CHAPTER 49: The Forty-Nineth Fracture

We walked in silence. No words. Only footsteps echoing across broken roads that once pulsed with life. The wind didn’t blow here. Not anymore. It was a dead place. Not empty—just quiet in a way that felt permanent. The stillness didn’t feel peaceful. It felt final.

Glass crunched beneath our feet as we passed toppled holo-kiosks and collapsed metal trees that had once harvested solar energy. Screens blinked static across the sides of cracked towers. A child’s backpack lay discarded on a bench, its contents spilled—like a snapshot of innocence caught in freefall.

I didn’t speak. Just kept walking—slowly, eyes scanning familiar landmarks now half-buried in ash and debris. Saaya stayed beside me, her hand never leaving mine. She didn’t need to ask where we were going. She already knew.

The neighborhood was mostly gone. Buildings caved in or melted from the heat of energy blasts. Burn marks still painted the concrete, dark veins running in jagged lines through the city’s bones. But one house remained.

Mine.

The roof had partially collapsed, and the front gate was twisted, barely hanging by one hinge. Vines—once artificial and ornamental—had overgrown the path, pulsing faintly with dormant tech. I stepped over them.

The front door creaked open with a groan, like it hadn’t been touched in years.

Inside, it was still.

Dust coated everything—thick and untouched, as if even time had abandoned this place. Furniture sat where it always had, warped now, their shapes softened by decay. A holographic frame on the wall flickered to life as we entered, briefly displaying a family photo—my family—before glitching out in a blink of static.

My breath caught in my throat.

I walked forward slowly, past the torn couch, past the table that still held a scorched mug, and down the narrow hallway that once echoed with laughter, arguments, footsteps, and slamming doors.

I stopped at a door that had no lock—it never had. I pushed it open.

My room.

The posters on the wall had peeled, but their corners still clung to faded images of starships and constellations. A small workbench sat in the corner where I used to build my own tech. Tools were still scattered across it. One of my first glyph-etchers rested beside a half-completed schematic. I didn’t move. Didn’t touch anything.

Saaya stepped in behind me, silent.

“My bed was over there,” I said quietly, pointing. “Right under the vent that whistled every night. I used to hate that sound…”

My voice cracked.

“Now I’d give anything to hear it again.”

She moved closer, gently resting her hand on my back.

“I thought I had time,” I whispered. “I thought I’d get to show them what I became. A genius. A scientist. Someone who could’ve changed the world.”

I turned away from the room. The silence began to suffocate me.

We left the house.

The sunlight outside had dimmed even more, filtered through a sky clogged with ash and broken satellites. Shadows fell longer than they should have. I walked ahead, past shattered courtyards and crumbled statues. Down the main road, toward the heart of the city.

The town square.

It had been rebuilt countless times. This was where voices gathered. Where ideas were born. Where celebrations happened. It was a symbol of our progress.

Now it was a grave.

I stopped.

My breath caught again—but not from dust or ash.

From recognition.

At the center of the square stood two statues. Flawless. Unmoving. Carved not from stone or marble but from something else. Something… wrong. Their forms were so perfect they seemed alive. Suspended in time.

A man and a woman.

The man stood slightly ahead, arm outstretched protectively. His stance was firm, as if bracing for an impact he never saw coming. The woman was just behind him, body twisted mid-turn, her hand reaching outward—toward something that wasn’t there anymore.

Their faces were frozen in a moment of fear. But beneath it… love. Pure. Desperate. Final.

I stepped forward. My legs trembling.

The closer I got, the less it felt like a monument.

And the more it felt like memory carved in flesh… and turned to stone.

I fell to my knees.

No words came. Just a sound—half breath, half scream—ripped from somewhere deep in my chest. Something primal. Something broken. My hands hovered inches from their stone forms.

“…No,” I whispered. “No, no, no…”

My fingers curled. My eyes burned.

I pressed my forehead against the base of the statue. The cold bit into my skin.

“They were here,” I choked. “They were right here. And I wasn’t.”

Saaya knelt beside me. She didn’t speak. She only held me.

“They tried to protect each other. Even at the end. Even when everything fell apart… they chose each other.” My voice shook. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve protected them.”

She gently rested her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “They loved you. They still do.”

I trembled. My hand reached out, resting against the cold stone of what had once been my mother’s fingertips.

“If I’d just been here,” I whispered. “If I hadn’t been pulled away, I could’ve done something. I could’ve stood with them. I could’ve saved them…”

“I know,” Saaya whispered. “You were taken. You were stolen from them. But you’re here now.”

I stayed there. I don’t know for how long. Hours, maybe. The sky never changed. The wind never came.

But under the grief… something shifted.

Rage.

I rose slowly. My fists clenched. My eyes never left the statue.

“I’ll kill them,” I said. “All of them. The gods. Every last one. I’ll make them regret ever touching my life. Ever touching my family.”

Saaya took my hand.

“No,” she said. Her voice didn’t waver. “We’ll make them pay.”