Refuge of the Last Name

There had never been silence like that.



It wasn’t the absence of sound — it was presence.

Heavy. Alive. A stillness that crushed memory, breath, time.



Elías awakens on cracked earth beneath a sky of rotten red and black-blue. The stars above drift like bloated, decaying eyes — floating in stagnant fluid.



There is no sun. No moon. Only a damp, unholy light that seeps from nowhere. The air tastes like ash and burns like guilt — and something inside him stirs.



He doesn’t remember this world, but it remembers him.

He doesn’t know what he lost, but it’s still bleeding.



When the silence finally whispers his name, he understands:



Elías is not alive. Not dead.

He is what remains.



And this world — whether the last, or just the next — will bleed before it forgets him again