Nadira woke up like every day, but something had changed. Her face was pale, her eyes distant, and her movements mechanical—as if she were a machine going through the motions. She washed, bathed, brushed her teeth without a word, then sat quietly on her chair.
Salim watched her daughter with a heavy heart. She wore the same exhaustion, but as a mother, she couldn't show it. She noticed Nadira's strange behavior, the way her little body seemed weighed down by invisible burdens. Each time her heart skipped painfully, she forced herself to prepare breakfast, hiding her worry behind a calm facade.
Afterward, Salim slipped inside and dialed her father's number, hoping for some reassurance. To her surprise, her sister Imama answered.
"Hello, Dad," Salim began, her voice trembling.
"Salim? What's wrong? Why are you calling? Where's Nadira? Can I talk to her?" Imama's tone was sharp but concerned.
"Imama, where is Dad? I need to talk to him," Salim asked, trying to steady her voice.
"He's busy right now. He can't talk," Imama replied curtly.
Salim's voice broke as she pleaded, "Imama, please. Can you ask him to help me? Nadira is traumatized by nightmares. Dad's been gone too long. I don't know what's happening. Please, tell him to come. We need help."
"Salim, calm down. You should go out yourself. Leave Nadira alone at home," Imama snapped before abruptly hanging up.
Salim stared at the silent phone, desperation rising in her chest. She called again, but no answer. Tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks as she whispered brokenly, "I don't know why this is happening to me, Imama... why won't you answer? What did I do wrong?"
Nadira finished her food, washed her plate by herself, then retreated to her bedroom. She sat by the window, staring blankly outside. Slowly, her expression shifted, tears beginning to fall silently.
"What can I do if I had power?" she whispered to herself. "How can I save my parents? I keep seeing them die again and again, but I can't do anything."
Her voice dropped to a low murmur, "I know today is my birthday. I know I won't get anything... but I wished my parents would wish me together. It's not happening. Maybe I'm wishing too much. I'm sorry, God... please make me strong, just a little, so I can help my parents. I don't want food or money... just my parents."
Her sobs grew louder, tears streaming down her face.
A sudden knock at the door startled Salim. She wiped her tears quickly, hoping it was Yazid. She opened the door, but no one was there—only a package resting on the doorstep.
She looked around, but the street was empty. Her eyes fell on the package, and beside it, another smaller box wrapped in black with strange dark red marks.
Curious and cautious, Salim picked up both and carried them inside.
On one box, a note read:
"Note happy birthday, Nadira, my granddaughter. Be happy, don't carry grandpa's worries. Come on, pick this up, and we can go to different worlds. I send you an arm for your hand—it's powerful."
Salim's hands trembled as she unfolded the letter again, then turned to the other box. She tried to open it, but nothing happened.
Calling softly, she said, "Nadira, your birthday gifts are here."
No response.
She found her daughter curled up again, tears still fresh on her cheeks. Salim wrapped her arms around Nadira and whispered, "Come on, your grandpa sent you a gift. It's powerful armor for your hand. It will make you strong."
Nadira stopped crying but showed no emotion. She followed Salim to the table where the boxes lay.
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Nadira opened the first box and held the gift. "I don't like this. It's heavy," she said quietly.
Salim felt a flicker of relief hearing her voice.
But Nadira's attention was drawn to the other box—the black one with red marks.
"Mom, where did this box come from? What's inside?" she asked.
Salim shook her head. "I don't know. There's no note, and it won't open."
Nadira showed her mother the locked box, then quietly took it into her room.
"Where are you going? Don't leave me alone, I'm scared," Salim called after her.
Nadira didn't answer but thought silently, Mom, wait. When I'm strong, I'll protect you. But now... I can't do anything.
She closed the door behind her and sat on the floor, trying to open the mysterious box.
Meanwhile, Salim sat by the phone, making call after call, desperate for help.
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The morning sun filtered weakly through the cracked walls as Yazid's trembling body pressed against the cold stone. His knees scraped painfully as he tried to push himself upright, fingers clutching the rough surface of the wall for support. Every movement was a battle—his muscles screamed, his head throbbed, and his breath came in shallow gasps. Yet, he forced himself forward, inch by agonizing inch.
Nearby, the boy's body stirred slightly, a faint twitch that went almost unnoticed. His chest rose and fell unevenly, but his eyes remained closed, his strength clearly drained. Despite his frail state, an eerie power seemed to linger around him—something darker, more dangerous.
Yazid's face was etched with exhaustion and grim acceptance. Hunger gnawed at his insides, but it was more than that— something primal, a cold certainty that this fight might be his last. His eyes flickered with a haunted knowledge as he glanced toward the boy, whose presence felt like a shadow looming over his fate.
Back in the small, fragile home, Nadira sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, the mysterious black box resting heavily in her lap. Her small fingers trembled as she lifted the lid, revealing a glowing, dark red crystal nestled inside—a badge that pulsed softly with an otherworldly light.
Her wide eyes reflected the eerie glow as she carefully lifted the crystal, turning it over in her hands. The shape was unmistakable—a sharp, angular emblem glowing faintly in the dim light. It was the unmistakable logo of EMP, etched into the crystal's surface, casting shimmering patterns on the walls.
Beneath the crystal lay a folded outfit, black with dark red markings that twisted like thorny vines across the fabric. The style reminded her of the heroes in the stories she had heard—like the warriors in the manhua her father once showed her. The right sleeve was wrapped in thorny, dark chains that seemed to writhe faintly, as if alive.
Curious and cautious, Nadira began pulling out the other items: a sleek watch, a pair of shoes, and a pair of earrings that pinched her ears as she tried them on. Her fingers lingered on the outfit, drawn to its strange beauty despite the unease curling in her stomach.
With a hesitant breath, she slipped into the outfit. To her surprise, it fit perfectly, as if made just for her. But as soon as the thorny chains wrapped around her right arm, sharp stings exploded across her skin.
"Ouch! It's hurting!" she cried, trying to pull the chains away, but they clung tighter, biting into her flesh. Panic rose in her chest as the glowing crystal on her chest flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
She tugged at the chains again, but they wouldn't budge. The pain sharpened, a burning scratch that spread like wildfire. Her hands trembled as she reached for the earrings, but they pinched painfully, making her wince.
she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to free herself. Her small body shook with fear and pain, but from outside the room, she looked like she was simply standing still—silent and still.
The pain overwhelmed her. Her legs buckled, and with a soft thud, Nadira collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.
Back in the ruined city, Yazid's strength waned. The boy, now standing unsteadily before him, looked far from well, but an unnatural power radiated from him. Yazid's eyes, heavy with pain and hunger, locked onto the boy's shadowed form.
He knew—deep in his bones— that this confrontation might be his last. His face was pale, gaunt, and marked by the hunger of a man who had been pushed to the edge. Yet, beneath the exhaustion, a flicker of defiance remained.