The orange glow outside the window had curdled into a deep, heavy crimson—thick as dried blood. The late afternoon of this third day brought no relief, only a suffocating pressure tightening its grip around Wildan’s lungs.

The burning smell that had nagged at his senses since day one had mutated into a thoroughly rotten, cloying stench. It was no longer just the scent of scorched paper or yard trash burning in a ditch. This odor was thick, greasy, and clawed straight down his throat—the reek of melting rubber, iron-roasted electrical cables, and something savory yet sickeningly foul, akin to charred, smoking meat.

Wildan coughed raggedly, his palm swatting furiously at the air before his face.

"Ugh! Mom... what on earth is that smell? Are you burning something in the kitchen? It's so sharp, it's making me sick."

In the corner of the living room, his mother sat calmly on a wicker chair. Her hands moved in a rhythmic, mechanical dance, knitting a strip of white fabric that never seemed to grow an inch longer. She lifted her chin, gazing at Wildan with a pair of profoundly tranquil, drooping eyes.

"No one is burning anything, Le. Mom's just here keeping you company. That must just be the neighbors cooking," his mother replied. Her voice remained chillingly flat, as though her nose were entirely immune to the invisible ash particles making Wildan's eyes water.

"What neighbors, Mom?! Our neighborhood has been dead silent since yesterday!" Wildan began pacing back and forth. The heat radiating from the concrete floor beneath his feet had reached an agonizing peak; the tiles felt like a massive blast furnace primed to bake the soles of his feet.

Wiuuuuww… Wiuuuuww… Wiuuuuww…

Wildan froze dead in his tracks. His heart slammed hard against his ribs.

Faintly from outside, slicing through the dead silence, came a wail instantly recognizable to his ears. Sirens. Shrieking, prolonged, and echoing back and forth. Not just one—it sounded like a massive convoy speeding hard down the main road out there.

"Do you guys hear that?" Wildan whipped his head toward the kitchen, where his father stood frozen, staring straight at a blank cement wall. "Is that an ambulance siren? Or fire trucks?! Dad! Is there a fire nearby?!"

His father didn't budge. He didn't even flick a glance toward Wildan. His stiff hands remained crossed over his chest while his eyes stared blankly, piercing right through the concrete wall as though peering into a vastly distant dimension.

"Dad! Wildan's talking to you!" Wildan shouted, lunging forward to grip his father's arm.

Instantly, the muscle-freezing cold stung Wildan's hand from his father's skin, yet this time it clashed violently with the scorching heat radiating upward from the floor. The collision of two opposing temperatures spun Wildan's head into a dizzying tailspin, throbbing fiercely as though his brains were being scrambled by force.

His father slowly turned his face toward Wildan. A thin smile carved itself across his pale lips, clashing sharply with the deadness in his eyes. "What sound, Wildan? Dad doesn't hear a thing. It's quiet and peaceful here. There's only the four of us."

"Lying! That's clearly a siren! And..." Wildan pressed his ear flat against the warming wall of the house.

“Hey!! Help!! Water, water!! Bring it to the right side!!”

“Quick, smash open that shop lot!! There are still people inside!!”

“God, the fire's getting bigger!! Fall back, fall back!!”

The roaring racket suddenly slammed into Wildan's hearing with massive, overwhelming force. It was the sound of hundreds of people screaming hysterically, the cracking splinter of wood and concrete devoured by an inferno, and the heavy impact of high-pressure water hoses. Those sounds were so chaotic, so frantic, as though a horrific tragedy were unfolding right on the other side of their walls.

Wildan stumbled back a few paces, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his face ashen white. "People are crying for help... there's a massive fire outside, Dad! Mom! We have to get out of here! Our complex is burning down!"

Rian suddenly materialized from the bedroom doorway, shuffling slowly toward Wildan. The boy tugged at the hem of Wildan's white singlet with hands as cold as shaved ice. Rian's face looked deeply sorrowful, yet his eyes showed zero panic over the ear-splitting roar deafening Wildan.

"Big Brother Wildan, don't listen to the noises outside," Rian whispered pleadingly. "The noises outside are bad. They want to tear Big Brother away from us. Just stay here, Big Brother... keep Rian company."

"Rian! Didn't you hear those people screaming in terror?! Our house could catch fire, too!" Wildan gripped his younger brother's shoulders, shaking him in frustration. Yet Rian's body felt impossibly light, as though Wildan weren't holding a human child at all, but a dense clump of thick smoke.

"There is no fire in this house, Le," his mother intervened, rising from her wicker chair. She glided toward Wildan, ignoring the faint, distant screams of a woman crying out Wildan's name from beyond the exterior wall. "Wildan!!! Wake up, Wildan!!! Please hold on, Son!!!"

Wildan froze.

The voice of that woman outside... sounded chillingly identical to his mother's.

Yet his mother was standing right in front of him, gazing at him with a terrifyingly serene smile.

"Mom... that person screaming outside... is that your voice?" Wildan asked in a voice shaking violently, tears spilling over from sheer, bottomless terror. His logic had completely shattered.

"Mom is right here, Wildan. Mom will never leave you," his mother answered softly, her icy fingers wiping the tears from Wildan's cheek. "Ignore those noisy sounds. They're just hallucinations from your exhausted mind. Come here, let Mom hold you..."

Wildan stared at the three figures surrounding him. In his ears, the roar of sirens, collapsing structures, and hysterical crying from the outside world grew deafeningly loud, rattling the foundations of his consciousness. Yet in his eyes, all three family members stood tall with absolute calm, perfectly isolated inside a bizarre silence, as though inhabiting a localized time bubble that refused to burst.