The war did not begin with a roar. It began with a whisper—a creeping tension that slithered across borders, a quiet unease that settled in the hearts of millions. At first, it was nothing more than a distant murmur, a faint hum on the horizon. Politicians argued on television screens, their voices sharp and accusatory. Sanctions were imposed, alliances fractured, and ultimatums were issued with the cold precision of a guillotine. The world held its breath, waiting for the inevitable.
No one was ready for how quickly it all unraveled.
The first strike was surgical, precise—a single missile obliterating a remote military outpost in the dead of night. It was meant to be a warning, a show of strength. But in a world armed to the teeth, one act of aggression was all it took to ignite the powder keg. Retaliation came swiftly, and within hours, the skies were alight with fire. Cities burned. The air grew thick with ash, choking the life out of everything in its path. The ground trembled as nations unleashed their most devastating weapons, reducing decades of progress to molten slag in a matter of hours.
The first day claimed millions of lives. The second day claimed tens of millions. By the third day, the world was a smoldering carcass, rotting under the scorching sun.
Noah was twelve when the bombs fell on his city.
He had woken to the sound of sirens screaming through the dawn, a sound that had become all too familiar in recent weeks. The air raid drills had been frequent, but this time was different. The sirens were louder, more urgent, their wails cutting through the stillness of the morning like a knife. His mother burst into his room, her face pale, her hands trembling as she grabbed his arm.
"Noah, get up! Now!" she shouted, her voice tight with panic.
Noah stumbled out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He barely had time to slip on his shoes before his mother dragged him into the hallway. His father was already there, a backpack slung over his shoulder, his face set in grim determination.
"Where are we going?" Noah asked, his voice trembling.
"To the shelter," his father replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.
But they never made it.
The first explosion came as they were descending the stairs. The building shook violently, the force of the blast throwing Noah off his feet. He tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap at the bottom. His ears rang, and his vision blurred as he struggled to stand. The air was thick with dust and smoke, and the screams of the injured and dying filled the air.
"Noah!" his mother's voice cut through the chaos, but it was distant, muffled.
He tried to call out to her, but his voice was lost in the cacophony. The world around him was a nightmare of fire and rubble. The walls of the building had collapsed inward, glass shards raining down like deadly confetti. The heat was unbearable, a rolling inferno that swallowed everything in its path. Noah's lungs burned with every breath, the acrid smoke clawing at his throat.
He crawled through the wreckage, his hands scraping against broken concrete and twisted metal. His parents were nowhere to be found. He called for them, his voice hoarse with panic, but there was no answer. The street outside was a battlefield of rubble and bodies. Fires raged, turning parked cars into molten husks. A woman ran past him, her clothes alight, her screams piercing the air before she collapsed in a heap. A man dragged himself from the wreckage, his legs missing, blood pouring from the stumps as he sobbed.
And then Noah saw them.
His mother lay in the street, her body unnaturally twisted, her eyes wide in shock. His father was slumped beside her, a piece of rebar jutting from his abdomen, his fingers twitching as if trying to reach her. Noah crawled toward them, choking on the thick, acrid smoke. He reached his mother first. Touched her hand. It was cold.
His father turned his head, blood spilling from his lips. His mouth moved, forming silent words Noah couldn't hear. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgling sigh. Then he stopped moving.
Noah screamed, but the sound was lost in the chaos.
The second explosion came moments later, a brilliant flash of white-hot fire that swallowed the world. The force sent Noah hurtling backward, his body battered by debris as the shockwave thundered through the city. Pain exploded in his ribs as he crashed against a crumbling wall. Then everything faded to black.
Noah survived.
He awoke days later in the ruins of his city, his body battered but alive. With no home to return to and no family left, he wandered the wasteland, scavenging for food, drinking from polluted streams, and dodging the ever-present threats of disease and violence. He grew up fast, hardened by the brutal lessons of survival. The weak did not last long in this new world, and Noah refused to be among them. The boy who once dreamed of an endless future now lived only for the next day, his innocence burned away alongside the remnants of the old world.