The morning began like any other. A gentle breeze slipped through the palace curtains, light kissed the marble floors, and birds sang softly beyond the windows. The world, for a moment, was still beautiful.
Then Mirshad opened his eyes.
He sat up suddenly, his heart pounding for no reason he could name. Something felt wrong—deeply wrong. It was not pain, not fear, but a shift in the air that gnawed at his instincts. He stood, walked to the sink, drank a glass of water, and checked his phone.
Everything stopped.
Breaking alerts filled the screen. Entire cities reporting zero communication. Airports, roads, and emergency lines silent. The next update came colder—entire populations vanished without a trace. A global state of emergency declared.
Mirshad's steps quickened as he rushed downstairs. The palace was still asleep. Outside, the sky was calm. Inside, the screen burned with the end of the world. News anchors spoke in fear, their voices trembling. This isn't war. There's no smoke, no blood. The cities are just… empty. Aerial footage showed highways with engines still running but no drivers. Schools full of bags and books but no children.
On one channel, a woman clutched her microphone, tears streaming. Everyone's gone. My entire team… they were just here… and then they— The signal died mid-sentence. Another channel went black. Then another. One by one, every broadcast fell into silence.
Mirshad's hands clenched. He activated Sirius. "Scan every global satellite. Atmospheric, thermal, electromagnetic, biometric. Now."
The AI's voice returned, steady but grim. "Seventy percent of Earth's population has vanished. No energy trails. No anomalies. No known cause."
Rayyan and Malik appeared at the foot of the stairs, Amir and Jabir right behind. "What happened? Why are you awake this early? Why is your face—" Mirshad pointed to the frozen image on the screen. They stared, stunned.
"They didn't die," he said quietly. "They disappeared."
The palace alarms roared to life. Doors slammed open, voices rose in panic. Sophia, Sara, his parents, staff, guards—everyone poured into the main hall. Mirshad didn't blink. He stared out the window at a sky that suddenly felt hollow.
He grabbed his car keys.
Rayyan stepped in front of him. "Where are you going?"
"To see what's left."
"We're coming with you."
Mirshad met his eyes. "No. Stay here. Protect everyone. No one moves alone. Do you hear me?"
Rayyan hesitated, then nodded. Mirshad looked at them all—one long look, the kind that could have been goodbye—and walked out.
The car rolled across empty roads. The sun rose but offered no warmth. Neighborhoods where laughter once lived were silent. Clothes lay scattered on sidewalks, phones buzzed in the side ways, trains sat frozen on their tracks. Doors hung open. Meals remained half-eaten.
No war. No smoke. No screams.
Only nothing.
He stopped the car and stepped into the stillness. The sky above was pale and cold, the air heavy. The silence pressed against his chest like a weight.
"What the hell is going on…?" he murmured.
The wind gave no answer. There was no one left to speak.