The Earth shook. Not just in one place. Not just in one country. The whole world trembled. Mountains rumbled. Oceans crashed hard against the shore. Birds took off into the sky, screeching. People screamed.
In Seoul, South Korea, a woman dropped her phone on the pavement. It cracked, but she didn't notice. Her eyes were wide, staring at the ground that shifted under her feet.
In New York, a man held his daughter close as buildings creaked. He looked at the sky, praying.
In Nairobi, a boy ran from the market, barefoot, gripping his little sister's hand.
In Moscow, people stood frozen in the snow, their breaths puffing into the cold air, not from the temperature—but from fear.
All over the planet, the reaction was the same: fear. Deep, silent, bone-breaking fear.
And then... the light changed.
It wasn't night, but the sun began to fade. Slowly. As if a hand from space was covering it. A strange, heavy shadow spread across the land. At first, it was like clouds. But there were no clouds.
People looked up.
They didn't understand what they were seeing.
In Tokyo, a teacher stopped mid-sentence and stared out the window.
In Cairo, a man dropped his coffee cup. It shattered on the stone ground.
In Rio de Janeiro, traffic lights still blinked green, but no one moved. Cars sat still. Everyone was looking at the sky.
The sunlight was dying.
The air changed too. Thicker. Colder. Heavier.
Animals howled. Dogs barked nonstop. Birds circled with no place to land. In the forests, deer ran with no direction. In the cities, children cried.
The world was holding its breath.
Kim Jisoo sat up in bed. His dark hair was messy. His eyes, sharp and pale brown, opened slowly. He rubbed his face. The shaking had stopped, but the silence felt worse.
He got out of bed and walked to the window.
Outside, the light was strange. Gray. Not cloudy-gray. Empty-gray. Like someone had taken all the color out of the sky.
He stared for a while.
No birds. No traffic. No noise.
Just the sky—dull and wrong.
He closed the curtains without a word.
In his small apartment, the silence echoed.
He walked to the kitchen and poured himself water. The tap worked. That was something.
He drank slowly. Then checked his phone.
No signal. No news. No internet.
The screen was blank, except for the time. 9:12 AM.
He sat down at the table.
Still no noise from the streets below.
He opened the window slightly.
The air was cold. It smelled like metal.
From a distant apartment, he heard a baby crying. Somewhere, glass shattered.
Then nothing again.
He closed the window.
In London, scientists ran down halls, shouting at each other.
In Johannesburg, power stations flickered.
In Delhi, people flooded into temples and mosques.
In Canada, a child asked his mother, "Is the sun sick?"
No one had answers. Not yet.
Jisoo turned on the TV.
Static.
He flipped through the channels. All dead.
He sighed and leaned back.
He wasn't scared. Not yet. Not like others.
He'd always felt like something was coming.
Something big. Something wrong.
And now… it had started.
He stood up and opened the closet.
He pulled out a black backpack. It was already packed. Water. Cans. A flashlight. A small knife. Clothes.
He'd prepared years ago, in secret.
People had laughed when he talked about survival plans.
He didn't laugh now.
Outside, sirens started. Not many. Just one or two. Then they faded again.
People peeked from behind windows. Some stood in the streets, looking up, hoping it would pass.
But the light kept dimming.
The sun was no longer golden. It was white. Cold. Like a dying bulb.
In Mexico City, a priest stood on a church roof and shouted prayers.
In Paris, people danced and cried in the streets. Some took pictures. Some held signs.
In Beijing, the government went silent. No news. No guidance.
Everyone waited.
Jisoo zipped his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
He didn't know where he was going yet.
But he knew staying still was a bad idea.
He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
Other doors were closed. Lights flickered.
He walked down the stairs slowly.
Each floor was quiet. Too quiet.
When he reached the lobby, he found two neighbors. An old woman and a boy.
They looked at him.
"Where are you going?" the woman asked.
"Don't know yet," he said.
The boy stared at the backpack. "Can we come?"
Jisoo paused.
He didn't want people slowing him down.
But he nodded.
"Fine," he said. "But stay close."
The woman smiled faintly. The boy picked up a small school bag and followed.
They stepped out into the strange morning.
A world dimmed.
A world unsure.