One explosion was enough to tear a hole in the fabric of reality.
That's how it seemed to Koran at that moment.
At first, there was no sound—just a blinding flash, followed by a silence as heavy as a tomb. Dust billowed in the air like spectral breaths, obscuring the daylight, turning the world into a pale canvas of shadows and ash. Koran stood there, his body taut as if time itself had frozen.
In his ears, a persistent ringing, like a needle lodged in his brain, drowned out everything else. His breaths were short and ragged, his lungs refusing to inhale the air tainted with the stench of burnt gunpowder, mingled with other odors... the smell of charred flesh, blood, and terror.
He looked at his hands.
They were trembling.
Between his twitching fingers, he noticed dark red spots. Or maybe... they weren't his. Or perhaps they were. He couldn't tell. His mind was sluggish, as if trying to decode an impossible scene.
**"This... doesn't make sense."**
That was the only phrase echoing in his head. A dry, emotionless statement, as if spoken by someone else.
Then, like a wave following lightning, the sounds began returning to him one by one.
Screams laced with weeping. Muffled moans of the wounded buried under rubble. Heavy footsteps pounding the ground as if fleeing an invisible horror.
And Timo...
Timo stood before him, his mouth moving rapidly, his eyes wide like two terrified saucers. But Koran heard nothing. Only lips moving soundlessly, and a hand gripping his arm with the force of pliers.
***"Ran! Koran ! Snap out of it!"***
Finally, the voice pierced through the ringing.
Koran blinked, as if waking from a strange dream. A quick glance around.
The place that minutes ago had been filled with laughter, music, and color... had turned into hell.
Shards of glass scattered like the broken teeth of a monster. Overturned dining tables, shattered plates, desserts strewn across the ground, mixed with dirt and blood. The vibrant flags that had adorned the square were now mere tattered rags fluttering in the air like ghosts.
And above it all...
Smoke.
Thick, black smoke rising into the sky like a dark curtain closing the final act of a play.
Koran pressed his forehead, trying to force his mind to work.
But before he could gather his thoughts, Timo yanked him hard.
**"Duck?!"**
He pulled him down abruptly as a flaming paper kite whizzed overhead, landing behind them and exploding into a small fireball.
The heat seared Koran's face like a slap from reality.
**"That... was a bomb."**
But Timo didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on something behind Koran.
**"Look..."**
Koran turned.
Amidst all this destruction... stood a man.
As if someone had pressed pause on the world, then hit play again abruptly.
The sounds suddenly erupted in Kuran's head like a wave of screams—shrieks, cries, distant sirens wailing like a wounded beast. The dust-choked air made every breath feel like swallowing shards of glass.
**"Koran ! Move!"**
Timo shouted in his ear, his grip on Koran's arm still ironclad. But Koran didn't respond. His eyes were locked on **the man**.
That gaunt figure standing in the square like a burnt tree in a storm.
His tattered clothes flapped like the wings of a dead crow, his wild hair swaying in the polluted air, and his eyes...
**"Look at his eyes..."**
Koran whispered to himself without realizing it.
They were like two dark pits in a decaying skull, glowing with an unnatural light. As if the world was unraveling through them.
The man spread his arms wide, as if welcoming the destruction with open arms.
**"I warned you! The day of shadows has come!"**
His voice was like a knife scraping against rusted metal, cutting through the noise like a black lightning bolt.
Some of the fleeing crowd turned toward him for a moment before resuming their escape, as if they had seen something unbearable.
Timo paid the man no mind. He dragged Koran forcefully toward the narrow alley behind the shattered music stage.
**"We're getting out of here! Now!"**
But escaping wasn't that simple.
The crowd had turned into a raging river of flesh and panic, crashing into everything in its path. A woman fell in front of them and was immediately trampled under merciless feet. A crying child was torn from his mother's hands, disappearing into the next wave as if the ground had swallowed him.
Koran felt a hard blow to his shoulder, then another to his back. Someone shoved him aside to get ahead, then another, and another...
**"Don't stop!"**
Timo tried to carve a path for them with sharp elbow strikes, but the chaos was stronger.
The stench of sweat, blood, and urine mixed with the smoke. Koran heard the sound of bones breaking somewhere nearby.
The madman was still in his spot, screaming as if addressing something invisible:
**"The old rift has opened! Look! Look at the sky!"**
Koran turned despite himself.
Above the black smoke, there was a **strange bulge** in the clouds, as if the void itself was stretching to release something.
A flickering purple light, like slow lightning, pulsed like a sick heart.
**"What is that...?"**
But before he could finish the question, Timo shoved him hard to the ground.
Another explosion.
This time, it was closer. The shockwave sent tables flipping into the air, and metal shrapnel scattered like unguided bullets.
Timo crouched over Koran, shielding him with his body as the world collapsed around them.
In that brief moment under the smoke, with Timo's ash-streaked face the only clear thing, Koran thought:
**"Why? Why are we here?"**
Then, as usual, the mocking answer came from deep within:
**"Because you're foolish enough to follow Timo into every stupid adventure."**
But this time, even his inner voice trembled.
Timo suddenly stood up and yanked Koran to his feet.
**"Come on! There's an exit behind the tents!"**
They ran.
They ran past corpses, debris, and the burnt remnants of the festival.
They ran as the madman's screams followed them like an ancient curse:
**"No one will survive! No one!"**
A metallic shriek tore through the air.
A wall of red bricks suddenly collapsed from a nearby building, cracking the ground beneath it as it fell. One of the concrete chunks—the size of a cow's head—broke loose and began rolling toward the square.
The madman stood directly in its path.
**He didn't move.**
Instead, he turned toward it slowly, as if welcoming a tardy guest.
**Impact.**
The sound was like tender meat slapping a butcher's table.
Ribs snapped like dry branches. The skull caved inward, and the bulging eyes burst like overripe fruit. Blood gushed from his ears and mouth in a torrent, while the concrete slab settled on his crushed chest, pressing down until his entrails spilled from his nostrils.
**But the most disturbing part...**
His right hand—**alone**—remained intact under the stone.
Stretched forward.
The bloodied fingers were **still twitching**, like a half-dead spider.
Koran couldn't look away.
**"This..."**
He didn't finish.
Suddenly, **a small child**—no older than ten—ran toward the stone from the other side, crying and searching for his mother.
His foot slipped in the pool of blood.
He fell **directly** onto the dead man's hand.
**A muffled scream.**
The remaining fingers curled around the boy's wrist **like a final embrace.**
The child shrieked and ran away, leaving bloody fingerprints on his skin.
Timo gasped:
**"My God! That's..."**
But Koran pulled him forcefully:
**"Don't look! Run!"**
Escaping felt like swimming against a current of torn human flesh.
The ground beneath their feet was no longer pavement but a carpet of broken glass, congealed blood, and things Koran preferred not to identify. The stench of fire mixed with burnt flesh made the air so thick that every breath felt like swallowing a knife.
**"A little girl"** sat on the ground beside a woman's corpse—likely her mother—staring at them with wide, glassy eyes.
**"Mommy won't wake up..."**
Timo reached for her hand, but Koran yanked him back:
**"We can't carry anyone!"** he shouted over the noise of another explosion.
A man ran past them, his clothes ablaze, his voice devolving into an animalistic howl. He collided with a lamppost and fell, but the flames kept consuming him.
**The sound of crackling skin** was audible even amid the chaos.
Koran had to pass by him, feeling the heat of the flames lick his right thigh.
**"Turn left!"**
Timo led him into a narrow alley where the fire was less intense.
A shattered toy store window. An overweight man futilely trying to carry a box of stolen food while:
- **A teenager** stabbed him in the kidney.
- **An old woman** snatched a can of milk from between the brawlers' feet.
The fat man's blood formed a sticky puddle where Timo's foot slipped, nearly making him fall if not for Kuran catching him.
**"That's not food, you idiot!"** the teenager yelled, smashing the knife's handle against the man's head.
A distant gunshot froze everyone for a second before the chaos resumed.
At the alley's bend, **a child's body**—no older than five—crushed under the wheels of a speeding truck.
Something about the blue school uniform he wore...
**It looked just like the one Kuran used to wear as a child.**
Koran suddenly stopped, kneeling on the ground as he **vomited yellow bile.**
Timo tried to lift him:
**"Don't stop now! Not here! Not like this!!"**
But Koran stared at his trembling hands.
**There was no blood on them.**
**Yet he felt drenched in it up to his neck.**
Finally, they reached a side square less devastated.
- **A burning ambulance**, its crew dead inside.
- **Two policemen** firing at a group of looters.
- **A woman** cradling a strangely quiet infant—likely dead—swaying like a coffin.
Timo pulled Koran behind a trash bin:
**"Rest for two minutes..."**
But Koran was staring at the horizon, where **the thick black smoke** merged with the clouds, forming ghostly faces smiling at them.
**"Timo..."** Koran whispered hoarsely, **"Do you think this is just the beginning?"**
They ran through the narrow alleys, their breaths like shards of glass in their throats. The thick smoke made it hard to see, but Koran didn't need to see the path. His mind was elsewhere.
**"Mom..."**
The image of her face in perfect detail, the sound of her laughter when she told her bad jokes, the way she held her pen while writing shopping lists. All the little details he had ignored for years during his studies now flooded him like a tide.
**"Did I lock the door properly today?"** He remembered how she always complained about his negligence. **"Did she wake up and go to the market?"** She usually went on Thursdays, but he hadn't checked the calendar that morning.
They passed a wounded man screaming for help, but Koran didn't hear him. In his mind, he saw his mother in the kitchen, perhaps hearing the distant explosions now. Would she hide under the table like she'd taught him during earthquake drills as a child? Or would she recklessly run out searching for him?
**"I need a phone."** His hand touched his empty pocket reflexively. His phone was in his school bag, and the bag was... where? He couldn't remember.
**"Koran ! Watch out!"** Timo yelled, pulling him away just as a roof collapsed where he'd been standing.
But Kuran was calculating the distance home. **"Ten minutes of running if the streets are clear."** But the streets wouldn't be clear. Every second of delay could mean...
A new image flashed in his mind: his mother sitting on the couch watching the news, her eyes widening as footage of the district she loved appeared. Her hand holding the cup trembled, tea spilling on her favorite sweater unnoticed.
**"I can't wait."** Koran whispered between ragged breaths. **"I have to go back now."**
Timo gripped his shoulder firmly. **"We get to safety first, then we find our families. That's the logical thing."**
But logic no longer mattered. All that mattered was that thirty-year-old woman who might now be alone, terrified, waiting for the son who had promised her it would be a normal day like any other.
At that moment, if he had known the way home, he would have left Timo and run with all his strength. But the streets were unfamiliar, and the smoke obscured landmarks. All he could do was keep running, the image of his mother trapped in fear never leaving his tear-filled eyes.