The Fairy City is in a villa named Ātman.
A mischievous grandson of mine plays hide-and-seek with my husband; his laughter creates memories of this villa.
"Nana Steve, if you don't come out, I'll break your Halo Valor Chakra!" The boy playfully threatened, his cutest hands gripping the patriotic medal. Yet Steve remained hidden; it seems he wants a longer game.
Upon reaching my bedroom, he was greeted by a wall-mounted holographic display showing the news:
Nessuna buona notizia: "Ozone Missile" alternates the probability of "Monomass Ultima."
As I slightly feel my red axe bedsheet contraction, I can't help but lean forward, my eyes glued to the screen, oblivious to the boy's stealthy movements.
As my grandson thinks he won, "Hey, where are you going, you little imp Irjbhoo?" I called out, and he was petrified as stone. As I caught the boy, I gently rubbed his cheeks. "N--ani! Sarah, I didn't want to disturb you, so I was putting the books on the shelf," the boy explained. I let him go and then asked, "What happened to your hide and seek?"
After the interrogation was over, he was gone. I turned my attention back to the unsettled news.
Downstairs, behind an idol room. He found the entrance to the bunker. He hesitated, seeing crimson eyes carved in the center of a terrific, rusty door. He prayed to the idol, then remembered Sarah Nani. As the crimson eyes blink, he stands still, his iris instinctively twitching, and the door opens with a rusty humming.
He was addled, but stepped inside Bunker. As he did, his foot clashed with a torch laying on the floor; it seemed black, with an odd design. When he touched it, light came.
As he moves his torch from left to right, he sees nothing but dusty festival boxes, towering bookshelves, and blank canvases.
As he double-tapped on the torch, the light radiance doubled.
He can feel his heart thumping through his own ears while there is no noise here, making him more unnerved.
"Aga...?" He was ready to scream, but there was nothing behind him. He felt an uneasy sensation as he saw a mucky digital newspaper lying.
As there is now nothing to be afraid of, he picks it up, and it glints with texts. As he reads the headline, his heart aches, and his hands lose their grip on the newspaper.
But before the newspaper touched the dust again, he sprints out of the bunker...
"Headline: STEVE MEDO WAS DECLARED AS TRAITOR: THE WORLD CAN'T REMEMBER THAT PERSON WHO DIE BY MYSTERIOUS PHENOMENON!" With a thumping heart, I and my grandson were on the third floor, on the balcony.
I saw a devastating scene: my eyes can't gasp as my leg gives up its strength, while it seems my grandson still has a stronger heart than me. My beliefs are cloudy as my only source of life; my husband consumes by searing black crackles and twisted lighting...