Firestorm
The world refused to sleep.
It was supposed to be 2:00 a.m., the deadest of hours, when the city should have been hushed in darkness. Instead, the sky still burned with relentless daylight. The unnatural sun refused to sink, hanging swollen and golden above the rooftops, drenching everything in a blinding, eternal noon.
And the world had lost its mind.
---
📱 Twitter/X threads multiplied faster than they could be read.
> "Still no night. I haven't slept in 30 hours. #MidnightSun"
"Animals won't stop screaming. My neighbor's dog bit through a fence. Something is WRONG."
"NASA just canceled their press conference. What are they hiding??"
"The Witch of the Sun is REAL. Look at this new clip!"
TikTok's endless scroll flooded with theories, edits, duets of shaky livestreams. Someone slowed down the original blurry footage frame by frame, circling Elara's outline, zooming in on her eyes.
> "See? They GLOW. I told you she's not human."
Fan edits painted her as a goddess, a savior bathed in golden fire. Others demonized her, splicing ominous music, captions screaming "WITCH. CURSE. DOOM."
Memes and prayers intermingled in equal chaos. Hashtags surged:
#PrayForSunrise
#ChildOfTheCurse
#EndOfDays
#KaelAndTheWitch
Governments issued conflicting orders—curfews, bans on gatherings, promises of "control." But no one listened. People spilled into streets, chanting, rioting, crying, filming.
The midnight sun was no longer just a phenomenon. It was a revolution.
---
Elara pressed her back against the peeling wallpaper, fists trembling at her sides. The ceaseless glow made her skin prickle, her blood hum like static.
She hadn't closed her eyes once. Every time she tried, she felt it—the pull. The whisper. That voice that seemed to know her name, calling from somewhere beyond the veil of light and shadow.
Kael stood opposite her, sword laid across his lap, head bowed. His silence was worse than his sharp words. He hadn't looked at her in hours.
The tension snapped.
"You knew this would happen," she said, her voice cutting the stagnant air.
Kael didn't move. "I warned you."
"Warned me?" Her laugh was harsh, bitter. She pushed off the wall, pacing, her boots scuffing against warped wood. "You stalked me for months, hid truths from me, treated me like I was some burden—and now the world is collapsing, and you think a warning is enough?"
His head lifted. His storm-gray eyes locked onto hers, glinting with something dangerous. "You think this is about me? About what I want? Elara—this is bigger than either of us. Bigger than anything you can imagine."
Her chest ached, fury and fear tangling until her voice cracked. "Then tell me! Tell me what I am! Tell me why the sky is burning, why people are rioting, why I feel like I'm coming apart every time I breathe!"
Kael rose in one fluid movement, shadows clinging to him even beneath the merciless light. He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "Because you are the curse. You're the reason the midnight sun exists. Every second it burns, it feeds on you—and soon, it will devour everything."
The words hit her like a blade. Her knees buckled, but she forced herself to stand tall, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
"No," she whispered. "You're lying."
Kael's jaw tightened, his hand flexing on the hilt of his sword. "I wish I was."
---
By dawn—though dawn never came—rumors grew into movements.
In Asia, crowds gathered in temples, chanting prayers to the "Sun Child." Pilgrims set off barefoot across highways, convinced the world had entered a new age.
In Europe, protests ignited into riots. Stores were looted, churches burned, governments toppled under the weight of fear.
In the Middle East, scholars debated prophecies, holy texts trending online alongside shaky livestreams of mass vigils under the eternal sun.
In the U.S., conspiracy theorists declared war against "the Witch." Militias armed themselves, claiming they would find her, burn her, and return night to the world.
Elara's face—blurred, distorted, but recognizable enough—was painted across banners, memes, graffiti. Some called her savior. Others wanted her dead.
The world had chosen her, whether she wanted it or not.
---
Elara shoved past Kael, her chest heaving. "You talk like you're protecting me, but all you've done is control me, hide things, treat me like a threat before I even knew what I was!"
Kael grabbed her wrist, his grip iron. His voice was low, dangerous. "Because you are a threat. Do you think I want this?" His eyes blazed. "Do you think I wanted to watch the world burn because of you?"
She yanked free, her voice trembling with fury. "Maybe the world isn't burning because of me. Maybe it's because of you. Always lurking in the shadows, always deciding what I can or can't know. Maybe you're the curse, Kael."
The accusation cut deep—she saw it in the flicker of his expression. For a moment, silence stretched, raw and jagged.
Then he stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat of him against her skin, the faint tremor in his voice when he spoke.
"If I were the curse, Elara," he said softly, "I would have let you die the night you were born."
Her breath caught. The words slammed into her, shattering the fragile wall she'd built.
Her voice broke. "Then why didn't you?"
Kael's eyes burned into hers, storm and fire colliding. His answer came like a confession torn from his chest.
"Because I couldn't."
The air between them ignited. Fury, grief, longing—all tangled into a silence that felt more dangerous than any shout.
---
Across the city, a new livestream went viral.
A masked man stood before a crowd, holding a blurry printout of Elara's face. His voice was sharp, merciless:
> "The witch is among us. She is the one who brought this curse. If we find her, we end it. Night will return."
The crowd roared.
Weapons gleamed.
And Elara's fate hung on a knife's edge.
---
Back in the hotel, the air vibrated with heat. Elara's skin glowed faintly, threads of light curling along her veins. She gasped, clutching her chest, eyes wide with terror.
Kael lunged toward her—but froze when the whispers returned, louder than ever.
"…The world is yours now, child of the sun. Claim it… or watch it burn."
Elara's scream ripped through the air.
The midnight sun flared brighter—blinding, merciless.
And the city below erupted in fire.
---