The sky did not fall all at once.
It cracked first.
A sharp, violent sound tore through the morning air—like the world itself had been split open. Then came the silence. A strange, hollow silence that swallowed everything: the distant chatter, the hum of life, even the wind.
And then—
The sky fell.
Dust swallowed the street in Kandahar.
Buildings folded like paper. Glass shattered into a thousand invisible knives. The ground trembled as if it were trying to shake something off—something unbearable.
Six-year-old Idris Rahimi didn't understand what had happened.
One moment, he had been sitting in the corner of a small classroom, tracing crooked letters onto a worn-out page. The teacher's voice had been soft, patient. Sunlight had filtered through broken windows, warming the dusty floor.
The next—
Darkness.
Idris couldn't see.
He tried to open his eyes, but everything was already black. His ears rang with a high, piercing whine that wouldn't stop. It felt like something had crawled inside his head and was screaming.
He tried to move.
Pain answered.
A heavy weight pressed against his chest, making every breath shallow and sharp. Dust filled his mouth. He coughed, choking, but the air tasted like ash and metal.
"...Mama?"
His voice was barely a sound. It disappeared before it reached anything.
He waited.
No answer.
Somewhere above him, something shifted.
A small stream of light cut through the darkness—thin, trembling, fragile. It flickered like it might disappear at any second.
Idris stared at it.
That light became everything.
Time lost meaning.
Minutes felt like hours. Or maybe it was the other way around. Idris didn't know. He only knew the pain, the darkness, and the silence between distant sounds that no longer felt real.
Then—
Voices.
Muffled at first. Foreign. Harsh. Urgent.
Boots crushed debris somewhere far away. Metal clanged. Someone shouted.
Idris tried to scream.
Nothing came out but a dry, broken whisper.
"Here! Over here—!"
The voice was closer now. Loud. Commanding.
The light above him shifted again, widening just enough for dust to dance through it like ghosts.
Hands appeared.
They were rough, gloved, covered in dirt and something darker.
The rubble above Idris moved. Stones scraped against each other. Wood splintered. The weight pressing on his chest eased—just slightly—but enough for him to gasp.
Air rushed into his lungs like fire.
He coughed violently.
"Easy—easy!"
The voice again. Closer now. Right above him.
Strong hands reached down, clearing the last of the debris. The light exploded into his vision, blinding him. Idris cried out, turning his face away.
"Kid… hey. Hey, look at me."
The voice softened.
Slowly, painfully, Idris turned back.
A face hovered above him—blurred at first, then slowly sharpening into something real.
A man.
Dust-covered. Eyes sharp but not unkind. Lines carved deep into his face, like he had seen too much and kept going anyway.
Idris didn't know this man.
But in that moment—
He was the only thing that existed.
"You're okay," the man said.
It wasn't true.
But Idris believed him.
The man reached down, carefully sliding his arms under Idris' small, fragile body. Pain shot through him again, sharp and immediate, but this time it was different.
This time, it meant he was being lifted.
Being saved.
As Idris was pulled free from the ruins, the world revealed itself again.
And it was worse than the darkness.
The school was gone.
What had once been walls, desks, and voices was now nothing but broken stone and twisted metal. Smoke curled into the air, thick and suffocating. Flames flickered in the distance, devouring what little remained.
Bodies lay scattered.
Still.
Silent.
Idris' eyes searched without understanding.
Then—
They found something.
A piece of cloth.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
His breathing stopped.
"No—don't look."
The man's hand gently turned Idris' head away, pressing it against his shoulder.
"Don't look, kid."
But it was too late.
Idris didn't scream.
He didn't cry.
He just… stopped.
Something inside him went quiet.
The man held him tighter.
For a moment—just a brief, fragile moment—the chaos around them seemed distant. Like the world had narrowed down to two people standing in the middle of something broken beyond repair.
The man looked down at the boy in his arms.
Small. Fragile. Covered in dust.
Alive.
"Sir!"
Another soldier approached, breathing hard.
"We need to move. Area's not secure."
The man didn't respond immediately.
His eyes stayed on Idris.
Calculating.
Deciding.
"Sir—"
"I heard you."
His voice was calm again. Controlled.
But something had changed.
He adjusted his grip on the boy.
"Any other survivors?"
The soldier hesitated.
"…No, sir."
A pause.
Heavy.
Final.
The man nodded once.
Then he looked down at Idris again.
The boy's eyes were open, but distant. Like he was still trapped under the rubble, somewhere far away.
"Hey," the man said quietly.
No response.
"Stay with me, alright?"
Still nothing.
For a second, the man considered something.
Something he shouldn't.
Something beyond orders.
Then he made a choice.
"We're taking him."
The soldier blinked.
"Sir?"
"He's coming with us."
"That's not protocol—"
"I know what protocol is."
The man's voice hardened, cutting through the air like a blade.
A tense silence followed.
Then the soldier nodded.
"…Yes, sir."
The man looked down at Idris one last time.
"You hear that, kid?"
His voice softened again.
"You're not staying here."
In the distance, another explosion echoed.
The ground trembled again.
The sky—still broken—rumbled like it wasn't done yet.
The man turned away from the ruins.
From the past.
From everything Idris had just lost.
And began walking.
Idris didn't know where they were going.
He didn't know who this man was.
He didn't understand what had happened.
But as the man carried him through the smoke and chaos…
Idris held onto the only thing he had left.
Warmth.
Behind them, the dust settled slowly over what remained of the school.
Over the lives that ended there.
Over the truth that would one day be twisted into something else.
And above it all—
The sky remained broken.
Waiting.