That bizarre yet strangely warm dinner finally came to an end. After helping his mother clear away the plates—which strangely felt as light as paper—Wildan retreated to his room. An overwhelming wave of fatigue dragged heavily at his steps, as though his body were being forced to carry a ton of weight.

The house fell quiet once more. His father, mother, and Rian had all slipped off to their respective rooms. There was no sound of doors closing, no heavy footsteps. They had simply glided into the dark corridor and vanished into thin air.

Wildan lay down on his kapok mattress. The room was pitch-black. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to force his eyes closed, but a persistent knot in his chest refused to compromise. His mind spun wildly.

The warmth of his family, his father's sudden wisdom, Rian's affectionate return... it was all too perfect. So perfect that it felt like an artificially engineered dream. And on top of all that, the tightness in his chest refused to clear. Every time he drew a breath, the air tasted dry, parched, and left an uncomfortable burn at the back of his throat.

CRACK... CRACK...

A faint sound from outside his room broke the silence. It sounded like a multitude of tree branches snapping under pressure, or something groaning beneath an immense, crushing weight.

Wildan furrowed his brow. He pushed himself up from the mattress, sitting on the edge of the bed while straining his ears.

Silence returned.

Curiosity mingled with rising anxiety finally drove Wildan to his feet. He walked toward his bedroom window, tightly veiled by the gray secondhand curtains. This window faced directly onto the side alley of his housing complex—a shortcut normally used by locals walking to the main market district.

Ordinarily, from this window, Wildan could spot the amber glow of the mercury streetlamp out in the alley. He would usually hear the roar of a neighbor's motorcycle returning late at night or the low chatter of night watchmen at the post.

Wildan reached out, slowly parting the gray fabric. He pressed his face close to the glass, preparing to gaze out at the familiar neighborhood view.

Yet the moment his eyes pierced through the pane, Wildan's heart skipped a beat—missing a full stroke.

"Empty..." Wildan whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

Outside the window... it was pitch-black. The darkness out there was unlike any ordinary night. It was an absolute, suffocating darkness that seemed to possess a dense, heavy mass. There was no amber glow from the streetlamp. No shadows of the neighbors' houses across the alley. Even the silhouette of Pak RT's massive mango tree that usually loomed over the corner of the lane had vanished.

It was as though, beyond the glass of his bedroom window, the outside world had been entirely wiped out of existence. There was only an endless expanse of blackness.

Wildan rubbed his eyes repeatedly, assuming his vision was blurred from exhaustion. He pressed his forehead against the window glass, which felt freezing cold—strikingly contrary to the bizarre warmth creeping across the concrete floor of his room. He squinted, searching for even a single speck of light or a sign of life out there.

Nothing. The world outside was dead.

Right then, Wildan's nose caught a scent. The acrid smell of burning he had caught a whiff of the night before now seeped back through the cracks of his bedroom window frame. The odor was much thicker now. Sharp, piercing, and leaving a bitter taste at the root of his tongue. It smelled like something burning on a massive scale.

Wildan jerked his head back, clutching his nose as he coughed softly.

"What is that smell? Is someone burning trash?" Wildan muttered, trying to steady his hammering heart. "The kids from the market must be burning garbage or old tires down at the end of the alley again. Typical..."

His logic scrambled desperately for a rational explanation. Yes, it had to be trash burning from the market district. The night breeze probably carried the smoke toward the complex. And as for the total blackout outside? Maybe the neighborhood substation had blown a transformer—something that frequently happened when electrical loads peaked at the market.

Yet, no matter how hard Wildan tried to lie to himself, his survival instincts could not be fooled.

A strange sensation began to crawl beneath the soles of his feet. The concrete floor of his room no longer felt cold. Slowly but surely, an unnatural wave of warmth radiated upward from the ground, seeping through the pores of his skin. A bizarre, eerie heat that made Wildan's chest feel once more as though it were being crushed beneath a heavy boulder.

Wildan stared back toward the window framing that absolute darkness. He felt as though the house was being entirely isolated from the outside world. The place had been locked tight like a matchbox, while outside, something horrific was unfolding entirely beyond his knowledge.

KNOCK... KNOCK...

A soft tap at his bedroom door made Wildan jump in shock, nearly stumbling backward. He reflexively whipped his head toward the door.

At the gap beneath his bedroom door, there were no shadows of feet. Yet his mother's gentle voice drifted back through the wooden panels.

"Wildan... you're not asleep yet, Son?" she asked from outside. Her voice sounded impossibly close, yet carried a strange, hollow echo.

"Not yet, Mom. Listen... is it really dark out there? Did the complex lose power?" Wildan asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"Hush, don't look out the window, Le," his mother replied. There was a deep, consuming anxiety woven into her soft tone. "There is nothing out there. Close the curtains, and get back in bed. Go to sleep. Mom, Dad, and Rian are right here watching over you."

Wildan stared down at the gray curtains in his hand. Slowly, he released the fabric, letting it fall back into place to seal off the terrifying absolute darkness outside. An obedient impulse, fueled by guilt and unseen dread, drove Wildan to step backward toward his bed.

He lay down, pulling his thin blanket up to his chest. The smell of burning still lingered in his nose, and the floor beneath his room felt warmer still. Yet within that suffocating silence, his mother's assurance that they were all right here guarding him gradually lulled Wildan's logic back to sleep.

He closed his eyes, letting himself sink once more into the heavy embrace of exhaustion, never once realizing that the darkness outside his window wasn't night at all, but the thick, choking black smoke of a catastrophe that had already claimed his family's lives.