Chapter 12: The End of a Good Time

At seventeen, Thomas had an imposing stature, with hair dark as night and blue eyes in which curiosity and creativity mingled, an untamable spark that promised a bright future. His mother, Rose, was a woman whose smile had the power to push away even the densest shadows, a beacon of warmth in any storm, the soft voice that calmed his fears. His father, Scott, on the other hand, possessed a sober presence, with a face marked by the years and a deep voice that conveyed security even in the most uncertain moments, the unwavering pillar on which his family leaned.

The years passed like leaves swept by the wind, but with a growing unease beneath the world's surface. Long before the names of General Magnus and Charlie were whispered with fear on every continent, their brutal ambition had already touched the borders of his own country. A little over a year ago, Thomas remembered the headlines of a different war, the first onslaught of what would become that new empire. Magnus's forces, in a display of power and with only a portion of their army, had attempted the invasion. The national defense, though fierce and successful, had exacted a devastating price: the scars of battle were still visible in bombed cities, overflowing hospitals, and families mourned their dead. The country was exhausted, bleeding in its reconstruction. The news proclaimed victory, yes, but reporters were quick to warn that Magnus had sworn to return with even greater force, his voice resonating like a dark prophecy on every home's screen. His army, though temporarily battered and humiliated before other powers by its initial failure, quickly reoriented itself, like a wounded beast seeking easier prey.

What followed was a calculated and brutal expansion that rewrote the world's maps. Magnus and Charlie turned their attention to small neighboring countries, nations without strong allies that fell one after another, their laws of war mercilessly violated, their populations subjugated with a blood-chilling cruelty openly displayed in clandestine recordings. Fear spread like a global plague, corrupting trust between nations. World powers, instead of uniting in a common front, fell into a spiral of distrust. The fear of being the next victim, or of being betrayed by their own allies, led them to dismantle their nuclear defenses, weakening each other, an advantage Magnus exploited with Machiavellian mastery. The arms race was redefined: now, Artificial Intelligence, capable of coordinating attacks with terrifying precision, and radioactivity, the invisible poison of past conflicts, rose as the most dangerous weapons, the new horsemen of the apocalypse. The world divided, and the fear of being possessed by that growing and ruthless power became an irremediable global shadow.

At home, Scott and Rose tried to protect their son from that growing darkness, creating a fragile sanctuary amidst the impending chaos. Nights remained havens of peace, sacred moments when they gathered at the table, dined together, and shared the day's small joys. Thomas listened attentively to his mother's stories about the time when rivers flowed without fear and borders were just lines on maps, times that seemed pulled from a distant dream, almost impossible to believe in the present.

"I remember the promise of a better world, don't I, darling?" said Rose, her voice soft but laden with melancholic nostalgia, stirring her tea as her eyes searched for a distant point. "Before, people trusted each other, at least most of them. There was an innocence in the air that has vanished. I imagine the day when Thomas won't have to hear sirens, when he won't know the taste of fear in the air. A day when he can choose his own path, without these shadows over his head, don't you think? He could go to university, maybe travel… truly know the world."

Scott, without averting his gaze from the window, where the last rays of sun dyed the sky blood-red, a subtle omen, responded with his deep voice, laden with a sorrow that Thomas was only beginning to comprehend.

"It's a future we fight for every night, my love. Every board I nail to the window, every round I check in the magazine… it's for that day. It's not an easy path, but it's the only one we can forge for him. You and I, together, will give him that future."

Thomas, who until then had only been listening, interrupted with a voice laden with the anxiety he felt.

"But what if it never ends? What if there's no after for us? What if Magnus…?"

Rose reached out a hand and stroked her son's dark hair, a sweet smile on her lips.

"My love, there's always an 'after'. Hope is the last thing to be lost. And as long as we're together, we'll have the strength to reach that tomorrow. We just have to keep going, one day at a time."

Thomas watched his father reinforce the doors and windows every night, placing heavy bolts and wooden planks, a precautionary measure that until recently seemed unnecessary to him, an adult paranoia, but which he now understood with disheartening coldness. At his young age, he already noticed the tension in his parents, the worried glances they exchanged at night when they thought he was asleep, the silence that weighed in the house after the news ended, his mother's choked sigh, his father's clenching jaw. The country was under reconstruction, the wounds of the first war still unhealed, and the promise of Magnus's return hung over their heads. Politics, the economy, life itself: everything was a delicate balance on the verge of breaking.

But the calm was only the beginning. Peace was an illusion, a fragile glass about to shatter. And everything changed the night the war truly began.

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The first explosion arrived like thunder tearing the night in two, not a distant lightning flash, but a visceral detonation that vibrated bones and shook the house's foundations. Thomas woke with a start, his heart hammering against his ribs, feeling the tremor of cracking walls and the sharp crunch of glass shattering against the floor. The air instantly filled with a strong smell of gunpowder and burning. For a brief second, the world seemed suspended between dream and the most terrifying of realities, but the roar of another explosion, this time closer, more powerful, made his teeth vibrate and confirmed his worst fears: war. Not on the news, not in rumors; here.

His bedroom door, ripped from its hinges by the shockwave, burst open with a metallic clang. His father's massive silhouette was outlined against the intermittent light of a distant fire that already stained the sky an ominous red.

"We have to go, Thomas! Now!" Scott yelled, his voice firm, an order that allowed no reply, but laden with desperate urgency and barely contained terror. His eyes, in the gloom, were pure panic for his family.

Thomas needed no more explanations. Instinct moved him. He leaped out of bed, his feet seeking the cold floor, barely managing to put on his boots when he felt his mother's hands gripping him with unshakeable strength, pulling him, urging him. His heart pounded wildly, the echo of explosions reverberating in his chest like a war drum, a countdown to disaster.

"Stay close to us, my love," Rose whispered, her voice barely trembling, but her eyes, searching for Thomas's in the darkness, betrayed a raw, visceral fear that twisted his soul.

They stepped onto the street and reality hit them with the force of a punch to the stomach. The sky, once covered in stars, now burned with orange and red flashes, an incandescent fury. The incessant roar of artillery fire and explosions illuminated the horizon with blinding flashes, casting terrifying shadows, while imposing buildings rose like charred skeletons of a world in flames. The air was dense, unbreathable, filled with smoke, dust, and the pungent smell of ozone. Scott gripped Thomas by the shoulder with unyielding strength, his fingers digging into the fabric, a vital connection, a silent promise of protection.

"Let's go to the shelter! Don't let go of our hand, no matter what, son. Promise!" His voice was a roar against the chaos.

The shelter was a few blocks away, but every step was a race against death. The ground vibrated beneath their feet with each detonation, threatening to make them fall. Desperate people ran in all directions, their screams drowned by the metallic roar of planes flying over an apocalyptic sky, leaving a trail of terror and destruction in their wake. Thomas squeezed his mother's hand tightly, feeling the dampness of her palm, the last anchor to normalcy, to safety.

"Mom, I'm scared…" he whispered, breathless, his words barely a choked croak drowned out by the distant wail of a passing ambulance.

Rose, despite the deafening chaos and the agony in her own eyes, smiled with infinite tenderness, a last flicker of her warmth. Her trembling fingers squeezed his hand. "Don't be afraid, my love. I'm always with you."

The final roar enveloped them without warning. It wasn't a sound, but an obstruction of sound, a void. A blinding light, so bright it burned their retinas even with their eyes closed, a deafening roar that pierced their eardrums, disorienting them. And then… the impact. A brutal shockwave, an invisible wall of air and debris that struck them, lifted them, and mercilessly threw them.

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For Scott, the world shrank to a microsecond of absolute terror frozen in time. Rose's hand, which moments before had held his with its familiar warmth, suddenly became inert, slipping from his grasp. He felt the impact not only on the pavement cracking beneath his feet, but in the very core of his own chest. When the blinding explosion brutally pushed him, his body spun, and he managed to see her. Rose. His Rose. Falling in slow motion, like a puppet whose strings are cut, her eyes, once full of life, now fixed, empty, as a dark stain quickly spread across her side, dyeing her clothes.

"Rose!" His cry was swallowed by the deafening roar of the explosion, a useless plea that even he didn't hear, drowned out by the thunder of destruction consuming the world around him.

Barely having fallen, crawling among hot debris and the dense dust that scratched his throat, his eyes, blurred by smoke and panic, desperately searched the smoky gloom. He found her. Not far away, lying on her side, with a stillness that chilled him to the bone, but her eyes were open, fixed on the hellish sky, with a glint of pain and consciousness. Rose brought a hand to her side, where the dark stain grew. Her breathing was shallow, each gasp a choked groan.

No, no, please, not both. My God, don't take both of them from me.

He crawled first towards Rose, his hand outstretched and trembling, desperation guiding every movement. Her skin no longer had its familiar warmth; it felt cold, strange, the temperature that precedes absence. The dark stain on her clothes spread, wet. Scott's fingers searched for a pulse on her wrist, on her neck, a minimal, minuscule beat, something to contradict what his sight screamed at him with overwhelming cruelty. Rose coughed, a weak, dry cough, and a trickle of blood welled from her lips, breaking Scott's soul.

"Rose… my love…" Scott murmured, his voice broken by an agony he didn't believe possible. He held her in his arms, with a desperate tenderness that was also a plea, as if he could protect her from the damage already done, as if his love could return her breath. His face buried in her neck, tears flowing uncontrollably, hot, a salty torrent in contrast to the coldness invading his wife's body.

Rose, with immense effort, barely audible over the din of war, raised a trembling hand and cupped Scott's cheek. Her eyes, already veiled by a growing mist, met his.

"Scott… my love…" her voice was a broken whisper, each word a struggle against the life slipping away from her. "There's no time… for me. Remember… our promise… " A faint, blood-tinged smile formed on her lips, a last bittersweet memory. Her hand weakly squeezed his, a final anchor. "Live it, my love… for all three of us… for us… Find peace, please…"

Scott shook his head, tears blurring his vision, clinging to her with a force he knew was futile.

"No, Rose, hold on! Please, don't leave me! I can't without you! I'll get you out of here, I swear!"

Thomas, who had been lying stunned, feeling the hot, dense air around him, began to crawl towards them, panic burning his throat. Rose, with one last titanic effort, turned her head to look at her approaching son. Her eyes, now almost opaque, sought Thomas's.

"My shooting star… my brave one…" her voice was barely a breath, but laden with all a mother's love. "Run… live… don't look back… I know you'll be a great man. I love you, son… And you, Scott… more than my own life. Go… don't wait…"

Thomas reached Rose, his trembling hands clutching hers, which already felt almost inert.

"Mom, no! Please, don't go! I'm staying with you!" he sobbed, his voice a childlike lament, a desperate denial.

Scott, clinging to Rose with all his soul, repeated in a broken voice:

"We'll never leave you, my love."

Rose's chest rose in one last trembling breath, a final gasp that dissipated into the contaminated air, an exhalation of life that escaped forever. Her hand, which was squeezing Thomas's and Scott's, relaxed. Rose's eyes fixed on nothingness, the light that inhabited them, extinguished. Her faint smile remained, frozen, like a last, painful goodbye.

Time stopped. One second, then two. Scott's scream was a harsh lament that tore through the night, a howl of pure animal pain, a beast wounded by the cruelest loss. He ignored the continuing explosions, the sirens roaring in the distance, the chaos of the world. Only Rose existed, inert in his arms. His heart, now a leaden weight, had shattered into a thousand pieces.

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Suddenly, like shadows of death itself, soldiers burst through the smoke and debris. They were heavy figures, encased in dark armor and opaque helmets, with weapons that seemed like extensions of their arms. They didn't come to help; they came to clear, to impose the brutal logic of war.

"We need to evacuate! Move!" The voice of one of them, distorted by a communicator, was cold, metallic, and authoritative, with no room for human pain.

Two soldiers lunged at Scott, who was still clutching Rose, refusing to let go, his face buried in her chest.

"Let her go!" Scott roared, his voice hoarse, broken by weeping, his pain transformed into irrational fury. "She's, my wife! I won't leave her! Get out! Stay away from her!"

He fought with the ferocity of a cornered lion protecting its cub. His muscles tensed, his fists, previously protective, struck the metallic armor with surprising force, born of the purest desperation. He writhed, screamed, kicked, trying to break free from the soldiers' grasp, dragging them through the debris, his face bathed in tears, disfigured by the choked cry of his soul.

"Rose! Don't leave her! Don't leave her here!"

It was a heartbreaking sound, the lament of a man whose heart was being torn out, a cry of agony that reverberated in the night like the last note of a broken melody, an echo of his shattered life. The soldiers, trained but momentarily surprised by his savage resistance, struggled to immobilize him, their voices harsh, their movements abrupt.

Thomas, with glassy eyes and a dry mouth, became a silent spectator of the nightmare. He was motionless, paralyzed not by fear of the soldiers, but by the horror of seeing his father, his pillar of strength, the unbreakable man, utterly broken, fighting in vain for an inert body. His body trembled uncontrollably, but no sound came from him. His eyes were fixed on the chaos: the soldiers dragging his father, Rose's inert figure moving further and further away amidst the debris and rising dust. The explosions continued in the distance, a constant reminder, the wail of sirens joined the chorus of screams, but everything became a distant hum in Thomas's mind. Only the image of his father being torn from his mother, from his love, existed.

The rough hands of another soldier took him, dragging him by force, his boots skidding on the fragmented pavement. Thomas offered no physical resistance. His body moved, allowed itself to be led, but his mind was not with them. He was there, in that cruel instant, watching the last fragment of his life shatter. As the soldiers dragged him away from what had been his family, from what remained of his home, the images of destruction, his mother's dying face, his father's heartbreaking howl, etched themselves into his soul with indelible ink.

Here, amidst the chaos and the ashes, as the cold hands of soldiers tore him from what was left of his life, a truth was etched into his soul, deeper than any wound, stronger than any bomb. A silent vow, forged in the pain and rage that boiled within him, a dark fire that had just ignited.

I'm going to fight.

He didn't say it aloud. He couldn't. His lips were pressed tight, his throat choked by the knot of pain and fury. But the conviction was absolute, a searing iron.

I won't let this happen to anyone else. Not again.

As they dragged him towards the shelter, away from Rose, away from his father who was still screaming her name, Thomas's gaze, though silent, had changed forever. Innocence had died. A warrior had been born. The war had claimed his mother, but it had forged an unwavering purpose within him.