Michael didn't sleep that night.
Even long after Nicholas's breathing settled into a quiet rhythm, long after the city's distant sirens faded to a faint hum, and the endless emergency broadcasts stopped replaying the massacre on loop, Michael lay awake. Not from guilt—he hadn't caused what happened in Hadeem. He hadn't fought, hadn't tried, hadn't even been there.
But the heaviness settled deep in his chest anyway.
It was the kind of weight that didn't come from action, but from absence.
The apartment was unnervingly silent. Not just the usual quiet of a city at night, but a silence swollen with dread and unsaid things. The only sound was the faint flicker of sodium streetlights slicing through the blinds, painting long, wavering bars across the floor. Every time he closed his eyes, the images came back—the violet pulse that swallowed Captain Alaya Jinn, the shattered hospital wing, the smoking crater in the desert.
Why hadn't it been here?
Why hadn't it been them?
Michael felt like a passenger on a speeding train barreling toward disaster—one car behind the flames, just out of reach, yet inevitably headed for the same wreck.
And still, the world kept turning.
Somehow, he was alive while others had been erased in moments. Not survivor's guilt exactly. It was colder, quieter—an emptiness that settled beneath his ribs like a hollow space where something vital had been torn away.
He wasn't a soldier. Not a mage. No glowing veins, no signature on GASA's lists. No name whispered in battle reports.
He was just Michael.
And that terrified him more than anything.
Because deep down, he knew the alien's arrival wasn't the end. Not with how it had come, not with how it had died. This wasn't a war. Not yet.
It was an introduction.
An unwelcome invitation to a game Earth didn't know how to play.
The apartment was dark, save for the ghostly glow of the city beyond the windows. He got out of bed, the cold hardwood floor creaking beneath bare feet as he moved toward the living room. Outside, the streets were quieter now, but the air still vibrated with tension, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
The holoscreen still showed the frozen image from earlier: the alien's black, shimmering form amidst the ruined buildings. One half was flickering static. The other half, a sharp, horrifying snapshot of devastation.
Michael shut it off.
Silence poured back in, deeper than before. He crossed to the balcony, pushed the sliding glass door open, and let the night air wash over him. The city spread beneath like a tangled web of lights and shadows—skyscrapers standing like silent sentinels, streets empty save for a few scattered groups of people lingering in the glow of street lamps.
Above, the sky was clearer than usual. Mana currents twined softly through the stars, pale blue threads drifting behind thin clouds. A quiet beauty, stark against the ugliness of what had just happened.
And Michael hated it.
Because it was a reminder. The universe moved on. It had no patience for grief, fear, or survival.
He gripped the railing, eyes scanning the rooftops below. Clusters of strangers gathered, whispering in small groups. Faces lit by cellphones, their shadows stretching long in the dim light. They were all like him—watchers, waiting, afraid.
His breath fogged the glass. A part of him wished the alien hadn't died. That it had kept coming, tearing down every lie and illusion Earth had built since the Mana Convergence. Maybe then people would stop pretending everything could go back to normal.
But it was gone.
And the silence it left was worse.
A shadow flickered behind him—just a reflection at first, but then a voice broke the quiet.
"Hey."
Nicholas stood in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from one eye, hoodie hanging loose on his thin frame. Moonlight softened his features, making him look smaller, more fragile.
Michael turned to face him, forcing a tired smile.
"You okay?"
Nicholas shuffled forward, uncertain. "You had another nightmare?"
Michael nodded slowly. "Yeah."
The boy's lips tightened. "I saw the crater. I saw the lady with the fire. She… she was trying to help."
Michael swallowed hard. "Yeah. She was."
Nicholas glanced away, voice dropping. "Do you think… do you think there'll be more?"
Michael didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted back out over the city, where the first pale light of dawn began to dull the stars. "I don't know," he said quietly. "But I don't think it's over. Not by a long shot."
Nicholas nodded, as if the weight of those words pressed down on him already.
They stood in silence for a long moment, sharing the unspoken fear that the alien's arrival was only the beginning of something far worse.
"Come on," Michael finally said, placing a gentle hand on Nicholas's shoulder. "You need rest."
Nicholas hesitated, then let himself be led back to the bedroom. Michael waited until the boy was tucked under the blankets, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. Only then did he quietly leave the room, switching off the last lights.
Back in the living room, Michael sank into the worn couch and rubbed his face with both hands. The events in Hadeem had been brutal—over 3,000 lives lost, entire neighborhoods wiped out. And the official reports felt hollow compared to the chaos and pain he'd seen in the footage.
He thought about Captain Alaya Jinn—how she had thrown herself at the alien without hesitation. A Fireborn warrior, fierce and fearless, gone in an instant. And the other responders. Ordinary people who'd stepped up, only to be slaughtered. The civilians caught in the crossfire, the children thrown like leaves.
Michael's heart tightened.
How many more would die?
His mind wandered to their father.
Since their mom had died, Dad had become a shadow of himself—distant, distracted, always somewhere else in his thoughts. He buried himself in work, rarely spoke, and avoided the boys' questions whenever the conversation turned to their mother or the world outside.
Michael knew Dad was scared. Afraid to face the same nightmare again. Afraid to admit he couldn't protect them.
And Michael understood that fear all too well.
But the silence between them was growing, stretching into something cold and wide.
Dad still wasn't home.
He hadn't been for days.
Michael swallowed the lump in his throat.
He wasn't just worried about the alien invasion. He was worried about what it was doing to his family—how it was fracturing them, turning them into strangers.
A soft noise from the bedroom reminded him Nicholas was still there, asleep, safe for now.
Michael took a deep breath.
Whatever was coming next—whatever darkness threatened their world—he would stand between it and his brother.
He had to.
Because for now, that was the only thing that still made sense.