March 6, 2028. A hot summer day.
The air was still, heavy with the weight of heat and silence. I sat cross-legged on my bed, the fan above rotating lazily, doing little to ease the sweat forming on my brow. My phone was warm in my hands as I scrolled—news, memes, short videos, the usual digital haze. I was on leave from work, thinking I'd enjoy some peace, maybe catch up on a few hobbies. But boredom had wrapped its arms around me like a suffocating fog. Nothing seemed worth my attention.
Then a video popped up with a dramatic title: "How to Survive a Nuclear War."
I almost swiped past. These things had become so common over the past decade. Ever since the Russia-Ukraine conflict, and tensions between the U.S. and China, or the never-ending violence in the Middle East, especially the Israel-Arab struggle over Palestine—it felt like the world had been teetering on the edge forever. People used to panic. Now, they just shrugged it off. The fear had become background noise.
Still, something made me tap on it.
The video wasn't anything new—tips about radiation shelters, water purification, emergency food. I watched silently, then tossed the phone beside me and lay down. My head buzzed with thoughts. Could it really happen? Would we even know before it was too late?
I closed my eyes.
That's when I heard it.
A siren.
Loud, shrill, and unnatural. It wasn't a fire drill or ambulance—this one pierced through the stillness like a knife. I bolted upright, heart racing, unsure if it was real or part of some twisted dream. I rushed to the window—no chaos, no mushroom clouds on the horizon, no panic outside.
But I felt it. Deep down, I knew.
I grabbed my phone. My hands trembled as I opened the news feed. Every major headline screamed the same thing:
WAR HAS BEGUN.
Our country had launched a full-scale attack against our neighbor. It wasn't just another border skirmish. This time, it was personal. The neighboring country had blocked our main river—cutting off the water supply to over half of our population. Crops were dying. People were collapsing in the streets. Protests turned to riots. Diplomacy had failed.
And now, so had peace.
I didn't wait. I packed everything I could—documents, canned food, a water bottle, flashlight, insect spray, even an old pocketknife. My plan was clear: get to our old family land in the northern mountains. Remote. High altitude. Isolated. If nukes were going to rain down, I needed distance and cover.
That land meant a lot to me. My grandfather, a former military general, had bought it after retirement—an escape from politics and people. My father inherited it after his death, and I, after mine. My mother had passed just a few years ago, peacefully, of old age. The house had since been empty. But now, it might save me.
I drove for hours, every minute feeling like a countdown.
Only ten miles from the mountain road turnoff, my worst fear materialized.
Traffic.
Not just a jam. A wall of frozen cars. Horns blaring, people yelling, some abandoning vehicles entirely. I tried weaving through side paths, nudging the car forward, but it was no use. I was stuck.
After what felt like an eternity, I made a decision. I grabbed my backpack, slung it over my shoulder, and locked the car. I'd walk the rest of the way if I had to.
The sun was setting. Shadows stretched long across the road as I walked. I flagged down three cabs, even offered them my entire monthly salary. They shook their heads, too afraid to head into the mountains.
So I walked.
After nearly an hour, darkness settled in. My feet ached, and the silence became eerie. No lights, no birds, not even wind. Just the crunch of gravel beneath my boots.
Eventually, I found a shallow cave off the roadside—a dry hollow in a small hill. It wasn't much, but it was shelter. I gathered some dry wood, sparked a fire, sprayed insect repellent in a wide circle, and lined stones around my sleeping spot. It wasn't comfortable, but I made it work. Exhaustion pulled at my limbs.
And I fell asleep.
But instead of rest, I fell into a nightmare.
I stood on a vast stretch of cracked earth. The ground was dead—gray and broken. The air stank of smoke, metal, and rotting flesh. All around me, people crawled, cried, and fought. Their skin was pale, lips chapped, eyes hollow. I stumbled, dizzy with thirst. My throat burned, my vision swam. I begged for water.
Then he appeared.
A man cloaked in black, his hood deep and shadowy. One eye was shut, scarred beyond healing. The other glowed blue—a calm, cold light like moonlight on still water. He crouched beside me and held out his hand.
"My child," he said, voice echoing with something ancient, "I will help you. I will give you what you need. But do you know who I am?"
I could barely speak. My lips cracked as I whispered, "No."
He placed a hand on my chest. It felt warm.
"I am God."
A wave of energy surged through me. The pain vanished. My thirst faded. My strength returned. I could breathe again. I believed him—I don't know why, but I did.
"Yes," I said. "I believe in you."
Light burst from his hand, wrapping me in a gentle glow. I felt alive again, whole and strong. I fell to my knees, bowing before him.
But just as I embraced the peace—
A jolt.
Like electricity crackling through my very soul. My body convulsed. I screamed. The light shattered into fragments, and then—darkness.
Tall, shadowy figures appeared around me—beasts in humanoid shape, with hair like hay and limbs like stone. I tried to run, but I couldn't move.
Then—nothing.
I gasped and awoke.
But I wasn't in my cave.
I couldn't move. I was folded into a small space. My knees touched my chest. Panic hit me hard. I looked around. Through a small crack, I saw light.
Not firelight. Not daylight.
Just white.
The kind of white that has no source or shadow. A pure, endless void. No walls. No ceiling. No ground. Just an infinite sea of light.
"What… is this place?" I whispered.