Slowly, Silas and his remaining family walked out of their house. They carried only cash and their phones—nothing else mattered. The military would deliver the rest later, if anything remained worth delivering.
The military personnel waiting outside had heard every scream, every broken word through the thin walls. He sighed quietly, lamenting the cruelty of life in his mind. He had stayed behind for them—the last family still inside the restricted town—giving them the time they needed.
He gestured to his vehicle. "Hop in. I'll take you outside the perimeter."
Silas, his mother, and Mary climbed in without a word. The drive passed in heavy silence, the town shrinking in the rearview mirror until it vanished entirely.
Outside the boundary, the officer explained the options. "Emergency shelters are set up near the city. Government will provide basics for now, and later a place to live in exchange for your property deeds."
Silas's mother shook her head faintly. They didn't want the shelter. They booked a hotel room in the city instead—quiet, private, away from any prying eyes. Others did the same, choosing their own paths over crowded aid centers.
At the hotel, Silas locked himself in a separate room without explanation. His mother and sister sat on the sofa in the suite's hall, staring at nothing—lifeless, hollow.
They didn't move for hours. No food, no water, no conversation. The world outside continued, but inside, time had stopped.
A knock finally came at the door, followed by a polite voice. "Sir, your order?"
Mary answered, not giving any hints of her emotions. "No."
The waiter paused, hearing only silence after that. He thought to himself, Why haven't they ordered anything? It's been almost Nine hours straight.
He shrugged and walked away, deciding not to dwell on the habits of rich people.
***
In the town, now firmly under government control, the dark red heat from the school grounds had finally cooled enough for Prime Minister Mordan and his associates to step inside the crater. They moved carefully, special boots crunching on blackened ash that still radiated faint warmth.
But when they reached the center, there was nothing. No source of the fire. No remnant equipment, no hidden treasure, no trace of essence flow or relic. Only emptiness—perfect, absolute, mocking.
Mordan's earlier excitement faded completely. A quiet sadness settled over him at the lost opportunity. Yet he pushed the thought aside quickly. He didn't even know what the phenomenon had been—an opportunity or a hidden danger. If he couldn't claim it, perhaps it was better this way. No risk. No point mourning something he never truly understood.
***
No one knew.
The source of the dark red fire that the whole world was looking for was none other than a seven-year-old boy, grief-stricken and shattered.
The child now slept peacefully in the open palm of a man, tiny and fragile against the vast hand. Dark red flames flickered continuously around him, spreading outward in restless waves—but they never moved beyond an invisible boundary. The fire remained caged, trapped in a perfect sphere centered on the boy, unable to advance even an inch.
The child's small figure looked almost peaceful in slumber, unaware of the power still pulsing from his body.
The man gazed down at him, eyes calm. He opened his mouth, and speak with a realisation. "So this is it. That's why such power could erupt from this little boy. And because of it, even my Divine Sage foresight failed to predict this accident."
The speaker was none other than Sacral Clone himself.
_____
When Sacral Clone and his "coworkers" had been constructing the sanctuary in the space, 100 km away from earth, they had all sensed an immense, unstable presence.
They decided to send Sacral Clone ahead to investigate. By the time he arrived, a dark red fire, the same presence he had sensed, had already begun spreading beyond the school grounds, threatening to consume everything in its path.
He reacted instantly. Using his mastery over space, he compressed the raging source into a compact sphere, then erected a powerful, invisible shield around it to contain the flames completely. The fire, once wild and unstoppable, now flickered harmlessly within the barrier—contained and quiet, resting peacefully in the center of his open palm.
But when he looked closely at the source, shock rippled through him. The origin of a blaze capable of melting the bones of stage 3 cultivators was nothing more than a small child—seven years old at most—his body hovering in the centre of the sphere freely, looking upwards. The boy's eyes stared blankly, utterly empty, no expression, no life behind them. Even a corpse looked more alive than this child.