A new dawn broke, but instead of bringing light and hope, it carried with it a darkness that seemed to smother the very soul of Gerwanis. The sun's rays barely penetrated the thick, ash-laden clouds that hung low over the land. The sky, once vibrant and alive, was now a muted, mournful gray. For Fheniz, who lay unconscious in the muddy pool of the upside-down mountains, the dawn felt like a cruel reminder of the nightmare that had unfolded the night before.
Slowly, Fheniz began to stir. His eyelids fluttered open, heavy with the weight of exhaustion and fear. His mind was dizzy, swirling with fragmented memories of the horror that had struck. As he pushed himself up with trembling hands, the cool, sticky mud clung to his palms and clothes. He sat in the muck, his legs folded beneath him, trying to piece together what had happened. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with the remnants of panic that still gripped his heart.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, the memories returned—flashes of the catastrophic event that had shattered his world. The screams of terror, the blinding light, the earth-shattering explosion that would have turned everything he knew to dust. Fheniz's body tensed as the memories assaulted him, and he let out a small, strangled cry, clutching his chest as if to contain the pain that threatened to burst from within him. He wiped the mud from his face with a trembling hand, smearing the dirt across his skin as he struggled to catch his breath.
As he tried to regain his composure, he noticed something else—his left slipper. The toe post was broken, and his left toe was injured, blood having dried around the wound from where he had fallen. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional agony that gripped his heart. Fheniz wasn't worried about the injury; he was worried about the slipper, the very pair that Burohagikun had made for him by fate. He couldn't believe it was broken. With shaking hands, he removed the slipper from his left foot, bringing it closer to his face as if he could will it back to wholeness through sheer force of will.
"It's broken…" he whispered, his voice barely audible as the weight of those words sank in.
His eyes, wide and filled with sorrow, stared blankly at the broken slipper, his mind unable to process the reality of the situation. It was as if the broken slipper was a symbol of everything he had lost—everything that had been taken from him in an instant. His heart ached with a pain that words could never fully describe, a deep, gnawing agony that seemed to seep into his very soul.
Fheniz didn't speak another word. He didn't need to. The silence spoke volumes, echoing the despair that had taken root in his heart. Slowly, methodically, he removed his other slipper and held it in his right hand, while the broken one hung limply from his left. Barefoot, he began to walk, each step a reminder of the shattered remnants of his life, the broken slipper swinging up and down as he trudged through the desolate landscape of the upside-down mountains.
As Fheniz entered the city of Venlores, the stark contrast to the city he had left that morning was like a punch to the gut. The vibrant, joyous atmosphere of Natsika-Esdoranma had been replaced by an overwhelming sense of grief and despair. The once-lively streets were now filled with rubble and debris, buildings having crumbled from the violent earthquakes that had accompanied the devastating attack. The air was thick with dust and the acrid stench of smoke, choking the life out of the city that had once been so full of light and color.
Fheniz walked through the streets, the small pointy stones pierced his bare feet, but he didn't mind that entirely. His eyes were wide and sad, but his face remained expressionless, a mask that hid the storm of emotions raging inside him. His mind was numb, unable to fully comprehend the destruction around him. He saw people weeping openly, their cries of anguish piercing the air like knives, but it was as if his senses had been dulled, the sounds and sights muted by the overwhelming darkness that clouded his thoughts.
"Why… why did this happen?" wailed a woman clutching the lifeless body of a child in her arms, her voice breaking as she rocked back and forth in a futile attempt to comfort herself. Her tears mixed with the dust on her face, leaving streaks of mud on her cheeks. "My baby… my beautiful baby… how could they take you from me?"
An old man staggered through the streets, his face etched with grief as he called out for his family, his voice trembling with desperation. "Where are you? Where are you, my sons? My daughters? My wife?" He stumbled over a piece of debris, falling to his knees as he sobbed, his hands clutching the ground as if trying to hold on to the last remnants of his sanity. "I've lost everything… everything… what's left for me now?"
Fheniz's face darkened with each word, each cry of despair that reached his ears. The darkness that had consumed him while reading the history books now enveloped him entirely, but this time, it was far more intense. This was no longer just a history lesson—this was reality, a living nightmare that he couldn't wake from. The people of Venlores were not just mourning the loss of their city; they were mourning the loss of their entire SMALL world, their loved ones, their homes, their country.
"OUR COUNTRY IS DESTROYED!!!" screamed a man, his voice hoarse from hours of crying. He stood in the middle of the street, his fists clenched and his face contorted with rage. "THE YAHUNYENS TOOK EVERYTHING AWAY FROM US!!"
"WE HAVE LOST EVERYTHING!!" another voice echoed, filled with a bitterness that cut through the air like a knife. "THERE IS NOTHING LEFT!! NOTHING!!"
"The most precious day of our lives…" sobbed an elderly woman, her frail body shaking with grief. "Ruined… it's all ruined… Natsika-Esdoranma is a cursed day… it will never be celebrated again… never…"
"WHO'S EVEN LEFT TO CELEBRATE??!!" a young man shouted, his voice breaking as he sank to the ground, burying his face in his hands. "IT'S NOT JUST THIS DAY!! THE WHOLE WORLD IS CURSED!!!"
Fheniz's heart pounded in his chest, the horror intensifying with each passing moment. The cries of despair, the screams of anguish, the bitterness and hatred that filled the air—it was too much to bear. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't look away. His feet carried him forward, past the grieving masses, past the crumbled buildings, and the ruins of a thriving city.
And then..... he found himself standing before Burohagikun's shoe shop… or what was left of it. The once-vibrant and lively shop, where he had spent countless hours working with the old man, was now nothing but a pile of debris. The sign that had once proudly displayed the shop's name, 'Wingy-Bingy-Tingy-Singy-Dingy-Zingy-Pingy-Ringy Shoes,' lay half-buried in the rubble, covered in dust and dirt, the letters barely visible.
Fheniz's heart twisted in his chest, the pain so intense that it felt like a physical blow. But his face remained expressionless, his eyes wide and dark, filled with a sorrow that went beyond tears. He knelt down, reaching out with trembling hands to pull the sign from the debris. As he held it in his hands, the echoes of Burohagikun's strange, cheerful laughter filled his mind, a haunting reminder of the joy and warmth that had once filled this place.
But that joy was gone, replaced by a crushing emptiness that threatened to consume him. The reality of what had happened slowly began to sink in, and with it came the unbearable weight of loss. Burohagikun was gone. The shop was gone. Everything was gone. Fheniz's mind raced, trying to process the unthinkable, but the pain was too great, the horror too overwhelming.
He fell to his knees, his hands clutching the sign as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. He looked up at the sky, his eyes filled with unshed tears, and finally, the dam broke. A scream tore from his throat, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the empty streets. It was a scream of pure agony, of a soul that had been shattered beyond repair.
The scream turned into sobs, his body shaking as he cried out all the pain and grief that he had been holding inside. The tears flowed freely, mixing with the dirt and blood on his face as he wept for everything he had lost. His cries grew louder, more desperate, as if he were trying to expel the darkness that had taken hold of him. But there was no release, no comfort to be found in his tears. The pain was too deep, too profound.
Fheniz's sobs eventually subsided, but the pain remained, a dull, throbbing ache that refused to go away. He sat there in the rubble, his body trembling, his mind a storm of emotions. The darkness that had consumed him while reading the history books now seemed to pale in comparison to the darkness that had taken root in his heart.
By the time evening fell, Fheniz found himself standing in front of Mr. Palket's house. Or rather, what was left of it. The house had been reduced to rubble by the earthquakes, its walls crumbled, and its roof caved in. The gate that had once welcomed visitors now stood crooked, barely holding on to its hinges. Fheniz stared at the destruction, his face blank, his eyes wide and sad, but no other emotion showed on his face.
His own house, a small stone structure that had never been particularly strong, had also been destroyed. But Fheniz didn't react. He simply stood there, his mind numb, his heart heavy with a pain that seemed to grow with every breath he took.
The pain was unbearable, yet he bore it in silence. There were no more tears left to cry, no more screams left to release. All that remained was the darkness, a darkness so deep and so all-encompassing that it threatened to swallow him whole.
Fheniz stood there, the weight of the world pressing down on him, his heart aching with a pain that words could never fully capture. The destruction of his home, the loss of Burohagikun, the loss of Uncle Palket, the cries of despair that filled the air—it was all too much. Yet he stood there, his face a mask of quiet suffering, as he bore the weight of a world that had been traumatized beyond treatment.
.....
"The events that have transpired in Gerwanis have sent shockwaves across the world. It is as if the very soul of the planet has been scarred by the devastation brought about by the Yahunyens' Death Ray. The once vibrant and flourishing country, known for its lush landscapes and rich culture, has been reduced to a toxic wasteland. The echoes of joy and laughter that had filled the air during the festival of Natsika-Esdoranma are now replaced by cries of despair, anger, and hopelessness."
The news spread like wildfire after live coverage footages. Media outlets around the globe were consumed by the catastrophic event, and the phrase "Black Day of Gerwanis" became synonymous with the worst kind of tragedy. Talk shows, news programs, and radio broadcasts were filled with discussions and debates about the incident. Everywhere, people were trying to make sense of the senseless destruction.
In a bustling newsroom, the atmosphere was tense. Reporters and journalists were working around the clock to cover every angle of the story. The editor-in-chief, a man with graying hair and a tired face, sat in the middle of the chaos, watching multiple screens as news poured in from all corners of the world. He rubbed his temples, trying to alleviate the growing headache that came with the weight of the news.
"This is worse than anything we could have imagined, unexpectable, unacceptable, undeniable. But nah, there's no hope to fight." he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the din of the newsroom.
A young reporter, her face pale and eyes wide with shock, approached him. "Sir, the latest reports after live interviews with some of the remaining people in Gerwanis confirm that the entire land of Gerwanis is now uninhabitable. The radiation levels are off the charts. The soil has lost its fertility, and the air is filled with toxins. The northern and southern tips were spared the full brunt, but even there, the air is poisoned."
The editor-in-chief nodded grimly. "We need to focus on the living being cost. How many lives were lost, and how are the survivors coping? We need to show the world the true impact of this disaster."
The reporter hesitated, her voice trembling as she spoke. "But sir, what about the accountability? Who's going to pay for all of this? The people of Gerwanis have lost everything. How can we just focus on the living being cost when the ones responsible are still out there, acting as if they can get away with it?"
"Because we cannot simply keep on yapping if we don't hold the power to change," the editor replied bitterly. "No one has the courage to stand up to the Yahunyens. Even if we scream about accountability, no one will dare to rebel against them. They destroyed an entire bloody country in one blow. The other nations are too afraid to even speak out against them, let alone take action."
The reporter clenched her fists, anger and frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "It's not fair! The people of Gerwanis didn't deserve this. They were celebrating a festival, for heaven's sake! And now, they're being told to leave their homes, their land, and start over in a foreign country. How can we just accept this?"
"Fair?" The editor let out a mirthless laugh. "Nothing in this cursed world is fair, especially not when it comes to power. The other kingdoms are only concerned with their own survival. They don't care about Gerwanis. They're content to sit back and let the Yahunyens do whatever they please, as long as it doesn't affect them directly."
The reporter looked down, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. "But what about the survivors? What are they supposed to do now?"
"Survive," the editor said flatly. "That's all they can do. The other countries are offering them refuge, but that's all. No one will challenge the Yahunyens. They'd rather focus on their own internal matters than risk being the next target."
"But..."
"Just get the point, I told you yap-yap doesn't work. Social trends, media, campaigns, they don't work, they never work. They talk about it for four days and then forget it. And it's not their fault, everyone has to live the life if they are alive, unlike people who died in this massacre. They'll have to move on if it doesn't work. They gotta continue their daily life jobs that earns them pennies, they cannot keep on wasting time in campaigns, they got families to take care of. If revolutions failed against the Yahunyen Government, then don't even dare ask about campaigns and social trends." He said with the same bitterness in his tone.
The reporter wiped her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sir but... this is so-so-so wrong. Those people… they lost everything holding value..."
"And there's nothing we can do about it," the editor replied, his tone weary. "We can report the truth, but in the end, we're just observers in this nightmare. The people of Gerwanis will have to find a way to pick up the pieces and move on, even if it means leaving everything they know behind. You might be cursing me now but I ain't even being the harshest. Suppose if this was to happen with our country, let's say if this was to happen with me alone, the other medias' editors are going to blabber the same shit I did or perhaps worse, which they are doing right now in the context of Gerwanis. I repeat, we need to focus on the living being cost. How many lives were lost, and how are the survivors coping? We need to show the world the true impact of this disaster. So do your work and get me any other reports if there are any."
"Yes.... sir." the reporter replied in a tone of unacceptability and left helplessly.
The newsroom fell into a somber silence as the reality of the situation settled in. The world's attention was on Gerwanis, but not in the way it should have been. Instead of rallying to help, the other nations were too paralyzed by fear to take any real action. The survivors were left to fend for themselves, their only option to flee the land they once called home.
While the world debated and discussed the tragedy, the Yahunyens maintained a facade of indifference. Their leader, Horozonday, addressed the global community in a televised broadcast that was seen by billions. He sat behind a grand desk, the emblem of Yahunya displayed prominently behind him. His expression was one of practiced solemnity, but there was a coldness in his eyes that betrayed the emptiness of his words.
"My fellow citizens of the world," Horozonday began, his voice smooth and measured. "It is with great sorrow that I address you today. The recent events in Gerwanis have shocked us all, and I want to extend my deepest condolences to the people of Gerwanis and to the global community. The tragedy that occurred was not intended, and I assure you, it was an accident—one that we deeply regret."
He paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing. "The Death Ray experiment was a project of immense scale and complexity. Despite our best efforts, there was a malfunction that we could not prevent. The energy build-up became uncontrollable, and the beam, which was originally intended to target a distant satellite, was redirected towards Aeartha. We tried to abort the mission, but the damage had already been done."
Horozonday's voice took on a tone of contrived empathy as he spoke of the aftermath. "We understand the pain and suffering that the people of Gerwanis are enduring. The land has been rendered uninhabitable, and the loss of life is immeasurable. We cannot bring back the lives that were lost, nor can we undo the damage that has been done. However, we are committed to providing assistance to those who have survived. We will offer safe passage for the people of Gerwanis to migrate to other countries, where they will be given the opportunity to rebuild their lives. Our ships will be made available to escort refugees to their chosen destinations."
He clasped his hands together, his gaze steady as he delivered the final blow. "The truth is painful, but it must be accepted. Gerwanis is no longer a livable country. The land is poisoned, the air toxic. Staying there would only lead to more suffering and death. We urge the survivors to take the opportunity to leave and start anew in a place where they can find peace and safety. We will do everything in our power to ensure their safe passage and to help them rebuild their lives, but the reality is that Gerwanis is lost."
The broadcast ended, leaving the world in stunned silence. Horozonday's words were like salt in the wound, a hollow apology that did nothing to ease the pain of those who had lost everything. For the people of Gerwanis, it was a bitter pill to swallow. The leader of the very nation that had destroyed their home was now offering them refuge, as if that could ever make up for the devastation they had endured.
The people of Gerwanis were seething with anger, but beneath that anger was a deep, all-consuming helplessness. They had been wronged in the worst possible way, and yet there was nothing they could do to fight back. The Yahunyens were untouchable, their power too great to challenge. Even the other nations, who had expressed their condolences and offered refuge, were too afraid to take any real action.
In the streets of Venlores, the survivors gathered in small groups, their faces etched with despair. The always proud citizens of Gerwanis were now reduced to refugees in their own land, their only option to leave behind the ashes of their former lives and start over in a foreign land.
"How could they do this to us?" a man cried out, his voice filled with fury. "They took everything from us! Our homes, our families, our future… and now they expect us to just leave and forget about it?"
"They say it was an accident, but how can we believe that?" a woman replied, her voice trembling with emotion. "They knew the risks, they knew what could happen… and they went ahead with it anyway. They don't care about us, they never did. All they care about is showing the world how powerful they are. I feel this was planned, it was a conspiracy."
Another voice chimed in, this one filled with bitterness. "And what can we do? Nothing. The other countries won't help us, they're too afraid. We're on our own, and all we can do is run. Run away from the land that was once ours, run away from the memories of everything we've lost."
A young man, barely in his twenties, shook his head in disbelief. "Is this really our fate? To be driven from our home, to live as refugees in a foreign land? How can we accept this? How can we just… move on?"
"Do we have any other choice?" an older man replied, his voice heavy with resignation. "If we stay here, we die. The land is poisoned, the air will kill us. We have no choice but to leave, to try and find some semblance of a life elsewhere."
"But it's not fair!" the young man shouted, his voice breaking with emotion. "Why do we have to be the ones to suffer? Why do we have to pay the price for their arrogance?"
The older man placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, his eyes filled with sorrow. "Life is not fair, my boy. We've learned that the hard way. But we have to keep going, for the sake of those who didn't make it. We have to survive, even if it means starting over from nothing."
The young man looked down, tears streaming down his face. "But how do we live with this pain? How do we move on when everything we loved is gone?"
The older man sighed, his grip on the young man's shoulder tightening. "I don't know. But we have to try. For their sake, we have to try."
Amidst the chaos and despair, Fheniz found himself standing alone at the top of the Great Plateau of Venlores. The plateau had cracked, but it had not completely fallen. From this vantage point, he could see the destruction that had been wrought upon his homeland. The once lush and fertile land was now a barren, toxic wasteland. The earth was torn and scarred, but it had not split apart. It was as if the land itself was refusing to give in, clinging to the last remnants of its existence.
Fheniz watched the sunset, the sky painted in shades of orange and red, a cruel reminder of the blood that had been spilled and the lives that had been lost. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions clashing and colliding within him. The helplessness of his people, the indifference of the other nations, the arrogance of the Yahunyens—it all boiled inside him, a storm of anger and frustration that threatened to consume him.
"This is not justice," he muttered to himself, his voice low and filled with bitterness. "This is not how things should be."
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he stared out at the horizon. The Yahunyens had claimed that the Death Ray would have destroyed the satellite, yet it had only ravaged the land of Gerwanis. The satellite, a body of greater mass than the entire country, had remained untouched. It was clear to Fheniz that the Yahunyens' claims had been nothing more than overconfidence, a display of power that had backfired in the most tragic way possible.
"They didn't even achieve what they set out to do," Fheniz continued, his voice growing louder as his anger surged. "All they did was prove how reckless and arrogant they are. They didn't need to conduct this experiment to show the world their power—it was already known! But they did it anyway, out of some twisted need to assert their dominance. And look where it got us… People who don't even belong in this world shattered the worlds of the people who belonged. Knowledge and carefulness are never enough."
He took a deep breath, his thoughts racing as he tried to make sense of the senseless. The Yahunyens had proven themselves to be nothing more than disgraceful tyrants, hiding behind a facade of grace and power. They had ruined his life, destroyed his homeland, and left his people with nothing but toxic-cities.
Fheniz's heart ached as he thought of Burohagikun, of Mr. Palket, of all the people he had lost. They were gone, taken from him in an instant, and he was left to pick up the pieces of a shattered world. The thought of leaving Gerwanis, of migrating to another country and starting over, filled him with a sense of dread. He didn't want to leave, didn't want to abandon the land that had been his home, the land that held the memories of those he had loved. From the beginning he never had a family. But when he did, they were taken away.
But what choice could he possibly have? The world was cursed, a place where helplessness reigned. Even if he left Gerwanis, he would still be a part of this cursed world, still subject to the whims of those who held the power.
"I don't want to live in this world," Fheniz whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don't want to be a part of this… this nightmare. I want to break ties with it, I want to disown it, this is not my world, not anymore...."
He looked up at the sky, his eyes filled with a desperate longing. He didn't just want to leave Gerwanis—he wanted to leave this world entirely. He wanted to break free from the chains of this cursed existence, to escape to a place beyond the reach of the Yahunyens, beyond the reach of anyone.
"I want to go beyond…" he murmured, the words escaping his lips like a prayer. "Beyond the cosmos, beyond infinity… to the Origin, I wanna find it in real and be the first person to do so. But how? How can I leave this world when I don't even know where to begin? The first step would be to get out of this world and find another one. But how am I supposed to know which worlds have life on them? Even if other worlds with life exist, how am I supposed to go there?"
The questions swirled in his mind, but there were no answers to be found. He was trapped, trapped in a world that had nothing to offer him but repetitions of feelings of helplessness. The helplessness that had consumed his people now consumed him, a weight that pressed down on his soul, suffocating him.
"This world is indeed cursed," Fheniz thought, his heart heavy with sorrow. "You cannot live here… but you cannot not live here…"
Helplessness was all that existed in this world, and Fheniz felt it like he was used to it. If he had no family in fate then perhaps pain was his brother and darkness was his parent. So how could he not love them?
"It doesn't matter whether you lose a million people or just one person. But whatever pain comes is unbearable, undeniable. And people like me who like pain seem to find peace in pure darkness." - Fheniz Wrings