mickswritings

[mickswritings]

Little fallen stars - Chapter 7 (unfinished)

"Fall back! Regroup behind the ridge!"

The order cut through the radio like a blade, loud enough to be heard over the shriek of tearing metal. The scout vehicle jolted as its tires fought for grip on the moss-slick asphalt, one of the back wheels already tangled in vine.

Something hissed—wet, sharp, unnatural. A thorned tendril slammed into the windshield, cracking the glass into a spiderweb of panic. In the passenger seat, a soldier raised his rifle and fired point-blank through the growing green.

“It's not dying! It's not even slowing down!”

All around them, the tree weren’t just alive—they were angry. Vines slithered across the ground like snakes, dragging pieces of broken tech into the soil. Spores hung in the air like dust, catching in throats, stinging eyes, and coating every surface with a faint, toxic shimmer.

Another vine cracked through the side mirror and coiled around the chassis. The engine howled as the vehicle reversed with everything it had.

Over the ridge, the rest of the unit waited—or what was left of it. Smoke marked the spot where one of the other scout cars had gone up in flames. It had taken less than a minute.

They weren’t fighting a creature.

They were inside it.

“Burn it! Burn the roots!”

The commanding officer’s voice crackled through the comms, half-drowned by static and gunfire. One of the rear units lit a Molotov and hurled it toward the creeping underbrush.

The bottle shattered against the trunk of a misshapen tree, and in a heartbeat, fire crawled over the bark in blazing fingers.

For a second, hope stirred.

Then the tree screamed.

Not with a voice, but with sound—an awful, low vibration that rattled inside their bones. The vines recoiled, then came back with twice the force. Thorned tendrils lashed at fleeing boots and twisted around ankles, pulling soldiers down into the choking moss.

“Delta-Two, cover the right flank!”

“We’ve got casualties! Pulling back to med point!”

“Negative! You hold that line or it holds you!”

Flames spread fast—almost too fast—eating through leaves slick with alien resin. The fire was taking, but it was also driving the thing into a frenzy. Thick clouds of greenish smoke burst from shattered pods along its roots, blanketing the ridge in an acrid haze. Soldiers coughed, eyes watering, as gas masks were pulled down in shaky hands.

One private, too slow to react, dropped to his knees with a horrible retching sound before being yanked back into the treeline by something no one saw.

“Command, this is Scout Leader Harrow,” barked the officer from behind a hastily overturned truck. “We are not dealing with a standard mutation. This is coordinated. It thinks. Requesting immediate permission for full incendiary clearance.”

There was a pause.

Then static.

Then— “Approved. Burn the whole park.”

Within seconds, more bottles were lit. Flame units hissed to life, bathing the thick roots in white-hot fire. Vines sizzled and popped, releasing spores that glowed briefly before being incinerated. Still, the plant thrashed.

Another soldier screamed as a vine wrapped around his torso and crushed his ribs in a wet snap.

What was once a quiet public park, dotted with benches and tidy walking paths, now burned as a nest of twisted plant-life and biological ruin.

The three central trees, swollen and grotesque, loomed like ancient kings poisoned from the inside out. They lashed blindly, roots heaving up from beneath cracked pavement, splitting through stone tiles and concrete like paper.

“Down! Everyone down!”

A storm of barbed needles sliced through the air. A soldier screamed, clutching their arm as black liquid hissed from the wound.

“Push all flame forward!”

Soldiers came from behind cover, flamethrowers belching arcs of searing fire toward the unstable core. The lead tree’s bark, already blistered and cracked, gave way. Molten sap spilled from its wounds, boiling with toxins. The other two trees hissed violently, reacting like limbs of a shared mind.

A nearby vine, half-burnt and twitching, whipped across the field in a final, desperate sweep, catching one of the backup units and slamming two soldiers into the building nearby.

The captain didn’t blink.

“Full spread! Clear the whole line! We do not leave this thing with a single living root!”

As if understanding its end was near, the dying tree surged with one last pulse. Roots tore upwards from the earth, rupturing water pipes, flinging debris, and vomiting black rot across a scorched sandbox. The ground trembled. A nearby streetlamp cracked and toppled. For a moment, it felt like the entire park might sink.

A coordinated wall of fire finally struck the center, igniting the hollow heart of the largest tree. With a rumbling groan, it twisted, blackened from the inside, and collapsed in on itself with a crack like thunder.

Ash shot into the sky.

Embers rained.

Then the screaming stopped.

Not because it ended—but because there was no one left close enough to hear it.

The survivors regrouped behind the ridge, stares on the burning ruin of the park. Silence hung heavy, broken only by laboured breaths.

After a long moment, the commander’s voice came through the radio.

“Mission’s not done. We’ve got new orders. Prepare for immediate extraction and next objective.”

The wounded were helped into the waiting scout vehicles by their comrades, grim faces masking pain. Makeshift bandages were pressed on where they could, but there was no time for more. Weapons were checked and reloaded. Packs were tightened.

The wounded were helped into the waiting scout vehicles by their comrades, grim faces masking pain. Makeshift bandages were pressed on where they could, but there was no time for more. Weapons were checked and reloaded. Packs were tightened.

One of the scout cars, carrying six soldiers and the most seriously injured, rumbled down the cracked road. The atmosphere inside was heavy — exhaustion mixed with frustration.

Up ahead, by the side of the road, a young man suddenly appeared, hurried and tense, clutching the hands of two small boys. Their eyes locked onto the car, shining with hope.

The soldiers inside groaned softly, the mood souring.

“That damn captain isn’t here,” one muttered, voice low. “If he was, maybe we could take them along.”

Another snapped back, “We don’t have the capacity to care for everyone. We barely have enough for ourselves.”

A third, rubbing his temples, added bitterly, “We swore to protect people. How can we just leave them out here?”

More voices chimed in — some agreed with the cold orders, saying things like, “Maybe the higher-ups know news we don’t, some bigger picture we can’t see.”

Others grew angry, calling the orders strange and heartless.

And out of nowhere –

A sharp sound reached through the vehicle—the tire had blown.

The driver pressed on the brakes, a string of foul words spilling out in frustration.

“Hell. Is this punishment?”

From the back, laugher broke the tension. “Maybe it’s destiny,” another joked with a crooked grin. “Destiny’s intention for us to help those kids.”

The soldier tasked with this unexpected mission nodded and strode toward the young man, who was now approaching the vehicle with the two boys cradled in his arms.

“Name’s Jones,” he said coldly, voice sharp. “Who are you, and where are you from?”

The young man’s eyes flicked nervously toward a narrow alley behind him before settling on the soldier.

“Adrian... Adrian Kessler,”

His voice was drowned with fear.

“We drove here to find our family but there are no people.”

The two babies in his arms pressed their little heads into his shoulders, showing fear as well. Adrian took a breath, holding back the trembling in his tone.

“Please help us”.

The soldier let out a dismissive huh, his voice dripping with arrogance. “We’re not heading to that rundown shelter nearby. We’re going straight back to the military base—that’s miles from here. You’d be better off trying your luck at the shelter.”

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and muttered some careless directions, as if brushing Adrian off.

Adrian stopped in his tracks, his face paling further. His voice shook as he pleaded, “Please… take us with you. My cousin—he just enlisted this spring. Maybe he can help us find our family.”

The soldier’s patience snapped. A sharp tone cut through the tense air like an order: “Enough. Get in the car.”

Fortunately, the vehicle was spacious enough to squeeze in a few more passengers.

By the time the conversation ended, the soldiers had finished replacing the tire and the vehicle was ready to move again.

Adrian sat in the back, the twins nestled against him. Their heads rested on his shoulders, eyes wandering curiously across the unfamiliar world that passed by through the smudged windows. Every so often, one of them would point softly or press a small hand to the glass, quietly delighted by the sights outside. They forgot, for brief moments, that they were supposed to be afraid.

Adrian, on edge, drew his jacket tighter around them, shielding their movements from the others. He kept his head low, listening, watching.

No one in the vehicle spoke. The silence was only broken by the sound of shifting gear, the occasional creak of metal, or a groan from one of the wounded. One soldier leaned his head back against the seat, sweat trickling down his temple, eyes half-lidded from pain. Another muttered under his breath, asking how much longer they had to drive.

There was no answer.

The weight of what they knew and witnessed hung heavy in the air.

[mickswritings]

Little fallen stars - Chapter 6

The twins fell asleep.

Like in that old story book: the prince, weary from his long journey, found a quiet shelter where he could rest…

And as night fell, the world shone with magical lights.

Like that brave prince, Adrian planned for tomorrow. There were weapons to be sharpened and thoughts to analyse.

What was even more important: he had the chance to spy on the army. Information was the most valuable asset in an unstable environment.

Earlier, Adrian had taken the mini radio from an abandoned car along their route. Now, with practiced efficiency, he opened its casing, carefully rerouting the antenna wiring to extend its frequency range. He recalibrated the tuner, fine-tuning the capacitors and resistors to lock onto the specific channels used by military communications. Each adjustment was deliberate, turning the civilian device into a makeshift army scanner capable of intercepting encrypted transmissions.

He retrieved a pair of worn earphones, connecting them carefully before placing one earpiece into his ear.

Continuing to tune the radio, fragmented voices crackled through. Patrols reporting from the outskirts spoke cautiously of strange, carnivorous plants spreading rapidly, their tendrils closing around anything that moved. Other channels carried urgent messages from survivor checkpoints, some mentioning sick individuals showing blue spots on their skin—symptoms no one had seen before.

From higher up, commanders’ voices barked orders, coordinating searches, rescues, and containment efforts. The harsh, clipped tones underscored the tension threading through every message—an invisible war fought as much in the shadows as in the streets.

As he listened, Adrian traced the locations of these points in his mind, piecing together a rough map. Each frequency hinted at distance and direction, each detail from the patrols helping him place the dangers and survivors across the terrain. The invisible battlefield slowly took shape, sketched out by voices in the static.

But beneath the surface, Adrian couldn’t help but smirk. The soldiers’ reports sounded organized, their tone sharp and professional, yet the care they claimed to offer felt hollow. Despite their strict adherence to military procedure—protecting, defending, attacking—their actions told a different story.

Patrols barely acknowledged the frightened survivors, offering no real protection. Instead, they pointed them toward temporary shelters with cold efficiency and vanished, leaving the vulnerable to fend for themselves. At those shelters, even the sick—those showing strange blue spots—were nothing more than a problem to be noted, not treated or truly helped. Decisions were delayed, priorities misplaced.

It was less about protection and more about investigation, a detached study of chaos rather than a fight to save lives. Adrian’s quiet contempt grew with every clipped transmission.

The intercepted information satisfied Adrian, allowing him to move on to the next priority on his list: children clothes.

With a decisive motion, he placed the mini radio into the pocket by his chest. The voices, accompanied by intermittent static, continued softly in his ear as he moved through the quiet apartment—steady, but alert.

The important reason for which he had chosen this apartment was a small bicycle resting against the wall near the entrance—a quiet sign that children had lived here. Adrian wanted a place that might allow the dolls better chances to find necessities.

Minutes earlier, as the twins fell asleep and the mini radio wasn’t yet taken out, Adrian went on to look for medicine like fever reducers, pain relief tablets or simply vitamins. Anything that might help Ember recuperate and overcome. Fortunately, he found a few, all the necessities and usual medicine that households had, even a first aid kit.

Although the medicine was there, waking Ember was postponed. From what Adrian understood—both from the doll’s condition and his own experience in the army—sometimes sleep did better than any fever medicine could.

Keeping the sofa within his sight, Adrian stepped into a small room on the left, one that clearly belonged to a child.

The eyes, blue and cold as forged steel, paused as they landed on the wardrobe.

***

“Clack.”

The sound snapped through the stillness like a blade drawn in a dark room.

Adrian’s body snapped rigid, like a blade drawn in the dark. His hand slid smoothly to the grip of his weapon, muscles tight with controlled precision as he lowered into a silent, ready stance. His stare aimed through the shadows—sharp, cold, and unyielding…

Then it landed on a little doll.

…And a wooden toy on the floor.

Long red lashes blinked up at him, wide with innocent surprise. Eden. The doll.

Adrian lifted a brow, easing out of his attack stance as he stood, placing his weapons back into their holsters. There was a breath left before he advanced, kneeling then before the misbehaving little doll.

He reached out and lifted the toy—a carved wolf, frozen in a powerful, kingly stance. He turned it over in his hands, admiring the fierce little guardian before holding it out to Eden. A smirk was formed as he watched his doll receiving the toy.

“Here’s your wolf king.”

The little hands held onto the toy. Eden stared at the imposing wolf.

Was this a king?

“Do wolves need kings?”

Adrian tucked a loose strand of red hair behind his ear.

“Yeah, little doll. Wolves need someone appointed to lead them to victory, to form strategies and plans. This throne is won by strength and determination to protect.”

With a wink—like they shared a secret meant only for the brave—Adrian rearranged another strand of Eden's hair, allowing himself to feel the soft red curls.

Then, without another word, he slipped an arm beneath Eden’s knees and back, lifting him with practiced ease. The doll let out a soft sound of surprise, his head tilting back as he took in the room from the increasing height, savouring the quiet, wide space seen from above.

“And I also have a surprise for you.”

Adrian headed back to the bedroom, where a modest pile of clothes was thrown on the bed.

There were blue coats with bright, big buttons, funny yellow pants that reminded of adventures and – oh, tiny stars dotted all over a shirt, like a starry night that held lots of dreams.

Eden’s eyes landed on them with wide curiosity.

And there it was.

The sound of surprise. And the spark of mischievous plans.

Without waiting even for a second and right after he was set down on the bed, he reached for the shirt adorned with little stars.

His long lashes almost curled with satisfaction over the first catch.

Then all the materials were felt, the patterns discovered, with lots of commentaries from the doll. Little hands glided over the seams, turning and rearranging, like each detail could potentially hold onto a secret that will unfold.

Everything felt new, and no tale from his favourite book told of treasures quite like these.

The blue coat could be from that blue forest.

Then...

What about the yellow pants?

But it was the red shirt with white dots that made Eden pause. It stopped his wandering thoughts and unexpectedly, with a rush of excitement, he gathered the whole pile with the intention of showing it to Ember.

And so, the little doll acted.

Ember, just waking from a long and exhausting dream, found himself pressed back down onto the sofa—buried beneath a mountain of fabric, with Eden perched victoriously on top, holding a red shirt speckled in white dots.

“?”

Eden brushed away a stray white sock from his cheek.

“Remember the uncle guard’s shirt? That favourite that held a big, big stain?”

Ember took a few seconds to stop himself from groaning and shoving Eden back under the very pile he’d unleashed. In that moment, he turned his head, tracking the stray sock that fell, then cast a quick glance around the room—just making sure there was no immediate danger.

“The one with the...honour?”

“Yeah! The badge of honour!”

With a small sigh that barely masked a smile, Ember reached out and wiped a faint dirt mark from Eden’s cheek. Ember was humouring him.

“And the same one the kitchen aunt swore it was the proof of jam thievery?”

Eden responded with a soft laughter. He loved to circle back to familiar stories and rediscuss past details as if, by some chance, the present would show some new discovery, some continuation in the systematic and monotone life at the orphanage.

And this shirt was real.

A new discovery.

A sudden clack echoed from the doorway as Adrian appeared. The hero walked towards them and half-kneeled, a smirk forming on his lips as he took in the chaos of the mountain of clothes.

“Hmm? Have you decided which to take?”

Adrian held in his hand a pack of wet wipes from which he took two. He handed them to the little dolls, encouraging them to clean their faces.

He had no previous experience in raising children and it took him a while to question his priorities and realise that these babies were covered in dust. Although the situation before didn’t allow him to consider hygiene, he understood that babies have a less developed immune system.

Ember allowed the stranger to check his temperature and help him wipe his face. At one point he took this responsibility himself, watching him turn and help Eden. Different from his twin, Eden had no intention to show independence but allowed himself to be spoiled.

Ember thought about the question.

“Are we allowed?”

Adrian reached up to help Eden fix some strands of hair with some claw clips he found. With the same hospitality, he offered some of those clips to Ember- shapes like fruits, colourful and mismatched.

“Yes. You can consider that everything here has been left abandoned.”

Adrian placed another claw clip into Eden’s hair and leaned back to appraise his art.

“There’s also a question that I have. Anyone you want us to look for? Family. Friends. Anyone.”

Ember admired the fruit shaped claw clips he received. With short actions, he raised his hand and fixed a strawberry clip in his hair. Although he acted so mature, he was still a little boy that loved having beautiful things.

“No, there are not.”

Adrian hummed in response and pulled a few vitamin foils from his pocket, unfolding them with practiced hands. With the previous experience of coaxing, alongside these unfriendly capsules, candy was also handed over to the twins.

This time, there were no complaints or delays. Eden and Ember took the vitamins with water, all obedient.

Leaving them to their chat and excited commentary over clothes, Adrian returned to the window. The little radio was already on—its crackling voice reciting military updates, none of which brought anything new.

He sat by the nearby table, pulling up his knife and overall gear, and started sharpening the blade with steady, practiced strokes. Beside him, weapons were cleaned and reassembled, each part moving under his fingers with the comfort of routine. The radio murmured faint military reports, but nothing demanded immediate attention.

Minutes passed, and with them, the paths in Adrian’s mind slowly shifted course, priorities rearranging themselves without resistance. The map in his head—once drawn in lines of orders and duties—was redrawn now in small, personal details

Then laughter rang out.

Drifting across the room and reaching him like a warm current.

Adrian relaxed without realizing it, his rigid posture turning into something looser, almost careless. His broad shoulders eased back against the wall, and the tension once gathered in his brow slowly smoothed away.

Warm.

Across the room, the twins had moved on from the pile of clothes, their earlier discussion on patterns and colours now blending into a new kind of exploration. The apartment, once still and quiet, now stirred under small hands and light steps.

Toys had been scattered here and there—forgotten, perhaps, but far from ruined. A plush bear with a ribbon still neat around its neck. A toy truck with working wheels and chipped but vibrant paint. Puzzle boxes, books with dog-eared pages, a wooden bead maze resting beside a basket of building blocks.

These weren’t remnants of a battlefield, but of a life once paused.

Eden dived through them with full excitement while Ember had almost forgotten his defensive and adult-like attitude.

A stuffed rabbit became a scout. A plastic crown was tried on, adjusted, and passed to Ember for approval. Each object was something new to invent around. Each discovery earned a comment, a plan, a giggle.

Adrian took a breath, observing the weapon in his hands.

That decision, once uncertain, had now taken root: he won’t leave them.

Not to the shelter nearby with the uncertain intentions, nor to the so-called authorized officials whose care was wrapped in cold procedure. He doubted that in the current world there was still a home for these babies.

And he wanted to be their warm home.

[mickswritings]

Little fallen stars, Chapter 5

The world, as it had been known, no longer existed.

Nature’s rules—once steadfast and predictable—had unravelled overnight, leaving behind chaos.

The ground, once steady beneath one’s feet, now heaved and fractured without warning, birthing violent earthquakes that defied logic. Towering, twisted plants with unnatural forms sprouted in the aftermath, their alien tendrils reaching skyward as if to mock the familiar forests that had stood before.

Storms no longer followed seasons or patterns. Instead, they came alive with an eerie will of their own. Winds howled with voices that seemed almost sentient, carrying with them storms of strange, fine dust that turned the air itself into a menace.

Lightning tore across the sky in hues that no human eye had seen before, its heaving fury leaving behind unnatural scars on the land.

The hierarchy of the natural world had disintegrated. Predator and prey no longer played their parts; beasts once timid now prowled with fearless aggression, while creatures of might wandered aimlessly, their instincts lost.

Rivers flowed backward, seas frothed with storms of blackened foam, and the skies bore strange hues—neither day nor night but a ceaseless, oppressive twilight.

It was not merely disaster; it was a transformation.

In this new world, death was not always swift. It crept in with the unknown tendrils of alien flora, with the invisible particles of strange dust, with the unnatural quiet that preceded the storms.

What had sparked this upheaval remained a mystery, but one thing was certain: the world was no longer a place for complacency.

Within this new world stepped Eden, holding onto his prince’s red cape, while taking in all the fascinating images.

To Eden, the world seemed distant, its vastness only seen on rare chances.

The world that was barely observed before held no contrast with the present one.

There was no strangeness, no unsettling tension, none of the sharp unease that now warned, urging vigilance and a need for control—much like Adrian’s own thoughts.

With constant reassessment of danger, Adrian stepped ahead with no intention to stop or allow doubts, relying only on his instincts. He held Ember pressed into his chest with one arm while ensuring the safety of little Eden, who often stopped walking, all in fascination or wonder.

Within the span of roughly the distance allowed to be observed by the human eye, no sign of life stirred. No voices, no footsteps, nothing to break the illusion of solitude. Only the hush of a world undone, where distant, muffled sounds lingered—the slow collapse of buildings, the whispering of unfamiliar plants.

Adrian wondered where they had all gone—the crowds, the chaos, the inevitable noise of fear that stirred in human nature. It was as if the world had been forgotten, its people erased without a trace. No bloodstains, no discarded, tattered clothes, no remnants of bodies left behind. Only faint signs of struggle remained—deep scars upon the roads, shattered barriers where resistance had once stood, now overtaken by silence.

Walking while taking cover behind abandoned cars and advertisement panels, he never allowed himself to become vulnerable, always locking onto potential threats and calculating retreat plans for the unknown.

With Eden—the little doll—captivated by the strange world unfolding around him, Adrian would pause, steadying him when his gaze strayed too far or when his small feet stumbled over the wreckage.

A quiet breath would slip past his lips before their silent march resumed.

The other doll in his arms, Ember, was still, yet not surrendered. Fever had weakened him, left him swaying between wakefulness and tiredness, but his will refused to yield. His lashes would flutter shut, breath slowing—only to snap open again, eyes sharp, defiant.

Throughout their journey, they would pause now and then to collect items—some of them were a bottle of water, a box of medicine, sports caps, and jagged pieces of iron, ready to serve as weapons. At each stop, Adrian would check on Ember’s condition while allowing Eden to quietly place the items into his bag.

For almost two hours, they walked.

There were no discoveries of people or military aid, nor pharmacies or shops that sold medicine. What little hope remained was shattered by the sight of broken windows, empty food stores, suspicious vegetation, and unknown shadows.

The darkness seemed more present than the light, and a faint fog loomed in the distance.

At that moment, a small hand reached for Adrian’s coat.

“?”

In all the adventures, the characters would still stop for breaks.

The little bears from the blue forest would take a nap, and the rabbit from the yellow nook would pause to eat a carrot.

Even in all the adventures his beloved prince went on, there were always moments of rest.

Wasn’t it yet the time to take a break? Eden wondered.

Long lashes fell, failing to hide the confusion in his beautiful eyes. His little feet hurt a bit, and he also longed to eat more of that sweet pastry.

Adrian stopped, understanding the little doll’s intention, as he too had planned to stop.

He observed the fog and broken buildings, the unsettling air, and the retreating daylight. Without proper preparation and assessment, he had no intention of tempting fate. For the past minutes, he had been looking out for a relatively safe area to rest.

Adrian kneeled before Eden, reaching with his free hand to pinch his cheek. With a smirk that faded into seriousness, he mouthed a silent “soon” to him, waiting for the little doll to understand before rising and advancing.

***

The potential shelter was a ten-story building, its form imposing.

There were no movements, no sounds of life within.

Everything was in suspension, as if the world had moved on and left this place behind.

The first apartment on the right, on the lowest floor, had its door wide open. It stood like a forgotten temple, a witness to hasty abandonment. It was as though those who once lived there had fled in such haste that they didn’t even remember to shut the door behind them—too desperate, too afraid, or simply lost in the rush.

The quiet within was thick, heavy.

Adrian started his reassessment, allowing himself to return to the routine he once followed: check for structural compromise of buildings, identify potential covers, locate exits and the degree of freedom.

Ah and add one more: unnaturalness. Locate anything that defined the laws of nature.

Minutes passed, accompanied by the weight of hope.

Adrian traced the room’s dimensions one last time, marking structural weak points, potential chokepoints, and fallback positions. The apartment on the right—its door hanging ajar, an invitation both tempting and ominous—offered the best chance for cover.

He made his decision.

Turning slowly, he looked back at the little dolls behind him.

Before setting out on reconnaissance, he instructed them to stay within his reach—and if no further orders came, to remain in the areas he had identified as safe.

With a sharp hand signal, he beckoned them forward.

He then slid his weapons back into their holsters—some worn and designed for the purpose, others improvised, tucked into belts or hidden spots on his body—ready but out of the way.

Before crossing the threshold, Adrian stepped forward and knelt, gathering Ember into his arms once more. His fingers found a stray strand of Eden’s red hair, twisting it gently between his fingertips. His lips curved into a smirk—not just a smile, but something sharper, edged with quiet defiance.

A smirk, encrypted with unshaken confidence, as if the world still belonged to him despite its ruin.

Then, holding them both carefully, Adrian wrapped his arms around Eden and Ember, pulling them close and securing them against his chest.

He stepped into the apartment, heading toward the main area where a worn green sofa sat—faded, but still solid. Before placing the boys down, he gave the furniture a quick but thorough once-over, confirming it was safe enough to hold them.

Once they were settled, his attention shifted to the Ember’s condition.

Ember’s eyes stayed open, quietly following Adrian’s every movement. He watched as the stranger checked him again—cool knuckles brushing lightly across his cheek, feeling for any lingering heat. The fever had broken, but weakness still clung to him. Yet there was no resistance, no fear. Only quiet acceptance. Because Eden had given his trust, and that was enough.

His gaze followed this stranger, the faintest flicker of curiosity behind the weariness.

With a soft sigh, Adrian then met the fervent stare of Eden’s which overflowed with appreciation.

This baby…

Looks like he didn’t disappoint in this role of an almighty prince.

Adrian let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh, then headed into the kitchen—his intentions clear and honed: survival, sustainability, the next step forward.

The cupboards held more than expected. He found sweet biscuits, canned vegetables, and a few sealed tins that hadn’t rusted through. He didn’t rush. Each item was examined with care—checking seals, inspecting the metal for signs of compromise, inhaling for the faint scent of preservation or spoil. Anything useful was set aside, mentally catalogued. In strange this world, even small finds mattered.

Adrian returned with items in hand: a pack of sweet biscuits and a can of vegetables.

Eden blinked up at him, long lashes fluttering with surprise at the unfamiliar treat. Without hesitation, he tore open the package, broke a biscuit cleanly in half, and waited. Once Ember had finished the water Adrian had given him earlier, Eden gently pressed the biscuit into his twin’s hands, insisting he eat it first.

“Will we be waiting here for the storm to pass?” Little Eden asked.

To him, all the rising dust, strikingly red clouds and unfamiliar shadows outside could only be a storm.

“Yeah, little doll,” Adrian replied, placing a can of vegetables into Eden’s small hands. The metal was cool, its weight solid, real. A spoon followed—sterilized by fire earlier, still holding the faintest warmth.

Eden looked down at the pieces of vegetables, a bit resistant.

“Um…are there any pastries?”

Like any child, he longed for a world where only sweets were to be eaten.

A smirk took form on Adrian’s lips, allowing a chuckle to be voiced out. This resistance reminded him of his little version of self who always hid the vegetables under the table, in the dog’s mouth or in any other hidden place available.

“Vegetables can help you grow up strong and healthy, baby.”

Eden blinked with his long lashes filled with uncertainty.

“There will be sweets soon.” Adrian continued to coax.

Adrian avoided reminding Eden that his twin needed nourishment, that vegetables were more vital than sweets.

He didn't want them to bear the weight of the world too soon, to know the burdens that belonged to adults. He wished for them to be free from sorrow, a world where vegetables could be negotiated and sweets would never lack, a world where fevers would pass in a blink and homes would be welcoming, warm.

He had long since stopped wondering where this protectiveness over them had come from.

[mickswritings]

Chapter 4

Within the toy shop, a quiet stillness enfolded the two children, the air thick with soft reverence. The silence remained unbroken, save for the gentle rhythm of their breaths and the subtle movements of their small forms.

Nestled within their makeshift bedding, Eden was almost buried in the warmth of his blanket. Beside him, Ember rested, partly uncovered, his feverish body exposed to the cold air. Despite the stillness of sleep, Eden’s arms encircled him with soft strength. There was a need for reassurance, accompanied by occasional small movements. All of this fed Eden’s unsettled heart, which still carried the fear of loss...

Every so often, a shadow fell over them, stretching long and slow, as though the evening itself had come to rest beside them. Kneeling with quiet resolve, the figure watched for any disturbance, danger, or weakness. The blankets were gently readjusted, and the fever checked by warm hands.

This figure was none other than the prince, known by his full name, Adrian von Sternberg—a name weighed with legacy, gilded by ambition, and uttered in both reverence and caution. It was a name that carried the mark of unwavering resolve, one that seemed fated to carve itself into the pages of history.

The Sternberg lineage was not content with merely existing; they thrived on dominion. Masters of influence, they moved with subtle precision across the chessboard of power—guiding politics, shaping economies, and seizing opportunities in every sphere of authority. Like an iron vine, their ambitions climbed through the cracks of every institution, entwining the family name with the mechanics of control. Their reach was not just expansive but insidious, their legacy was both a testament to their might and a shadow cast over those they eclipsed.

Yet, in the stillness of this moment, that grandeur and weight did not intrude.

The dissonance of heavy wails—his father’s weighty words steeped in responsibility, the relentless chatter of society’s expectations, the sharp commands and forced politeness—swirled around him like an unyielding storm. Yet, as though swept away by an unseen hand, the cacophony began to fade. That unbearable buzz, that ceaseless noise of duty and decorum, dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind a silence that felt both strange and liberating.

Here, in the quiet of a toy shop turned fortress, Adrian knelt not as a scion of power but as a vigilant guardian.

The burden of his storied name found no footing in the trembling world now cast about him, and so he let it fall away, taking instead a humbler mantle: prince.

With a steady, unwavering stride, the prince resumed walking and halted a short time after, his back resting against the cool east wall. There was no trace of hesitation in his posture, no hint of despair or fear in his eyes. Whatever the world had thrown at him—be it monsters or disturbances—held no power over him.

They could not surprise him, nor could they move him.

To Adrian, the real monsters were rather inside one’s thoughts.

From a young age, Adrian was forged in the fires of discipline. Through armies, mercenaries, and strict cultural rites, he was shaped, not merely to serve, but to elevate the name of his family. Every breath, every step was measured in service of family, the foundation upon which his very existence was built.

When the bridge shattered, and the forewarning of doom came swift, Adrian did not falter. Without any hesitation, he left behind the car and the driver, discarded his expensive suit and adopted the image of a mere civilian.

What followed was a torrent of deafening loss, the clamor of shattered lives, and the calculated precision of the army’s response. Yet beneath the noise, something felt off—an unsettling dissonance in the soldiers’ actions. They did not rush to heal the wounded or shelter the displaced, but instead focused their attention on papers, names, and numbers, as if identities were more vital than survival itself. It was this cold, methodical scrutiny that raised the first seed of suspicion in Adrian and it made him want to abandon this area.

With steadfast resolve, he turned from the tumult, his steps sure and unwavering.

The storm of chaos raged behind him, but his path was set—toward those who still held the threads of his family’s fate, those who would lead him forward, and who would restore what had been lost.

What the world had failed to awaken within him, a small boy ignited.

Hours ago, as he stood by the window, observing the turmoil that unraveled before him, a fear unlike any he had known began to stir within him.

The weight of it pressed upon him, urging him to abandon caution and confront an unknown dread. It was illogical, yet undeniable—the view of the small, fiery figure of the boy awakened within him a protective instinct, a familiar stirring known only to those bound by blood.

A truth, as ancient as the earth, lay deep within him: to protect, to defend, to stand for one’s own.

A soft chuckle stirred within Adrian.

His gaze shifted to the little boy who clung to his twin with such stubborn resolve.

Though beyond reason, there lingered the quiet assurance of a home long familiar.

***

Beyond the realm of dreamlands, where cartoons danced and sweet toys beckoned, the two little boys remained oblivious to the monsters of formless dread that pressed against the fortress walls.

And for now, it was enough.

At this moment, their little world would still allow them to sleep unguardedly.

***

With the newly risen sun, the twins were awoken.

With the discovery of an undetected stranger, Ember struggled to sit up. Although his fever was reduced to a low, supportable level, his body was weakened a lot and was almost unresponsive to his ambitions.

Ember called out, reaching for Eden to protect him.

Eden was interested in his Ember’s reactions and reached, naturally allowing his half the stability he sought and refusing most of that protectiveness. Within his lips, there stood a smile, which no longer bore the heaviness of worry.

“This is the prince. From that red cartoon book, the one with the broken corner.” Eden introduced his hero.

Ember blinked in confusion.

“Yeah.” Eden’s long lashes stood curled at the ends, outlining the elation in his eyes. “The prince fought a monster.”

Ember didn’t let the questionable stranger escape from his sight as he listened to his twin’s relation of the events.

From a huge and dangerous monster to a strategy of fortifying, then to all the reassurance and blankets brought. Eden also told Ember how the prince woke him up to help feed water and had kept returning to check on him.

The stranger in question didn’t intervene and even was surprised to know that the little doll, although he looked asleep, still was aware of his actions. The image in which he painted him was one of a heroic figure, allowing all the protectiveness which made Adrian’s tension fade, a chuckle leaving his lips.

With this relation of the events, he found out that his origin was seemingly a cartoon book and his prospects were higher than any being this world.

Ember’s thoughts fell even deeper in confusion.

Didn’t the director insist that cartoon characters are not allowed to turn real?

Why the prince then turned out to be real?

Before Ember stood a figure that seemed born of legend, crowned with golden curls that caught the faint light. His face, heroic in its bearing, carried the weight of determination etched into every feature. Dense brows, straight and unwavering, framed eyes that seemed to hold a purpose unspoken.

The bridge of his nose stood proud and firm, an emblem of strength, while his mouth, shaped into a line of quiet authority, betrayed no pretense—its form was shaped not by vanity but by the habits of command.

And his jaw, majestic as though carved by a master sculptor, bore the mark of unyielding resolve. It tensed subtly, a reflection of his state of mind, for there was no ease to be found—only the will to press forward, unbroken, toward what lay ahead.

There also was the red coat.

Or cape?

Though Ember still clung to a thread of wariness, he could not bring himself to deny his twin’s words. The weight of exhaustion pressed heavily upon him, worsened by his earlier actions.

At last, he allowed himself to lean into Eden’s embrace.

His blinks grew slower, each one pulling him closer to slumber. Yet, just before a question could form in his mind, his attention was seized by a sharp, gleaming object that flew from the prince’s hand, darting toward a shadowed corner of the shop.

Was there a monster hiding? Ember found himself wondering.

There was a light sound, familiar, like a hissing, from the direction in which the sharp object had vanished. No heavy thuds or muffled echoes trailed it, only silence wrapped in unease.

Adrian turned to the two chattering dolls, reaching and brushing some of the stray strands of Eden’s red hair, behind his ear. With a quiet "shh," he tapped Eden's small chin twice.

Lowering his stare, he reassessed Ember’s state while speaking in a low, whispering tone.

“Little doll, we have to leave this place. We must find medicine for Ember, food and shelter.”

Those actions evoked interest for Eden, allowing himself to be “disciplined”.

“Will you defeat monsters?”

Adrian lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth unable to hold a straight line and instead reveal some of his amusement. With a sigh, he tapped Eden’s little nose.

 “You must obey my directions. Always ask before acting, yes?”

Though the weight of those words felt unfamiliar to Eden, they reminded him of the stories from his cartoon books, where companions always received such words.

This made Eden to reveal a fascinating smile.

It was filled with anticipation as well.

“Yes.”

Ember was taken into unfamiliar arms, strong and protective, the blanket draped over his body with care. His head, heavy with weariness, found rest upon a firm shoulder, shielded from the morning’s intrusive coldness.

Eden watched his prince holding Ember and reached his small hands toward the bag resting at their feet, intending to help carrying it. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to lift, its weight far exceeding his expectations. With a soft “huh,” he looked down at it in confusion, unable to fathom the source of its heaviness.

Was it hiding some strong weapons?

With a smirk, Adrian swung the bag onto his available shoulder, the weight of it nothing to him. As a little reward, his hand brushed through Eden's hair in a subtle gesture of reassurance, an unspoken vow

Though the smirk still lingered on his lips, Adrian’s presence grew more resolute, as though a shift had occurred within him. He held Ember tighter, the added weight reminding him of newfound responsibilities. With a quiet 'shh' to Eden, he turned toward the door, pausing momentarily to reassess the world beyond.

With a delicate shift, the door parted,

and with it,

a new adventure unfolded.

[mickswritings]

Chapter 3

Although the world felt drowned in a shroud of deathly silence,

the time hasn't ceased.

The shattered window revealed golden hues of light and hovering clouds that intended to ignite. Amidst the precariously held shards, the light reached, casting reflections onto the numerous posters and promotional announcements that adorned the walls. Dust particles danced in the golden tones, almost resembling fireflies and inviting one's thoughts to wander into enchanting tales.

Eden's prince presented himself in this enchanting design.

The wind reached, wandering over the red raincoat worn by this prince. Amid the strong gusts, water drops trailed down the wet material with a surprisingly strong reluctance. As drops reached the edges of the material, a temporary stop was made, as if showing the resistance of inevitable.

The wind reached, wandering over the red raincoat that adorned the prince. Amid the fierce gusts, raindrops meandered down the wet material, with a surprisingly strong reluctance. Reaching the edges, they lingered for a breath, as if showing the resistance, a defiance of the inevitable.

The gravitational force prevailed and water drops fell, reflecting the light and the red hues.

Pit

Pat

Eden was met with a fascinating expanse of blue.

This blue, unlike any he'd known, held a strange, familiar magic—like the colour woven through the pages of his favourite book. It was deep and haunting, a shade that no other character was coloured with - not even the blue bear from the blue forest.

And it made Eden's little heart race.

Within those eyes of that blue, there stood a conviction so absolute that it bordered on possession— as if whatever it looked upon, it would own. There was no doubt, only the unflinching will, honed to capture everything it desired.

Contrasting with frozen-like blue hues, fiery intentions burned within.

The world seen in the prince’s eyes had simple options.

Hunt.

Or be hunted.

As the wind howled louder, stirring the night with a fierce urgency, the prince's intentions sharpened into swift, decisive actions—there was no time for rest; hidden dangers could still be lurking. With a measured and calculating gaze, he surveyed the shop’s frame, his eyes tracing both its frailties and its fortitudes.

The weapon, held with familiar ease, disappeared into the side of his pants, replaced by a sharp, cold light. The new object—a simple fruit knife, small but keen—gleamed in his grip, steady and unflinching. Though unremarkable to most, in his hands, it seemed imbued with purpose. He moved with practised intent as if this was not the first time he had transformed a space into a stronghold.

With each step forward, the prince acted on a silent plan.

The tattered curtains were pulled from their rods, their fabric sweeping across the windows to shield them from the night’s gaze.

Loose planks, neglected and forgotten, were gathered and leaned against the glass, their rough edges pressing firmly into place. Heavy boxes, salvaged from the cluttered mess of the shop, were stacked with careful precision, their weight sealing the glass against the storm’s relentless howl outside.

Every vulnerable point was reinforced with even the most insignificant objects found in the shop—fallen and broken shelves, sturdy toys, even a forgotten stool, wedged firmly against the trembling door. The cracks were stuffed with dense materials—scraps of cloth, and toys pressed into gaps to stifle the wind's icy breath. Each corner was stripped of shadows as he adjusted the lighting, tilting lamps or setting them in open spaces to reveal what lay in every hidden recess.

Nothing remained hidden, every shadowed corner was revealed, ensuring no secret space could harbour a threat. With each motion, the darkness was chased away, and the light reached into all the corners and nooks. The shop was now a fortress, filled with strength and stillness. A shelter.

Eden felt the world tilt, a faint dizziness threading through his thoughts.

While holding Ember close, the little boy watched a strange ballet unfold: toys and objects were lifted, rearranged, stacked, and wedged into place, each movement purposeful, each step an act of quiet choreography.

The small, familiar space transformed before his eyes, becoming something stronger, more resilient. Although the reason for all of these actions wasn't fully grasped, there was something comforting, something familiar, in the scene—a bit like building a fort or tidying up before an adventure.

To weave safety from the disarray around.

In the favourite cartoon books, the monsters were always vanquished with a single stroke, and their territory was directly claimed—shining mountains of gold, grand castles in triumph.

There were no scenes of clearing shadows from forgotten corners, no careful rearranging of furniture and toys.

This was different.

Was the prince building a fort?

Did he wish to play?

But Eden's thoughts returned to his twin in his arms - his important person was still asleep.

While Eden's world expanded and rearranged, his thoughts drifting and distracted, he failed to notice that the shop had once more fallen into silence. The low sounds of shifting objects and the muffled scuffle of shoes on floorboards had faded, leaving only the soft, almost inaudible taps that now drew near.

With a rustle of fabric, a person knelt before him, settling onto one knee. The familiar action stole heartbeats away.

Eden’s distracted gaze was drawn into the quiet intensity of the prince’s unyielding presence, from his commanding posture to the steady, unwavering blue of his eyes.

"...Prince?"

The whole world carried his quiet recognition. There was no confusion or probing in Eden's reaction, no defence or fear.

And in turn, it was welcomed with a quirk of the lips.

"Yeah."

This answer fell like a long-awaited promise.

A hand, which held a strong structure with deep callouses, reached out, brushing the loose strands from Eden's face, tucking them back with a practised, steady intention.

The same reassuring hand fell on Ember's forehead, holding the intention of assessment.

From the delicate shoulders to the short ribs, down the small arms and over the exposed little legs, the prince's hand moved with intention, assessing for any potential wounds, whether visible or concealed. The rhythm of breathing, the pulse of the heartbeat, and the natural flush of colour all spoke of normalcy, allowing assurance amidst the tension.

Through it all, Eden's quiet distress was impossible to overlook—the taut line of his small frame, the quiver of lashes heavy with unspoken fear. This image tore into one's heart and the prince reached and lifted his chin, disrupting his inner thundering emotions.

"Little doll, it will be fine." The words sunk into the air, heavy enough to reach Eden.

"Your brother will soon awaken."

The timbre of the prince's voice, low and nearly a whisper, washed over Eden's unsettled heart. It gave permission for the restrained tears to fall finally, unravelling the tension that had built with fear, like the release of a forcefully held breath.

In Eden's favourite book, the prince’s words were never allowed to be false.

And so there was no doubt nor the need to consider anything.

His twin won't abandon him.

[mickswritings]

Chapter 2

Dust particles drifted through the dim room, unexpectedly crossing a narrow light beam. The walls, adorned with glossy posters, reflected the glow, helping it spread and illuminate the space further.

The toy shop, although quiet, was filled with unknown life.

The sliver of light stalked through the room like a predator, creeping into the corner where an old clock continued its steady tracking of time.

Tick

Tock

Tick

A pair of red lashes curled fascinatingly at the ends and fluttered with aggravation.

Although the short boy still lacked experience, the instinctive fear awoke, prompting little hands to reach into the air, searching for reassurance.

The knowledge that an important presence was "lacking" sunk more and more.

Adrenaline and an unfamiliar tension broke through the stillness, causing a small chest to rise and fall with restless breaths. The heart, still too small and fragile for the vastness of this world, warned of separation, pressing out the urgency of action.

Yet.

Everything stilled at the first hint of the familiar scent of his most important person. It was mixed with the cheap detergent of the orphanage, ingrained in the worn pyjamas, their seams unravelling and rough patches fraying at the edges.

Little arms pulled the familiar body close in a desperate, urgent embrace.

"Ember..." the name was announced in a contented whisper. It wore the conclusion of victory.

The silence was filled by the sound of two breathing bodies. Unexpectedly, his call went unanswered, unlike the past attempts. This observation took longer for Eden to process and had him wake up with urgency. His fiery red lashes lifted, revealing eyes that carried the weight of grave accusations.

Ember was pressed in his embrace, his body arched in a tense, insecure position.

Drops of sweat trickled down his skin, soaking into the fabric of his pyjamas. The pallor of his complexion took on a sickly hue, contrasted by an unsettling flush. Delicate lashes trembled as hands formed into tight fists, gripping Eden's pyjamas with determination.

Eden recognized the signs: the fever.

He couldn't fathom why the orphanage's beds stood empty, the toys relocated. The children would never come back, and no amount of waiting would change that. In the days that followed, visiting strangers would sigh, discussing how important a doctor was, yet often unreachable. Eden didn't understand what a doctor was or why were they relevant. All he perceived was that fever meant departure, and departure meant abandonment.

And here the nightmarish fever followed them.

His lashes fluttered, revealing tears that threatened to spill. His lips formed a pout, and the tip of his nose took on a deeper shade of pink.'

"E..ember.." With a sharp intake of air, the familiar name was once again called.

This was the precursor to disaster, signalling that not a moment more of silence could be tolerated. If that moment passed without a response, the heavens would collapse, and the heavy tears would come pouring down, unstoppable.

The lips pressed in anticipation, with the little hand reaching to wake up his other half.

Tick

T...

Ember pressed his aching head into the plush teddy bear.

Not failing this time, the dry mouth responded with a soft sound. He found himself once again within a familiar embrace, which reassured him immensely.

"..Not allowed to leave me behind." The words resounded from a faraway place, leaving Ember unable to process and understand their origins. In response to his twin's tensed body, he hummed, allowing himself to rest.

Crash.

A heavy object fell, raising unknown dust.

The unexpected interruption startled Eden, causing him to abruptly rise from his position. The instincts had him press Ember more into his arms, protective over what was his.

His unsteady breathing added to his tension, his body bracing itself for defence. His twin was ill, and Eden knew he lacked the strength to carry him to safety. They were in a precarious situation, much like his favourite prince in that one episode where he was cast into a dark, eerie castle.

The castle had been reduced to a small shop and the enemy was still unidentified.

And there was no prince.

From a dark corner, a distorted figure crept forward, like a predator assessing the cost of its attack. A silvery-green sheen began to emerge, accompanied by the faint rustling sound it left in its wake.

As it rose in height, protrusions like the thorns of a plant formed on its surface. The tips of the thorns displayed a sharp cut, resembling more and more to a saw.

Eden's whole presence was surprised. Was this the start of another adventure, like the ones the prince always encountered?

But he had no sword.

No red cape and no armour.

To Eden, that twisted form was familiar—it was one of the plants that grew all around the orphanage. With its various shades of green, it would weave and wind its way across the house, often leaving Eden amused. The contorted vine, which stubbornly refused to stay rooted in the ground, frequently reminded him of the children's tangled shoelaces.

With determination, Eden reached for a broken piece of metal nearby, his brows furrowed in focus. Adopting a confident stance, the little red-haired boy raised his makeshift "sword," ready to face whatever the enemy might reveal.

Although insistent on his "serious" image, laughter still resounded.

His first enemy was a big plant shoelace.

Haha

"..." The "big shoelace" watched in silence. 

With the new presence added, the little shop felt even more crowded.

An unsettling silence spread like a warning, accommodating the monster that had finally left its dark corner.

With a sharp sound, the form lunged forward, intent on capturing and dominating. Its thorns sharpened into a conical structure, while the exterior hardened, ready to defend. An unknown white liquid dripped onto certain areas, coating them in a gleaming allure—an invitation to pure danger.

A sharp sound advanced from the direction of the window and the monster froze, its violent nature prepared for attack.

Pointed shards of metal aimed in its direction.

With each violent collision, the monster responded with even greater ferocity. Its formless shape lifted into the air, intricately weaving itself into a complex net. Though it struggled to deflect the metal shards, it stubbornly persisted, refusing to back down.

While keeping the monster distracted, a well-defined yet still immature hand reached into the little shop, hurling a heavy object toward the two boys.

“Duck beneath!” A firm voice, sharp and unmistakably youthful, delivered the command.

The red frame, distinct against the darkness, shook with surprise. With a surprised “ah”, little hands reached, almost failing to hold himself up under the heavy material thrown by the stranger.

Surprisingly, the little boy didn’t protest and complied with the command

Eden wrapped his arms around his twin, seeking refuge beneath the heavy material.

The monster writhed in rage, contorting itself into a shape that would allow it to reach the window. With the metal shards embedded in its form, it bore no recognizable structure. Though it refused to show any weaknesses, the opponent managed to catch it off guard.

Born from the shadows, a searing burn spread through its uncharted internal structure. A dreadful realization began to take shape in the monster's consciousness, but before it could fully materialize, the darkness consumed any trace of life from within.

The electrical charges sealed its fate. Though the now-charred monster remained unrecognizable, the internal structure shattered, unveiling a familiar yet altered form—one that resembled that of a plant.

With a swift motion, the window panels shattered, and a hand reached through, enabling a young man to land with greater stability.

In the newfound silence, Eden lowered the material that had covered him. After a moment, his red lashes fluttered uncomfortably as he took a second to adjust to the increased light.

What stood before him was a figure - strong and dependable.

With blonde hair and low, noble curls.

With a red cape billowing behind.

…reminding Eden of his favourite cartoon prince.

[mickswritings]

Little fallen stars (An adventure in an apocalyptic world) - story

Chapter 1 - Fallen world

It was 5 AM in the A city on an ordinary working day of the week.

As expected, the morning was welcomed not by the tender breath of dawn but rather by the invasion of rushing motions, blaring horns, and the restless hum of impatience, as the city stirred to life

The blaring restlessness was reflected in the small business owners that were present, shouting and inciting the passersby to purchase from their bakeries, food stalls, or by chance, newspaper kiosks.

This culture of working to exhaustion felt like a natural trait for the people living in this city. No time to rest when time could brew more money.

Not far from the main avenue stood a rather old house, with a fascinating structure reminiscent of bygone times. Although it had great potential to showcase architectural beauty, its peeling walls and faded colours caused people to avert their gaze. In the early hours, dozens of children lay asleep, stacked in little beds, dreaming of futures where candies and toys would flood their new homes. The old house bore a grimy sign with the word "orphanage" scrawled on it.

Out of nowhere, a slight tremor came alive. With each passing second, it turned into a denser and sharper sound, accompanied by the cracking and shifting of the ground. The streetlamps swayed, and the old houses showed signs of crumbling.

People, initially bewildered and reluctant to deviate from their already planned actions, abruptly halted, overwhelmed by an indescribable fear. It stemmed from their most primal instincts, revealing the futility of resisting nature's power. The word "earthquake" flashed through their minds, propelling them to flee and seek shelter, desperately searching for safety in a world growing ever more unstable.

Chaos descended as the ground split and the wind started to intensify to a terrifying speed. Death and life intertwined, under the incoming threats, all the sounds merged into unintelligible noises, adorned with desperate shouts, falling objects and breaking structures.

Long time afterwards, when a temporary silence was left, the world seemed devoid of living breath. A morbid picture of destruction, painted with strips of red and black. In such a painting, the stillness was disturbed by a little, fiery red frame, exerting its little force to lift a block of wood.

Eden was aware that his little hands didn’t have powers to lift all the heavy blocks, like the heroes found in the picture books. Nonetheless, under that block of wood, his most important, invaluable person, was hidden. Despite this awareness, the little boy heaved and changed angles, constantly insisting, disregarding everything else.

Maybe out of a divine intervention, the block of wood, which sat on a rather unstable merge of other pieces, fell and uncovered the little bed it was pressing onto.

With a shout of surprise, Eden lowered himself down and reached under the bed where another little body was hiding. Eden’s little hand was held and met with a warmth that only living beings possess.

Although most of the dirt in the air dispersed, a fair amount rose as the block of wood fell. Ignoring any warning signs, Eden reached and took Ember in his arms, their frames fitting like two pieces of puzzle. Mingled with tears and accelerated heartbeats, the twins found each other reassured by the other’s presence.

Their beauty, which was otherworldly, gave off a strange sense of art, embraced by the encompassing destruction.

Eden’s fiery red, ablaze hair encountered the other’s burnt orange, rust-coloured locks. Their eyes, locked in a gaze of fiery intensity, revealed Eden’s deep emerald green, a vivid contrast to Ember’s tender, light green.

The features, every line and pore were designed as the apogee of beauty, blending the female and male traits, cultural traits and everything that parted the humanity, as one general defining beauty.

In a world where such beauty could stir emotions as powerful as those evoked by nature’s destruction—obsession, fear, love, desire, and more—the orphanage seemed the last place to house such treasures. Unfortunately, at this moment, even the orphanage that had once provided them shelter was no longer there.

In their fervent reunion, the newly stirred wind seemed to warn, still retaining little of the remnants of the previous nightmare. Ember reached once more for his twin’s hand and started to navigate down from the pile of shattered walls and unfamiliar shapes. While they tried to protect themselves as best as possible, the little boys still stumbled and tripped. Their small feet covered in worn out socks, were almost unable to overcome the heights and harsh surfaces.

Although they haven’t had the chance to explore the world outside the orphanage before, the strangers that visited often told them about it. To the twins, although most of the architectural structures no longer resembled human civilisation, the images didn’t bore them shock and unfamiliarity.

From the short encounters and little picture books, the twins understood some survival principles. From the little animal stories to the cartoon drawn princes, red-caped heroes and bizarre robots, the little twins learnt important lessons.

In bad weather, finding shelter was the most important—this was the little twins' unspoken priority.

The wind stirred and displaced broken objects, sending dust swirling even higher. With their dirty pyjama tops raised up to cover their mouths after persistent, harsh coughs, the twins continued their important expedition.

Leaving the orphanage area, the streets unfolded a scene of increasing devastation, with barely standing structures remaining. The twins, often overlooking the people and, more frequently, the remains of people, couldn’t entirely hide their expressions of surprise and fear.

Heroes didn’t fear but the little boys’ hearts warned to stop in fright.

Fortunately, as the wind started to rise even more ferociously, a little shop, which looked unaffected, was able to shelter them from the incoming dread. The structure had little to no damage and the windows were barricaded with wood planks. The door, out of some hard object hitting it, was opened, with the lock fallen to the ground.

As Eden stopped in front of a sturdy broom, Ember exclaimed and directed his twin in lifting it together. Further in their discovery, they coordinated their actions and the broom was wedged firmly across the door, its handle slid into place to secure it like a makeshift lock.

In the temporary shelter, after patting off the dust from their pyjamas, Eden and Ember then looked at each other with unyielding affection.

A new territory announced exploration; therefore, they started to look and search around.

The sturdy house felt like what the visiting strangers described them as a “toy shop”, displaying a short supply of candies and related children loving products. Tables and shelves held toys that made Eden and Ember exclaim and wonder, having them check each category, enticing them in forgetting time and space in the favour of exploring a safer world.

The windows, which were surprisingly barricaded, still held shelves with children’s books, plush bears and small cars. Red posters informed of toys collections and high discounts, while the decorations reached the ceiling, bearing cartoon characters, glittering stars and spaceships.

Exhaustion was an inevitable result and Ember stopped Eden, acting like a responsible brother, handing him newfound pastries and sweet candies.

The little ones nestled on large, plush bears, allowing themselves to rest and indulge in the sweetness. In that soft silence, the unspoken questions came to be voiced out.

“Will the police come and save us?” Ember inquired while his light-coloured eyes looked at the thin streaks of light escaping from the barricaded window. His soft voice betrayed his fear, as his last words revealed a soft trembling.

“Maybe.” Eden spoke after seconds of thoughtfulness, holding nothing like what fear felt.

Different from his twin, the world could barely incite fear in Eden.

Although the orphanage forced them to mature in its harsh conditions, some of the innocence never left the twins. Eden never experienced intense highs or lows like fear when it was in relation to the world. Surprisingly, all the complexity of his emotional reactions were all reserved towards his twin.

The power to have him feel fear was all given to his twin, Ember.

Back in the orphanage, the director restricted Eden’s space, denouncing his lack of reactions as reckless personality. When disciplining children, emotions like fear, desperation and joy, were the incentives and directions to manipulate them and finally, to “educate” them – or so was the director’s beliefs.  

Ember’s presence gave Eden’s a save haven to retain his “recklessness”, to welcome the world with less restraint and fear. What Eden lacked in terms of self-preservation, Ember never failed to remind and teach. Like white and black, the twins taught each other restraint and liberty, in fascinating amounts.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” Eden continued to speak, his baby voice declaring unyielding responsibility. To even further accentuate the responsibility, he handed over a little milk cake, inviting his other half to eat.

In response, Eden revealed a fascinating smile, taking the sweet cake and biting into it.

Although exhausted, their excitement for the newfound sweets failed to be concealed. In their previous rare encounters with visiting strangers, not that many of their donations and gifts reached the children.

Candy was an extreme rarity that the director refused to allow the children to have. During those brief encounters, Ember once managed to steal a piece, creating a cherished memory for him and his twin. They would hide away for nights on end, savouring the slowly dwindling candy.

Amidst such a bleak outer world, in the little shop filled with toys and sweets, the two little boys feel asleep as their young bodies were showing signs of exhaustion.

….

Hours before the world fell into disaster, in another part of the town, on a grand bridge, the traffic was difficult and nerve wracking.

Passing further, reaching the end of the bridge, an inconspicuous dark car stood, awaiting the permission to continue advancing. Although revealing nothing about the identity of the passenger, the high-end model with tinted windows and polished chrome accents evoked hesitation in any daring disturbing attempt.

The driver, wearing a standard black suit, stood in a stiff and responsible posture. To this person, which stood as unapproachable, the sounds and disturbance around were simply like flies, unnecessary to pay attention upon.

Details that were at first overseen, stood like an invisible statement, questioning the identity of the driver.

First observed were the pair of dark, sharp eyes that overlooked the world with unnatural focus. The dark suit was adorned with golden inlaid threads, reaching a golden plate where the name of the driver was written in a white, standard font. Over the thin lips, a smile hung, polite and reserved, arched at the perfect angle to neither flatter nor offend.

What the outer world wasn’t allowed to see, was the person seated in the back of the car.

With a standard, trained posture, the thin but sturdy body was encased in an expensive blue horde-riding suit. Despite his youth, the boy's light blue eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and grand ambitions. His blonde curls fell gracefully to his straight shoulders, framing an elegance that seemed to spring from generations of aristocratic perfection, where only beauty and flawlessness were esteemed, and any imperfection was dismissed.

In this world, the wealthy were regarded with near-divine reverence, a silent rule that upheld and supported the arrogance of such individuals.

The driver pressed his hand onto the steering wheel, the veins visible on his hand revealing his inner tension. The traffic was difficult to navigate and the invisible pressure of delayed time was more and more hard to ignore.

Unbeknownst to him, an unexpected sense of danger stirred within the driver’s instincts, much like a hunted animal sensing imminent terror. The pupils constricted and the blood pressure rose, building and constricting the air, with the lean muscles under the suit tensed, ready for action. `

The traffic made impossible for the driver to stop the car and his falcon-like eyes analysed and calculated any existent chance of danger. Nothing felt unsettling about the traffic and no mark of distress was identified. These details served only in having the driver more alert, reaching with his other hand for the gun placed at his waist.

A second passed, then two... three,

and the world plunged into chaos.

.