The sharp scent of medicine besieged Wildan's senses the moment he fully opened his eyes in the intensive care unit. The ceiling above was stark white, looking utterly foreign and cold compared to the water-stained, peeling ceiling of his old shop house room.

Beep... Beep... Beep...

The rhythm of the heart monitor by his bed ticked away with steady precision. On his left arm, an IV line was firmly anchored, channeling fluids to slowly restore his physically drained state. An oxygen mask remained strapped across his nose, assisting his lungs, which still ached fiercely every time he drew a deep breath.

The glass door squeaked open softly. A middle-aged man in a social services uniform stepped in alongside a police officer carrying a large transparent plastic bag. Inside the bag lay several sheets of paper with edges charred by fire, though their core structures remained intact.

Wildan turned his head slowly, his drooping eyes gazing at the two men with a hollow, bottomless emptiness.

"Mr. Wildan," the officer greeted in a deliberately softened tone, thick with empathy. He pulled an iron chair over and sat down beside Wildan's bed. "I'm Inspector Bagas. How are you feeling? Do you feel any better?"

Wildan merely offered a slow nod. His throat felt too stiff to force out any words.

The social services worker stepped forward, placing the transparent plastic bag onto the small bedside table. "We are here to deliver some updates regarding the evacuation... and concerning your family, Sir."

At the word 'family', Wildan's chest throbbed with sharp pain. His heart hammered faster, causing the monitor graph beside him to spike slightly. He already knew the truth. He had remembered everything inside the ambulance yesterday. Yet hearing someone else voice it officially made Wildan's fragile mental defenses crumble all over again.

"The SAR team completed their search operations fully this morning," Inspector Bagas continued, drawing a heavy breath before pressing on. "We... we recovered the bodies of your father, your mother, and your younger brother, Rian."

Wildan's tears broke free instantly, spilling across his temples and soaking the hospital pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to swallow the choking sobs plugging his throat.

"There is something else we must share with you, Sir. Something that brought the entire rescue team on-site to tears during their recovery," the officer's voice began to tremble. He looked at Wildan with a gaze steeped in profound respect and sorrow. "They were found not far from where you hid. To be exact, they were right on top of you."

Wildan opened his eyes again, staring blankly at the ceiling through a haze of tears.

"Based on the crime scene investigation and the body positions we uncovered... your father and mother deliberately placed you inside that sub-floor cavity to shield you from the initial blast. But afterward, when the market fire began to encircle the shop house and the roof structure started collapsing," Inspector Bagas paused, swallowing hard before relaying that devastating truth, "they no longer had time to escape outside. So, your father dragged the old iron bed frame over to lock the teak wood hatch above your head. Then... your father, mother, and brother dropped their own bodies directly over that cavity. They wrapped around each other, stacked together, barricading the gaps of the collapse with their very own flesh."

Wildan clamped a hand over his mouth, his fingers trembling violently. His weeping finally broke through, muffled by the oxygen mask he wore. “Oh Allah…” he whimpered inwardly.

"Their bodies served as a living shield, Mr. Wildan," the social services worker chimed in, his eyes shimmering. "They held back the weight of burning timber beams and blocked direct tongues of flame from touching the teak planks below. Because of their human barricade, the temperature inside the cavity where you hid never reached a level that could incinerate you. They sacrificed themselves to become your ultimate wall of protection."

The reality struck Wildan like an iron mace shattering his heart to pieces.

He recalled how, inside the illusionary house on the third day, his family had abruptly transformed into stiff mannequins hugging him tight, holding him back with unnatural strength so he wouldn't open the front door. Now he understood completely. In the real world, during their final moments alive, their bodies might have gone stiff from burns and crushing debris, yet they had held fast in an embrace against the earth, ensuring their eldest son wouldn't perish alongside them.

Their love was real. They hadn't been imprisoning him; they had stood as a fortress that refused to fall so that he might live.

Inspector Bagas then slid the transparent plastic bag across the table. "And these... these are the precious documents recovered from beneath your bodies. The shop house land title, your diploma, and the wedding savings your mother kept. Everything is intact, Sir. Only the edges are lightly scorched. Your mother clutched this storage box right before placing it beneath the wooden hatch so it would survive alongside you."

Wildan gazed down at the vital papers. The sheets of paper that used to spark bitter economic arguments with his father now lay right there—saved, preserved, bought and paid for by the three most precious lives in his world.

"They loved you very much, Mr. Wildan. They left all of this behind so you would have the capital to rebuild your life. Do not waste the breath they purchased with their own lives," Inspector Bagas urged gently, patting Wildan's heavily trembling shoulder.

Inside the quiet ICU room, only the sound of a son's remorseful weeping echoed—a child who had woken up too late to the true meaning of affection. Wildan clutched the bag containing those precious documents tightly to his chest. The lingering scent of burning on the edges of the paper suddenly felt sacred. It was the scent of his family's final act of love.

Amidst the melancholic storm tearing his soul apart, Wildan made a silent vow deep within his heart. He would hold these papers close, hold fast to the memory of the bodies that served as his living shield, and swear upon his remaining breaths: he would press forward, bringing the dreams that had nearly died inside that burning house back to life.