A few days passed before Azri gathered the nerve to return. He told himself it was just to test more things. But deep down, he knew why he came back.
For her.
He stepped through the hidden door, expecting to see Veyra waiting where he left her. The ruined street stretched in silence. Empty.
"Veyra?" His voice cracked. He searched the rubble, the collapsed houses, even the empty sky. Nothing.
He shut his eyes. "I wish for Veyra."
The air stayed still. No ripple, no shift. Just silence pressing closer.
"I wish for Veyra," he repeated, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Then he heard it. A voice—soft, almost gentle, yet echoing all around him.
"Veyra...has returned to the Void's embrace."
Azri froze. His breath quickened. "Void's… embrace?"
He replayed the words in his mind. Returned. Not erased, not gone—returned.
And then it struck him. In the show, Veyra had died. A clean, unflinching death. That had been her ending.
But this wasn't fiction. Not anymore. So why couldn't she exist here?
His hands trembled. "Is it… because she died in her story? Because that was always her fate?"
No answer. Only the still air, the weight of the ruins pressing against him.
For the first time, Azri felt the wish wasn't his to control.
It was something else—something that allowed, or denied, as it chose.
And Veyra… had been claimed back.
Azri didn't return for a while after hearing the voice. The thought of Veyra—the fact that she could exist and then be taken back—gnawed at him. But curiosity always won.
When he finally stepped through the door again, his fear had shifted into resolve.
"If I can't bring people here," he muttered, "then what about me?"
He clenched his fists and whispered, "I wish to be stronger."
Heat spread through his arms, heavy and electric. He lifted a chunk of rubble nearby—something that should've taken three men—and tossed it across the street like a crumpled ball of paper. His chest heaved, adrenaline surging.
Next came speed. His body grew light, every step a blur. In seconds, he was halfway down the ruined block, heart hammering, wind cutting against his skin. The silence of the world made his footsteps echo like thunder.
But it wasn't enough.
Azri spread his hands, remembering all the times he'd daydreamed in class, doodling fireballs in the margins of his notes. "I want to control magic. Fire. Lightning. Whatever I want."
The air shifted.
A spark leapt from his fingertips, then another—until an arc of lightning split the ground in front of him, scorching the broken pavement. He laughed, breathless, and swept his arm wide. Flames erupted in a wave, trailing smoke through the empty street.
It all bent to his will.
He threw fire like a javelin, struck lightning where he pointed, carved the ruined air with beams of raw light. Every movement felt natural, like he was born to it.
And unlike in his world, none of it faded.
Azri stood in the ruins, chest burning, eyes wide with the reflection of firelight. For the first time, he wasn't just testing the place. He was making it his own.
Azri couldn't sleep the night before. Veyra's disappearance, the voice about the "void's embrace," the fire and lightning still burned in his mind. The power was real. Too real. And now, it felt like a weight pressing on his chest.
He needed someone else to see it.
The next day after school, he pulled Mira and Fran aside. His tone was serious, sharper than usual.
"There's something I need to show you. But you can't tell anyone. Not your parents, not teachers, no one. Got it?"
Mira frowned, already uneasy. "Azri, what's going on? You look… scary."
Fran grinned. "Secret lair vibes? Alright, I'm in."
They followed him home, down into the basement. The air was thick with dust and damp concrete, colder than usual. Mira hugged her arms, shivering. Fran shoved his hands in his pockets, unimpressed.
Azri stood by the cracked wall, gripping his baseball bat. He turned to them, voice low.
"Don't freak out. Just… trust me."
He pushed the bat against the gap, pried the door open, and stepped aside.
Mira gasped so loud it echoed in the basement. The ruined replica of the basement yawned before them, stretching into silence and devastation. Her face went pale. "What the hell… Azri, what IS this?!"
Fran stepped closer, peering out at the hollow streets and broken houses. His grin widened, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Woah. Okay. Creepy as hell. Place looks like Silent Hill threw up."
He chuckled and raised his hands dramatically. "Won't some terrifying demon just pop up at us at this rate?"
It wasn't a wish so it wouldn't work... Right?
Azri's blood turned cold. His stomach dropped.
"Fran, shut up!" he barked, louder than he meant to. Panic ripped through him. He didn't know if the rules worked on anyone else's words—but what if they did?
The air in the ruined world shifted.
The silence deepened, like the city itself was holding its breath.
And then, from the distance, came the sound—slow, dragging steps scraping against the broken pavement.
Mira clutched Azri's arm, trembling. "Azri… what's that?"
Fran blinked, his grin fading. "Uh… dude? I was joking."
Azri's grip on the bat tightened, sweat beading on his forehead. He stared into the ruins, heart hammering, as the sound grew closer.
Something was coming.
And it wasn't a joke anymore.