam. Fresh tears fell onto the page, smudging the ink. Grief threatened to drown him, but beneath it, something fiercer rose: a burning resolve. He wiped his face roughly with his sleeve, stood, and stumbled out of the wreckage, lungs burning with smoke and unshed sobs.

  Not far away, a child’s broken crying cut through the night silence. Graham followed the sound and found Alice Finch huddled against a shattered wall, knees drawn to her chest, body trembling violently under the cold starlight.

  “Hey… Alice… are you okay?”

  She looked up, face streaked with soot and tears, eyes wide with terror.

  “Papa… and Mama… they’re gone!”

  Graham swallowed the lump in his throat, forced himself to breathe. He knelt, took her small, cold hand in his.

  “Alice… we have to leave this place. We have to stay alive. Hold my hand.”

  She gripped him back with surprising strength. Together they picked their way through the devastation in the dark—stepping over fallen beams, dodging pools of fire that still flickered, skirting craters where the ground had split open as though something massive had torn its way out from below.

  Heavy footsteps approached. A group of survivors appeared—Kael at the front, face grim, sword drawn, torch in hand casting long shadows.

  “Hey! Are you two alright? Come here, we’re getting out of this place!”

  Graham pulled Alice toward them. She clung to his hand as though it were the only solid thing left in the world. They left the village behind—only rubble, ash, and shattered memories remaining.

  That night, the sky full of stars felt like mockery—too beautiful for a world that had just collapsed.

  Hours later, after a tense trek through dark trails lit only by Kael’s torch, they reached his sturdy cabin on the outskirts, hidden among thick pines. The wooden walls smelled of pine resin and faint smoke from the hearth. Inside, the fire crackled softly, casting flickering orange light across the simple room: a wooden table, two benches, a small bed in the corner, and a few shelves with supplies. Kael and his team gave them blankets and hot broth, then stepped outside to stand guard, leaving the two children alone in the warmth for a while.

  Alice sat on the rough wooden floor near the hearth, knees drawn to her chest, small frame still shaking. The trauma clung to her like the soot on her face—every crackle of the fire made her flinch, every shadow seemed to hide claws. Fresh sobs broke free, quieter now but no less raw.

  Kael stepped back inside briefly, wiping his hands on his coat. He knelt down to their level, voice low and steady, the way someone speaks to spooked horses.

  “Hey, little ones,” he said gently, eyes tired but kind. “I know tonight feels like the end of everything. I’ve seen it before—too many times. But listen to me: you’re still breathing. That’s the first victory. The Abyss took your homes, your families… but it didn’t take you. Not yet. And as long as you’re breathing, there’s something left to fight for.”

  He placed a large, calloused hand on Graham’s shoulder, then Alice’s.

  “You don’t have to be strong right now. Just stay alive one more hour, one more night. We’ll get through this together. Oblivion’s got room for kids like you—kids who still have fire in them even after everything burns. Rest now. Tomorrow we move to safer ground.”

  Graham nodded slowly, throat too tight to speak. Alice just stared at the floor, tears dripping onto her blanket.

  Kael gave them a small, sad smile. “Sleep if you can. I’ll be right outside.”

  He stepped out, closing the door softly.

  The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. Graham sat beside Alice in silence, staring into the flames. His bandaged arm throbbed, but the pain felt distant compared to the hollow ache in his chest. Alice’s sobs had quieted to shaky breaths, but her body still trembled.

  Graham glanced at her. She looked so small, so fragile, curled up like she could disappear into herself. He reached out gently, cupping her cheek to lift her tear-streaked face so their eyes met.

  “It’s okay, Alice… I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

  Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

  “I… I’m scared… I’ve lost everything…”

  Graham exhaled slowly, fighting the tremor in his own chest.

  “I know… I’ve lost a lot too… but we’re still alive. And as long as I’m here, I’ll protect you. We’ll survive… together.”

  Alice squeezed his hand fiercely. Slowly, her sobs quieted to shaky breaths. In that dim room, amid the scent of pine smoke and exhaustion, a fragile thread of hope formed: they still had each other.

  Eventually, exhaustion won. Kael had laid out blankets on the floor near the hearth. Alice curled up first, still clutching Graham’s hand even in sleep. Graham lay beside her, staring at the ceiling beams, listening to her uneven breathing. The fire died down to embers.

  In the middle of the night, Alice stirred. A soft, broken whimper escaped her lips. Her body jerked—once, twice—as if reliving the screams, the fire, the claws. Tears slipped from closed eyes, wetting her cheeks again. She was trapped in the nightmare, small fists clenching the blanket.

  Graham woke instantly. His heart clenched at the sight. He shifted closer, gently shaking her shoulder.

  “Alice… hey, wake up. It’s just a dream. You’re safe. I’m here.”

  Alice’s eyes snapped open, wide and terrified. She gasped, then buried her face in his chest, body shaking with silent sobs.

  “It… it was happening again… the fire… Mama… Papa…”

  Graham wrapped his arms around her carefully, letting her cry into his shirt. He stroked her hair the way his mother used to do for him.

  “I know,” he whispered. “I see it too. Every time I close my eyes. But we’re not there anymore. We’re here. Together.”

  After a long while, Alice’s sobs eased. She pulled back slightly, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  Graham reached into his pocket and withdrew the small wooden box he had carried all the way from the ruins—the one thing he had managed to grab before everything burned.

  “This… is proof that we survived,” he said quietly. “It’s a keepsake from my mother and father.”

  He opened it and lifted out a simple black knitted bracelet, the wool slightly frayed but still warm from years of wear. The firelight caught the threads, making them glow faintly.

  Alice stared at it, fresh tears welling up—but this time, mixed with something softer.

  Graham took her wrist gently and fastened the bracelet around it, tying the knot with care.

  Alice looked down at the black band on her wrist, then back at Graham. Under the dim firelight, her shoulder-length black hair showed a striking red gradient on the inner layers, framing her small, fragile face—deep jet-black eyes wide with emotion, pale skin dotted with faint freckles still carrying the night's soot. Sadness and gratitude warred in her gaze. A small, trembling smile broke through.

  “Thank you, Graham… for helping me…”

  He managed a tired smile of his own.

  “Don’t think about it… we have to survive together.”

  Alice touched the bracelet with her fingertips, feeling its warmth. For the first time that night, she felt something besides fear—a tiny spark of comfort, of belonging.

  They lay back down, side by side. Alice kept her wrist close to her chest, the bracelet pressed against her heart. Graham stared at the dying embers until sleep finally claimed them both.

  That night, in Kael’s house, after all the tears and trauma, a silent promise took root between them.