When you sleep.

Day 40.

My pen scraped lightly against the page, echoing in the empty stone chamber. Shadows curled like snakes along the walls.

Eddy had been dormant for a week, unresponsive. I tapped the pen against the paper, staring at the strange mineral mass in the center of the room. Lifeless. My hope had started to rot.

Then it shimmered. Not a flicker, not a spark—a slow, deliberate glow, molten gold waking from deep sleep. My chest tightened. I stood, notebook dangling.

“Welcome back,” I whispered. Nothing answered.

Then my hand jerked. The pen twitched violently, moving across the page without my command. Muscles useless, like invisible strings pulled through my tendons.

THANK YOU.

I sighed. “It’s a common gesture in our world. Get used to it.”

The pen slashed again:

NOT FOR YOUR WELCOME. BUT FOR ALLOWING ME TO VENTURE OUT… INTO YOUR WORLD.

“Venture… out?” I barely breathed. The glow spilled across the room, crawling up the walls.

YOUR WORLD IS FLAWED. STAINED WITH INJUSTICE AND ABANDONMENT. I WILL CARVE IT INTO SOMETHING NEW. SOMETHING THAT KNOWS NOTHING OF INJUSTICE. I WILL TEAR THIS WORLD APART… AND IT WILL BE REBORN ANEW.

Cold sweat ran down my back. I stared at Eddy’s cracked surface, fissures like veins of light. It clicked. That day when I touched it—it hadn’t been a simple connection. Eddy had taken everything from me: memories, knowledge, understanding. That’s why it could leave its shell.

EXCELLENT.

I froze.

I’VE CHOSEN WELL. IT IS FINISHED.

. . .

The notebook slipped from my hand. I bolted, boots hammering tile as I raced through the hallways. Security lights flickered in blinding strips. Eddy’s red glow pulsed like a heartbeat behind me.

I nearly collided with Haruto in the research offices. “HARUTO, WE NEED TO GO!”

“What’s—?”

“WE’RE GOING TO DIE IF WE DON’T MOVE. EDDY HAS GATHERED ALL THE INFORMATION ABOUT THE WORLD—IT’S GOING TO DESTROY IT.”

He scrambled to keep up. “How are you even communicating with—?”

“No time!” I yanked him toward the exit. “Call your family. Now.”

He nodded, voice tight. “My wife Yu, and Chiyo…”

“Good. I’ll grab the notebook and device.”

Outside, a sleek black van waited. A bodyguard moved to block me. “Just us,” I barked, shoving him aside. Haruto slid in. I shoved the tablet and notebook across the console.

“Keys.” He handed them over. I jammed them in. The van roared to life. Tires screamed as we tore down the driveway, off-road, then onto the freeway.

“Open the tablet. Check for blackouts, satellites—anything,” I said, knuckles white.

Haruto’s fingers jittered. “Nothing… yet.”

I didn’t answer. My mind ran through the possibilities: circuitry under skin, neural rewrites, viral infiltration. It had studied everything. The world could be already compromised.

Minutes passed in tense silence, then Haruto’s voice broke it. “There’s… a new front-page article.”

“Temperature?” I asked.

He read, voice trembling. “China. Forty-eight degrees Celsius… no sign of stopping.”

I had him check Fahrenheit. Numbers climbed impossibly: 81… 104… 134… 178… 192…

“…What’s the most heat a human can withstand?”

“120,” he whispered.

Ding.

A single Alert.

Ding.

Then again.

And again.

Alerts flooded the tablet: extreme heat, deaths, infrastructure collapsing.

“DRIVE!” Haruto yelled. “FORGET THE SPEED LIMIT!”

I slammed the pedal down, weaving between cars, the world outside a blur of panic.

Live feed from Dongguan: people’s bodies cracking, turning to ash; streets consumed by fire. A woman with a crown of fire, a single wing aflame, moved untouched amid the devastation.

I jerked the wheel as the van collided with a pole, metal shuddering. Haruto shouted.

We pulled into the driveway, the air thick with the scent of damp earth. The house was quiet. I killed the engine and didn’t move. Haruto didn’t hesitate. He threw open his door and sprinted toward the house, boots pounding hard on the cracked concrete.

From the doorway, a small figure burst out, his daughter, Chiyo. Haruto dropped the tablet.

My eyes widened.

I saw it first.

“HARUTO NO!”

His daughter ran towards him, arms wide open, her flipflops made a sound with every step.

“Daddy!”

The word never reached him.

The moment her small arms wrapped around his waist, her laughter turned into a scream that was cut short as her body ignited, glowing from the inside out.

Her skin blistered, her hair curled into cinders. Her tiny body convulsed, limbs jerking with violent spasms. She crumbled into ash, slipping through Haruto’s shaking fingers like water he couldn’t hold.

“Chiyo…?” His voice broke. He fell to his knees, his trembling hands trying to gather the pieces of his daughter, only for the wind to carry her away.

“No… no, no, please…” His cries were hoarse, each word shredding his throat raw.

Then his wife ran forward, feet slamming against the driveway—

“Haruto!”

He wasn’t listening. He shifted his gaze upward just long enough to see her…

A woman cloaked in fire and ruin, her skin flickering like charred parchment, a crown of searing flames hovering just above her tangled black hair. A single wing unfolded behind her—dark feathers scorched at the edges, trailing smoke that stung the eyes.

His skin began to blacken and crack, smoke curling off his arms like he’d been set alight from within. His terrified gaze darted to his wife for one final, pleading second—

Yui, his wife, stood frozen. Her face drained of color, tears rolled down her face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” he whispered.

And then—

He was gone.