On December 25, 2025, Region Thirteen of Phinia woke to the wail of sirens and the thunder of helicopters tearing through the night.

Searchlights sliced across the sky, their harsh beams exposing a city swallowed by fear. The alarm, reserved only for natural disasters or war, howled without pause.

In a small neighborhood on the outskirts, a woman burst out of her house clutching a bag stuffed with documents. Papers spilled from the zipper as she ran.

Behind her, a man in his sixties fumbled with the car keys, his hands shaking as his two daughters stood frozen beside him, fear and confusion written plainly on their faces.

“Hurry! We need to go!” the mother shouted, shoving the luggage into the trunk.

“Love, call Mama and the others, tell them we’ll wait at the Wuli military camp!”

“I’m calling, I’m calling,” her husband muttered. Then he hesitated, brows knitting together.

“Did we forget anything? The land title?”

“It’s here!” she snapped, already buckling her seatbelt.

In the backseat, Evelyn, the eldest, clutched her younger sister’s trembling hand.

“Mom,” she asked quietly.

“What’s happening? Why are the alarms ringing? Are we at war?”

Her mother’s fingers tightened around the dashboard, knuckles whitening. She didn’t answer.

Her father kept his eyes on the road, jaw clenched.

“Don’t worry,” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice.

“I’m here. Everything will be all right.”

But such words would soon become nothing more than a cruel memory.

Now, Evelyn and Kayla sat in the waiting area of Halayan Hospital, their bodies stiff with exhaustion.

They weren’t alone. The hospital was overflowing, people sitting on the floor, lining the walls, whispering prayers or arguing quietly into phones that no longer worked properly.

Someone nearby was crying.

Someone else was laughing hysterically.

Just yesterday, she had been thinking about graduation. About dresses and photographs and where they would eat afterward. Her mother had been more excited than she was, already talking about celebrations.

Now, both of her parents were in the emergency room, unconscious, machines breathing for them, their lives hanging by threads too thin to see.

Kayla’s head rested against Evelyn’s shoulder, her body shivering despite the summer heat. She had cried herself into near-unconsciousness.

Evelyn pressed her lips together until they hurt. Crying felt useless. It wouldn’t change anything. And Kayla needed her to stay awake. To stay solid.

Please... 

She thought, not sure who she was praying to anymore.

Just let them live.

The screaming started suddenly.

Not close, but below them.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway. The low, controlled hum of the hospital shattered into chaos. Doctors and nurses sprinted past, faces drained of color, panic written in every frantic movement.

Evelyn shook Kayla awake.

“Stay here,” she said, already moving.

“I’ll see what’s happening.”

She rushed toward the stairwell and grabbed the sleeve of an elderly man pushing past her.

“Uncle, wait! What’s going on? Why is everyone screaming?”

His face was slick with sweat and tears.

“A missile,” he gasped.

“There’s a missile headed straight for this hospital!”

Evelyn’s heart stopped.

A missile..?

Her body moved before her mind could catch up.

She spun around and ran.

“Kayla!” she cried, grabbing her sister’s wrist.

“We have to go. Now!”

Kayla pulled back, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Go where?”

“A missile is coming!” Evelyn choked.

“We have to—”

Her breath caught.

The emergency room.

Their parents.

Kayla followed her gaze. Understanding struck her like a bullet. Her face crumpled.

“Mom and Dad…” she whispered.

“Are we leaving them?”

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Evelyn clenched her fists until they ached, her mind screaming accusations she couldn’t silence.

How could she forget?

How could she even think of running?

Their parents were unconscious, surrounded by machines and wires. Even if they tried, there was no way they could carry them out in time.

The truth was merciless.

They had two choices: Run and live. Or stay, and die together.

Kayla’s breathing turned ragged. She clutched Evelyn’s hand with trembling fingers, her voice breaking.

“I don’t want to go,” she sobbed.

“I don’t want to leave them, but—” Her grip tightened.

“I’m scared, Eve. I’m not ready to die.”

Her sobs dissolved into panicked cries.

“Why is this happening? Why us? Why our country?”

Evelyn had no answers.

Only the crushing weight of helplessness.

She pulled Kayla into her arms, holding her tightly. Her fingers digging into her sister’s back.

“I’m here,” she whispered, even as her own body trembled.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Okay?”

The ground shook. Running is no longer an option.

A deafening explosion tore through the night.

Smoke flooded the air, thick and suffocating. A metallic taste coated Evelyn’s tongue as the sky screamed, metal shrieking, concrete splitting, the world ripping itself apart.

Evelyn tightened her hold on Kayla, forcing herself to stay steady.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered urgently.

“Don’t look. Don’t listen.”

Kayla obeyed at once, burying her face against Evelyn’s chest.

Evelyn wrapped her arms around her sister, rocking her gently, just like she used to when they were children.

“I’m here,” she murmured, voice shaking.

“I’ll tell you when it’s safe to open them.”

She lifted her eyes one last time toward the closed emergency room doors.

Their parents were just beyond them.

A soft, peaceful smile touched her lips.

Then the world fell into darkness.