Antak sat on the edge of the rooftop, his legs hanging over concrete that had lost its color years ago. The city below him was barely visible, swallowed by a thick grey haze that never really went away anymore. Even up here, he wore his filtration mask. Breathing without it had started to feel wrong—like the air itself was scratching his lungs.
He wasn't looking at the city.
His eyes were unfocused, his thoughts drifting inward.
Where did it all go wrong?
The question kept repeating in his head, refusing to settle. Everything had fallen apart so suddenly. One moment, his ex girlfriend had been someone he trusted. Someone whose messages he would reread at night just to calm himself down. And then, almost overnight, she became someone else entirely.
She had shown people screenshots.
Messages filled with words he would never say. Words he didn't even use. Harsh. Vulgar. Disgusting.
Fake.
He had tried to explain. Again and again. By the third time, his voice had started to shake, but no one cared. Fifteen people had already made up their minds. Someone grabbed his collar. A slap came out of nowhere. Another shove, another warning—never trouble her again.
What stayed with him wasn't the pain.
It was the sound.
The laughter mixed with anger. The way nobody even tried to listen.
That hurt more than anything else.
Now, hours later, the rooftop felt hollow. Quiet in a way that made everything echo inside his head. Antak let out a slow breath, watching fog form against the inside of his mask. He felt exhausted, not just physically. The kind of tiredness that sleep promises to fix but usually doesn't.
After a while, he stood up.
Inside the house, it was silent. Too silent. He didn't turn on the lights. He just lay down on the bed as he was, still wearing his clothes, and let the exhaustion take over.
Sleep came fast.
And then the dream.
He was standing somewhere warm.
The air was clean—unnaturally clean—and it smelled faintly of old wood and something sweet, almost like incense. His chest felt lighter than it had in years. He didn't need to look around to know where he was.
It was his childhood home.
Back when the world still felt breathable.
A voice echoed softly through the room.
Familiar.
His breath caught in his throat.
He ran.
The room was exactly the same. The chair near the window. The worn floorboards. And there she was—his grandmother—sitting calmly, just like she always used to, as if time had never touched her.
"Antak," she said.
That was enough.
He rushed forward and hugged her tightly, afraid she might disappear if he let go. She hugged him back. Warm. Real. Not like a memory.
Something inside him broke.
All the strength he'd been forcing himself to hold onto slipped away as he cried against her shoulder. She pulled him onto her lap like she used to when he was younger, his head resting against her chest. Her hand moved through his hair slowly, gently.
"It will be fine," she whispered.
"You're safe."
Her voice steadied him. His breathing slowed. The shaking stopped.
When he finally looked up at her, she smiled with the same knowing eyes she'd always had—the kind that saw through him even when he didn't say anything.
That's when he noticed it.
A pendant.
Red metal, dark but glowing faintly, hanging from a chain around her neck. It pulsed softly, almost like it was alive.
"Grandma… what is—"
The glow intensified.
He woke up.
Antak sat upright, his heart racing. The feeling of the dream still clung to him, heavy and warm at the same time. Without thinking, his eyes dropped to his chest, as if the pendant might be there.
It wasn't.
Still, something felt different.
Not healed. Just… steadier.
The memory of the pendant lingered in his mind. He remembered her wearing it when he was younger, but after she passed, no one ever mentioned it again.
The house hummed as he started the purification system. Clean water didn't come easily anymore. Everything had to be filtered, processed, made safe. He checked the timer and sighed.
In the common room, a plate of food was waiting for him. Beside it lay a small note, written in his mother's familiar handwriting.
Gone out for some work. Be back later.
That was it.
It had been happening a lot lately. Both his parents leaving early. Coming back late. Saying very little. Even the food portions had been reduced—not drastically, but enough for him to notice.
He didn't say anything.
Something was going on. He could feel it. Whatever it was, they weren't ready to tell him yet.
After bathing, he secured his mask and headed out toward the underground park. It connected the surrounding houses, a massive enclosed space built after the surface became unsafe. Artificial lights overhead tried to imitate a sky that no longer existed.
His friends were already there.
The moment they saw him, everything spilled out.
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"We should've been there."
"We won't let this slide. We'll deal with those guys—and her."
They talked over each other, voices sharp, fists clenched. Angry. Protective.
Antak raised his hand.
"No."
They stopped.
"It'll just make things worse," he said. His voice was calm, steadier than he felt. "I didn't do anything wrong. But fighting won't fix it. I'm okay now. I really am."
They didn't look convinced.
"I appreciate it," he added quietly. "I really do. I just want to be here. With you."
There was a pause.
Then, slowly, they nodded.
The world already felt heavy enough. Antak didn't want to add to it.
For now, this was enough.
Above them, unseen, the polluted sky pressed down on the city.
And far beneath it, something long forgotten had begun to stir.