The world hadn't ended with fire.
That was the strangest part.
Cael used to think—like everyone else—that if humanity ever tore itself apart, it would be loud. Nuclear flashes. Sirens screaming themselves hoarse. Cities erased in blinding light.
Instead, the war crept in slowly, like mold spreading behind the walls.
He lay on his bed with his phone hovering inches from his face, the blue light painting the ceiling in faint shadows. Outside, the city was unusually quiet for a Friday night. No laughter drifting up from the street. No cars honking impatiently. Just the low, distant hum of generators and the occasional thud of helicopters passing overhead.
Chapter 412.
He exhaled through his nose, thumb hovering over the screen.
The Beginning After the End had been with him longer than most people in his life. Longer than some friendships. Longer than the optimism he used to have about the future. TurtleMe's world—Dicathen, mana cores, reincarnation, war—felt absurdly comforting now.
Maybe because it reminded him that even after everything ended, something could begin again.
"Lucky bastard," Cael muttered under his breath, staring at the illustration of Arthur Leywin. "Dies once and gets magic, dragons, and trauma. Real jackpot."
His room was small. Bare. Posters peeled slightly at the corners—anime series he'd loved since middle school. A dusty shelf stacked with light novels, some read so many times their spines had cracked. A backpack leaned against the wall, half-packed and forgotten.
He was seventeen. Normal. Painfully normal.
No powers. No destiny. No reincarnation cheat waiting around the corner.
The war had started when he was fifteen.
At first, it had been words. Politicians yelling on screens. Maps with blinking red dots. Comment sections full of people pretending they understood geopolitics. Then came sanctions. Then shortages. Then the first missile strike broadcast live before the feed cut to static.
Two years later, the world was still standing—but only barely.
School existed in name only now. Classes moved online, then stopped entirely when the power grid became unreliable. His parents worked longer hours for less pay. Food was rationed. Sugar, of all things, had become absurdly expensive.
Cael's phone buzzed.
Mom: Don't forget to charge everything tonight. They're saying there might be outages again.
He typed back quickly.
Cael: Got it. Stay safe.
He hesitated, then added:
Cael: Love you.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Mom: Love you too.
He locked the phone and set it on his chest, staring at the ceiling.
Sometimes he wondered how Arthur would handle this world. No mana. No beasts. No clear enemy—just faceless governments grinding people down. No dramatic battles. Just waiting. Enduring. Surviving.
Arthur would hate it, Cael decided.
He rolled onto his side and glanced at the digital clock glowing faintly on his desk.
23:47.
Too late to sleep. Too tired to stay awake properly.
He reached for his headphones and slipped them on, letting familiar anime soundtracks fill his ears. Something upbeat. Something nostalgic. Something that reminded him of a time when the biggest problem in his life had been exams and awkward conversations.
Outside, somewhere far away, something rumbled.
He barely noticed it at first.
Then the windows rattled.
Cael sat up, pulling the headphones off. His heart thudded once—hard.
Another rumble. Closer this time.
"…What the hell?"
He stood and moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek out. The streetlights were still on, casting long yellow pools across the road. A few people were outside, looking up. Someone was shouting—he couldn't make out the words.
And then the sirens started.
Not the test alarms. Not the half-hearted warnings they'd grown used to ignoring.
These were different.
Urgent. Desperate.
Air-raid sirens.
His breath caught.
"No, no, no—"
His phone buzzed violently on his bed. He lunged for it.
Emergency Alert: INCOMING STRIKE CONFIRMED. SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY.
His hands trembled.
The shelters were too far. Everyone knew that. They were for people who lived closer to government districts. For people who mattered more.
Another explosion thundered in the distance. This one close enough that Cael felt it in his bones.
The building shook.
"Mom—Dad—" he whispered, even though they weren't home.
He didn't think. He just moved.
Shoes. Hoodie. Phone. Power bank.
The stairwell was chaos—people shouting, crying, running over each other. Someone fell. Someone screamed. The emergency lights flickered ominously as the building groaned around them.
Cael ran.
Down three flights.
Another impact.
The world tilted violently, throwing him into the railing. Pain exploded through his shoulder, but he forced himself up, lungs burning.
This isn't real, his mind insisted. This can't be real.
He reached the ground floor just as a blinding flash washed through the windows.
For a fraction of a second, everything went silent.
Then—
Impact.
The floor vanished beneath him.
There was no dramatic final thought. No slow-motion montage of his life. No divine voice whispering promises.
Just pain.
Crushing, absolute, overwhelming.
Something struck his head. Something else pierced his side. His phone flew from his hand, skidding across concrete before shattering.
He lay there, gasping, vision blurring, ears ringing so loudly it drowned out the screams around him.
So this is it, he thought dimly.
His chest wouldn't rise properly. Each breath was a fight he was losing.
Funny, the things that mattered at the end.
Not regrets. Not unfinished dreams.
Just a quiet, bitter disappointment.
"I didn't even get to see how it ends," he whispered, lips barely moving.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, thick and heavy.
As his consciousness began to slip, one final, irrational thought surfaced.
If reincarnation were real…
…I'd want to see mana.
And then
Nothing.
Not light.
Not sound.
But awareness.
And the beginning—quiet, fragile, and cruel—waited patiently to unfold.