Chapter Two: The Weight of Silence
Morning light spilled faintly through the cracked blinds of Seth's hostel room. He stirred, groggy, body felt free of the dull ache of yesterday's beating. With a low grunt, he pushed himself up—only to feel his hand sink into the mattress as though it were made of water.
His palm didn't stop.
It slid deeper, pressing through fabric, foam, and wood alike, until the sharp crack of splintering wood snapped him fully awake. The bed groaned, then collapsed to one side.
Normally, clumsy as he was, Seth would have hit the floor face-first. Instead, his body twisted unnaturally fast, rolling clear before his mind could even process the movement. He landed upright beside the wrecked frame, staring at his own hands as if they belonged to someone else.
"What… was that?"
He felt strong—like really strong.
When he swung his arm experimentally, the air itself seemed to ripple. A faint rush pressed against his ears, as though even the atmosphere bent to his movement. Power—impossible, frightening power—thrummed in every muscle, every bone. His skin tingled as if he'd swallowed lightning.
But the room around him…
He froze.
Dust. Everywhere. The air was thick with it, a ghostly haze hanging in the stillness. The walls were stained and brittle, streaked with spiderweb cracks. His desk sagged under the weight of rot, the stack of books on it shriveled and gray, their pages so fragile they seemed ready to crumble into nothing. Even the metal hinges of the wardrobe were red with rust.
It looked less like a dormitory room and more like the shell of an abandoned ruin.
"No way… It wasn't like this yesterday." His voice trembled.
Instinctively, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The casing was mottled with corrosion, its screen a dark, lifeless mirror. Dust clung to every edge. He pressed the button anyway, willing it to light up—but it didn't. It was dead, like everything else in the room.
The table beneath it shuddered, gave a dry crack, and collapsed into sawdust at his feet.
Seth staggered back, heart hammering. "What's happening here?"
Panic clawed at him. He needed answers—needed to see if the world outside matched the nightmare inside his room.
He stumbled to the door, gripped the handle—only for it to snap clean off in his hand. The momentum carried him forward, his shoulder smashing through the weakened wood. The entire door disintegrated around him, scattering into a heap of brittle splinters.
The hallway beyond was worse.
The light bulbs that usually hung on from ceiling were—he didn't know how best to describe it only it was gone plunging the hallway into darkness.
In fact he had noticed the same in his room.
Green and brown moss were spread across the walls in patches, clinging to every corner. The tiles were cracked and buckled, riddled with roots that had no business being indoors. Dust lay thick on the floor, disturbed only by his hesitant steps.
He heard no voices. No footsteps. No signs of life. Not even the insects.
The silence pressed in, heavier than any beating Sam had ever given him.
Seth quickened his pace, weaving through the ruin of the hostel. Each door he passed hung crooked, eaten by time. Not a single other student emerged. His chest tightened with every empty corridor.
Finally, he reached the front entrance. The heavy wooden frame gave way under his push, collapsing as if it had waited years for this moment.
He staggered out into the open air.
And froze.
The world beyond was not the one he remembered. Buildings sagged like corpses, their windows shattered, their walls swallowed by creeping vines. Streets were cracked open, grass spilling through. The morning sun shone bright above, golden and indifferent, illuminating a town that looked as though decades had passed in a single night.
Seth's throat went dry. "This… this can't be real."
But the silence gave no answer.
Only the wind, carrying with it the smell of earth, dust, and rust.