Screams.
They didn't just pierce the night — they tore through it like jagged metal through skin.
The air had turned red.
Not metaphorically — not poetically — but literally. The sky above the treetops of Palabuhan Ratu had been stained crimson by the fires of warships that didn't belong to any world Kola had known. They had arrived not like soldiers, but like gods — impersonal, massive, merciless.
Kola ran.
His lungs burned. His shoes skidded against dirt and ash. Every breath tasted of smoke.
"JALU!" he screamed, voice cracking. "JALU, MOVE!"
The boy wasn't running. He was standing frozen — a child in the shadow of a dying world.
"No!" Jalu wailed. "My family's still—"
Another explosion — this one so close the earth convulsed beneath them. A wave of dust and heat surged like a scream through the trees. Branches snapped. A tree fell in flames.
Kola flinched.
"Dian, GET HIM!"
"I'M TRYING!"
Dian leapt, shoving Jalu to the ground and throwing herself over him just as a blast surged past them, tearing a trench into the path behind. The heat from it singed Kola's cheek. He turned and looked skyward.
They were everywhere.
Dozens of airships now hovered low above the canopy, their spires shaped like ancient temples and weapons bristling like divine punishment. Magic flowed through the hulls like blood. Their engines sounded like hymns — not the kind sung in celebration, but the kind that marked the dead.
And from their open bellies, smaller ships poured — spears of ivory and silver, trailing fire and energy.
Sir Agrama was still fighting.
Somewhere near the edge of the clearing, the old man stood alone, conjuring up towers of sand and stone from the ground itself. Monsters — fish-headed and armored — charged him from the tree line, but they didn't last. The ground devoured them. The wind cut them in half. The air bent to his will.
But he was slowing.
Even gods could not fight forever.
Kola's ears rang. His body shook. He sprinted forward and grabbed Jalu's wrist again.
"You have to go! NOW!"
The child twisted. "No—my aunt is still out there! My cousin—!"
"You'll die here!" Dian snapped, grabbing Jalu by the collar and dragging him back.
Jalu screamed, a guttural cry of grief that was too real for a child his age.
"I don't care—!"
"You do care!" Dian shouted back, her eyes shining. "That's why you have to live!"
Above them, the sky cracked again — an unnatural thunder. The throne ship had moved closer.
Its shadow swallowed the trees.
Its form was like a floating fortress carved from ivory and bone, lined with hundreds of spires and rings of runes that pulsed with blue fire. From its underside, light gathered — pale and shimmering, like moonlight being turned into a weapon.
On its highest tower stood the child-emperor.
Kardias.
Still. Watching. Unblinking.
The emperor of white flame and silence.
Kola didn't know what he was thinking — but he knew what he had to do.
"Omegamon!"
The knight soared downward, his form ablaze with blue light, one arm already morphing into a cannon of radiant steel and snarling machinery.
"FIRE!" Kola screamed.
Omegamon obeyed.
A bolt of searing plasma ripped the air open — blue fire laced with stormlight. It struck one of the descending ships clean in its center, and for a moment, the night became day. The vessel tore apart in the sky, debris spiraling downward like burning wings.
One second of victory.
That was all.
The rest of the fleet responded.
Like awakened beasts, they turned — and attacked.
Hundreds of cannons ignited at once. Bolts of magic, spears of light, enchanted projectiles — a rain of divine wrath.
Omegamon's shield flared into life — hexagonal barriers locking in place around them, glowing, straining.
The impact came like an avalanche.
Light hammered down. The shield cracked. Omegamon grunted in effort — pain flickering in his voice. He dropped a meter. Then another. His wings flickered.
"We cannot take another barrage," he said, teeth gritted.
"I don't care—" Kola began.
But Dian shouted over him.
"KOLA, THINK! Are you going to die here and leave the rest of us behind!?"
Another explosion rocked the forest.
Jalu shrieked — not in fear, but rage.
He pounded a fist into the air. "Let me go back! I can help them—!"
"You can't!" Kola snapped, eyes wild. "We can't help anyone if we're dead!"
The smaller girl sobbed in silence, her fingers digging into Dian's side.
Another wave of fire lit the treetops.
More guardians fell — some burned, some crumpled, their blood igniting in the dust. Sir Agrama was no longer visible in the chaos.
Kola's fists trembled.
He turned to Omegamon — eyes brimming not just with fear, but shame.
"Go."
Omegamon nodded once.
His cannon vanished. Wings reignited. He scooped them up — Kola, Dian, Jalu, and the crying girl — into his open hands and shot upward.
The trees blurred beneath them.
The forest fell away.
Below, the war continued.
Sir Agrama was still standing. His body bloodied, one arm limp. But his other arm glowed — sand and steel rising with it, shaped into a blade as long as a man.
The air pulsed. The throne ship charged its main cannon.
And then — like lightning — the beam fired.
A column of gold-white light.
It struck the clearing.
A scream — Agrama's — echoed into the stars.
Jalu heard it.
He screamed his grandfather's name — raw, broken — until his throat gave out.
But there was no answer.
Only fire.
And in the sky, the child-king watched.
Expressionless.
His mouth moved.
One word.
"Erase."
The ships obeyed.
Fire consumed the ground below — a ring of explosions expanding in all directions. Fields became glass. Rivers boiled. The jungle ignited like paper.
And in the midst of it all, the last guardians of Palabuhan Ratu — men and women of another world — stood their ground.
Until they didn't.
Until the world forgot them.
...
Kola woke up.
But not because of an alarm.
It was the scream. Not real — not in this world — but one that echoed from the dreams he had just clawed himself out of. His body was drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling too fast. His heart beat violently in his ribs, but even that wasn't what frightened him most.
It was the darkness.
The room — his kost — was cloaked in shadows so complete that for a second, Kola thought he had woken up blind.
He shot up from the mattress and flicked on the light.
The sudden glow revealed a surreal sight. Dian was lying beside him, barely covered by a blanket, one arm curled under her head. On the floor near the wall, Jalu and his little cousin — a girl named Lila — were asleep on a thick, deep-blue carpet that looked suspiciously like it had been cut from Omegamon's own cloak.
Kola blinked, stunned.
He'd nearly stepped on them.
The Digimon floated toward him in his compact form, cape fluttering faintly as he approached.
"You're awake," Omegamon said, voice low. "Did something happen?"
Kola rubbed his face and shook his head. "No. Just... thinking. The dream. And... the dark."
"Ah." Omegamon hovered closer, his tone laced with understanding. "I've been awake. I spent the night weaving multiple energy shields over this kost. Not just one — hundreds, layered from the moment we arrived until about five minutes ago. We're safe."
Kola's breath was still uneven.
He nodded slowly, then looked toward his small desk. His phone was charging there, next to a battered plastic drawer and a half-filled bottle of water.
He tiptoed across the room, careful not to wake the others, and picked it up.
5:07 AM.January 7th.
So it hadn't been a dream. Not any of it.
Sir Agrama. The fire. The ships in the sky. The dead.
They were really dead.
Kola stared blankly at the screen.
Then his eyes wandered to the corner — the black duffel bag where the gold and the blue-gemmed sword were kept.
He walked to it. Slowly. Kneeling.
His fingers found the hilt.
He pulled the weapon out and stared at the way the early morning light caught in the facets of the gem.
He couldn't rely on Omegamon forever.He had to prepare. To do something.
And then another thought surfaced.
Today was Wednesday.
Which meant...
He was supposed to go home.To the village.To his mother and his little sister.
He swallowed hard. The gold would help. If he could trade it quietly, buy something nice for his sister, maybe medicine for his mother.
He was still holding the sword when a muffled sob reached his ears.
He turned.
It was Lila.Tears were leaking from her eyes as she whimpered in her sleep.
Kola clenched the sword tightly.
Everything felt heavy.
He backed against the wall and slid down until he was sitting. Just breathing.
The room was quiet — unnaturally so. Normally at this hour, there would be the buzz of students gaming or pulling all-nighters for class. Laughter. Music. Life.
But not now.
Now there was only silence.
Omegamon hovered nearby. Watching him. Saying nothing.
Kola broke the silence.
"What am I supposed to do, Omegamon..."
The knight didn't respond. He didn't need to. His silence said enough.
This was beyond simple answers.
"We're still alive, Kola."
Dian's voice.
Kola turned. She was still lying on the floor, eyes open, gazing at the ceiling.
"That's what matters," she added.
Kola let out a hollow laugh. "You say it like it's nothing."
"Not nothing. Just... real. It happened. We're not dead. That's the part I'm holding on to."
He raised an eyebrow. "You process this kind of thing fast, huh?"
She snorted. "Your head, idiot. What do you think I am — a psycho? Of course I'm messed up. But what else can we do? It's done."
Kola studied her face. Despite her sarcasm, there was a kind of quiet in her expression. A weariness.
She had seen too much.
She had seen it before.
And she had learned how to survive it.
Kola's jaw tightened. "Damn it..."
Then —
A knock.
Both of them froze.
Dian sat up. Checked her phone.
"Who the hell visits a kost this early?"
Kola glanced at Omegamon.
"It's no threat," the knight said. "Human. Probably just a delivery."
And then Kola remembered.
"Ah—!"
He rushed to the door and opened it.
Standing there was a young man wearing a red jacket, jeans, and a motorbike helmet pushed halfway up his head. In his hands was a large plastic container.
"Morning, Tejo. Right on time, huh?"
The man grinned. "Always, Kola. Always. Anyway fresh batch from Ms.Lasti. Ten spring rolls, ten stuffed tofu, ten bakwan, and ten risoles. You know the drill."
Inside the box, the fried snacks were arranged neatly on paper — golden-brown, still steaming slightly, their scents mixing in a warm, oily perfume: garlic, leeks, shredded vegetables, spiced potatoes. The bakwan crackled faintly. The risoles glistened. Even the tofu looked like it had stories to tell.
Kola took the box with both hands. "Thanks. I'll sell them at campus later."
"Yup. And she said she'll split the earnings with you as usual."
But as Tejo peered past Kola into the kost, his grin faltered for just a moment.
He saw the girl — Dian — sitting up. And beyond her, the two sleeping kids.
His eyes lingered.
But he didn't ask.
He just laughed awkwardly. "Anyway, I gotta run. Orders piling up. See you around."
He walked back to his motorbike and disappeared into the early light.
Kola closed the door.
Silence again.
He turned to Dian.
She raised an eyebrow.
They didn't need to say anything.
The silence said enough