𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡!

𝟏𝟓-𝟏

The trucks and the military transportation started moving, leaving the weak and helpless Zeke.

Sion only stared at him, his gaze unreadable. The moment stretched, thick with finality, but he did not linger. Without a word, he turned and boarded the moving truck, settling into the passenger seat where Suan's egg rested securely beside him.

The mutated beasts, larger than the motorbikes, howl. Their thick and strong limbs emit a sizzling electric flash before they charge forward, running alongside the military convoy. Their predatory instincts twitch as if waiting for an opportunity to strike, but the presence of Sion alone forces them to keep their distance.

Inside the truck, Suan presses his forehead against the cold crystal, eyes dull, expression unreadable. The layers of red cloth surrounding his cocoon obscure the outside world, but the suffocating feeling in his chest tells him enough that he is truly trapped.

A tremor runs through his fingers as he clenches his fists. He should feel relieved. He should feel safe. But his body betrays him. His stomach churns, his breaths come in shallow gasps, and a cold sweat forms on the back of his neck.

The inside of the crystal egg is unbearably warm. Not just physically, but the oppressive weight of his own thoughts suffocates him more than the sealed enclosure. His fingers twitch against the surface, feeling nothing but the solid, unyielding walls of his confinement. Even the texture feels alien—too smooth, too lifeless, despite being created through ability.

He wants to get out.

No, he needs to get out.

His heart pounds against his ribcage, each beat a reminder that he is still alive, still here. The red cloth covering the cocoon is an oppressive veil, cutting him off from the world outside. He can't see. He can't move freely. He is trapped, a mere passenger in his own fate, left to be carried away like a possession instead of a person.

His fists clenched again, the sound of his nails scraping against the crystal surface a quiet protest to his own situation.

A sharp pang erupts in his stomach, twisting painfully as if punishing him for ignoring it too long. Hunger. The cruel reminder of his already deteriorating state. He hadn't eaten since last night... No, even longer than that. He had given his share away. He had convinced himself it was necessary, that he should keep the food and eat when there is an emergency. Now, his body was betraying him, refusing to function as it should.

His throat tightens, nausea creeping in. He had tried to suppress it, but his body wasn't listening. A dry heave racks through him, leaving him gasping for air, yet nothing comes up. His stomach is empty. His limbs tremble, the weakness seeping into his bones.

"I need to get out," he whispers to himself, his voice barely audible within the confines of the cocoon.

No one can hear him. No one will listen.

Suan forces himself to take slow, deep breaths, steadying his thoughts. He is stuck, but panicking will do nothing. He is alive. He just has to endure.

The truck jerks slightly, a reminder that they are still moving, still getting farther away. Each second that passes is another step away from whatever choices he had left.

His body is so weak that even shifting slightly makes his muscles ache in protest. His fingers ache from clenching too hard, nails pressing deep into his palms. He exhales, pressing his forehead harder against the crystal.

Sion's voice cuts through the silence.

"You're awfully quiet."

Suan flinches, his fingers digging into his palms.

Sion doesn't look back, his gaze fixed ahead, but his voice carries an edge of knowing. "What, regret getting in?"

Suan swallows, his throat dry and aching. He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. The silence is answer enough.

The problem isn't regret.

The problem is that he doesn't know what he should feel at all.

A long pause stretches between them, but then, almost too softly, Suan speaks.

"Brother, do you know where Mom and Dad are?"

His voice is strained, hesitant, as if afraid of the answer. He hadn't dared ask before—not when survival took priority, not when everything else crumbled around them. But now, trapped and with nothing else to distract him, the question claws its way out.

Sion exhales sharply but does not turn around. The silence drags on.

Suan already knows. He just doesn't want to accept it.

But it's not grief that coils in his stomach. It's something else—something bitter, like a bad aftertaste he can't wash away.

His parents were never warm, never soft. They had done what was necessary; provided food, shelter, and discipline. Affection was an afterthought, an obligation rather than a natural instinct.

Suan remembers their distant gazes, the way their hands felt more like tools than comfort. They never looked at him the way other parents did their children. They never smiled the way Sion did when he ruffled Suan's hair. They never spoke his name with warmth.

Even now, as he waits for confirmation of their fate, he feels nothing but a hollow space where sadness should be.

Sion exhales sharply but does not turn around.

"They're gone."

Two words. That's all it takes.

Suan doesn't react immediately. His fists remain clenched, his breathing steady. He lets the words settle, searching for an emotion that isn't there.

He shouldn't be a hypocrite. He only viewed his parents as people who gave him life and had an obligation to continue raising him. That was all.

They were gone. That was fine. But it stilla pity. They were gone.

The truck rumbles beneath him, the vibrations a steady rhythm. The warmth inside the crystal is heavy, pressing against him, but he does not let it suffocate him.

He forces his fingers to unclench, his breath steady. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

Yet the emptiness remains, lingering like an unanswered question.

The truck keeps moving. And Suan remains silent.

a/n: I was so shocked to know that it's been 438 days since the last time I published a chapter.