They fled their home, the horrific image of their parents' desecrated bodies seared into their minds. The three of them—Michael carrying the still-unconscious Myra on his back, and Kael stumbling beside him—moved like ghosts through the fading light, driven by a primal instinct to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the nightmare.
After a long, silent while, Kael finally found his voice, though it was little more than a hollow whisper. "Brother... where are we going to?"
Michael kept his eyes fixed on the darkening path ahead, his voice strained with exhaustion and grief. "I don't know. Let's just keep moving. We need to get away from here—as far as possible—for now."
They continued their desperate journey for what felt like an eternity, their legs burning with fatigue. After about six hours, the moon was high when they stumbled upon a sight in the middle of nowhere: an uncompleted building, its skeletal structure looming against the night sky, surrounded by overgrown bushes and silence.
By then, they were utterly spent, their bodies refusing to go another step. "Let's stay here for tonight," Michael said, his voice heavy with defeat.
They entered the hollow shell of the building, the air inside cold and still. Michael finally, gently, laid Myra down on the dusty floor. She had been on his back throughout their entire exhausting journey.
Surprisingly, they found a small, rusted bed frame in one corner, stripped bare but still standing. They carefully moved Myra onto it. Then, Michael and Kael collapsed into a corner, their backs against the cold, rough wall.
"What is going to become of us now?" Kael asked, the question hanging in the dark, suffocating air.
Michael looked down at the ground, and for the first time, Kael saw tears silently dripping from his brother's eyes. "I don't know, Kael," he choked out. "I don't know."
Kael then looked out through a broken window, his small hands clenching into tight fists. "I will make sure they pay for what they did to Father and Mother." The memory of their headless bodies flashed before his eyes, and his voice rose, raw with a desperate, hatred he'd never known. "I will make sure they pay! Each and every single one of them will pay!"
Michael stood up and placed a firm hand on Kael's trembling shoulder. "I understand what you're saying, Kael. But I can't let you endanger your life. Father said I should take care of you both." He walked to the window and stared out into the darkness. "We don't even know what's in this world. The power they used... I'm sure it's not something commonly known in the real world."
When he looked back, he saw that Kael had finally succumbed to exhaustion, fallen asleep with tears still streaking through the grime on his cheeks. With a heavy sigh, Michael laid down beside him and slept.
---
In the morning, Kael woke up. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he saw Myra. She was sitting upright on the bed, her head hung low. Silent tears dripped steadily from her dead-looking eyes onto the dusty frame below.
Kael looked beside him; Michael was still asleep. He quickly shook him awake. "Brother! Myra is awake!" he said, a fragile smile of relief briefly touching his lips.
Michael stirred and immediately saw their sister. Both brothers rushed to her side. "How are you feeling?" Michael asked gently.
There was no response. Only the sound of their own breathing.
After about seven seconds of heavy silence, Kael asked, "What's up, Myra? Why aren't you answering?"
Myra slowly raised her head. She was crying profusely, her small body shuddering, but she made not a single sound.
Kael's voice rose in frustration and concern. "Why are you so quiet?"
After a moment of assessing her vacant expression, Michael's face fell with dawning understanding. "It's not that she won't speak, Kael. It's that she can't speak." He turned back to Myra, his voice soft. "Am I right?"
Myra nodded slowly in affirmation.
Confused and scared, Kael stood up. "What do you mean she can't speak, brother? Are you saying all this time she has been speaking has been a lie?!"
Michael stood up, his own frustration bubbling over. "Why are you so stupid?" He moved towards his school bag, which he had clutched throughout their escape. "It's called psychogenic mutism." He continued, pulling out a notebook, "When someone witnesses something traumatic and goes into shock, the brain's survival system takes over. The amygdala floods the body with stress signals, and instead of fighting or running, the person may freeze. The parts of the brain that control speech, like Broca's area, are basically shut down so the body can focus only on survival. That's why Myra can't talk even though she's awake! Do you understand?" he asked, thrusting the notebook toward her.
Kael, who looked utterly confused, said, "Could you please break it down into simpler terms for me?"
Michael handed the book and a pen to Myra instead, sighing. "What did I expect from someone like you?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Kael shot back.
"In simpler terms," Michael explained, patience wearing thin, "it's like when a person is in shock, a substance in the brain triggers survival mode, and some things shut down in the process. One of those things... is the speech system."
Kael looked down, his hands clenching into fists once more. "So it was all because of those people..."
Michael looked at him, his expression softening slightly. "Don't worry. It's only temporary."
Kael looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "How long will it take?"
"I don't know," Michael admitted. "It depends on the level of shock. Sometimes minutes, sometimes hours... days, months... even years."
Just then, Myra wrote something in the notebook and held it up. Two shaky words: I am hungry.
Kael looked at it. "Brother, Myra says she's hungry."
Michael's eyes widened as the most basic of realities crashed down on him. "I forgot... we're supposed to eat to survive."
He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled two-dollar bill. He looked at it, then at his brother. "How much do you have with you?"
Kael reached into his own school bag and, after a moment, pulled out twenty-one dollars.
Michael stared, astonished. "Where did you get so much money?"
Kael looked away, embarrassed. "Well... I was kind of saving it to get a gift for Saphira on Valentine's Day."
Michael let out a breath that was part laugh, part sob of relief. "Thank God for that. At least this will take us for about a week."
Michael went out with six dollars and returned later carrying a large sack filled with basic foodstuff—instant noodles, bread, a few cans—and other cheap necessities. He handed the heavy sack to Kael.
Then, he handed his brother a small pot he'd just bought. "Take this and go fetch water from the stream we passed on our way here."
Kael left and returned about ten minutes later with the pot filled with fresh, cool water. When he entered the building, he saw Michael on his knees, trying to spark a fire with gathered twigs.
Kael dropped the pot and turned to go inside, but Michael's voice stopped him. "How are we going to get food after this? The money we have left will only last a week."
After a long, tense conversation—a negotiation between survival and pride—they came to a grim conclusion: they would have to beg in the nearby market. They would take turns; while one was out, the other would stay to protect Myra.
A few minutes later, Michael managed to get the fire going. He came into the room with three prepared cups of instant noodles. They ate in silence, the simple, warm food feeling like a feast.
A routine was born. In the mornings, they would go to the stream to bathe. Then, one brother would set out for the market to beg, while the other stayed behind in the derelict building, their new home.
This continued—a cycle of survival, shame, and silent care—for two long months. Yet, in the midst of the despair, the simple act of sharing a meal, of having a plan, however meager, provided something they thought they'd lost forever: a glimmer of hope.