Reality of WORLD'S

When Emma left his apartment, Rai sat in the unopened study for a long time.

The documents.The address.The initials—I.S.H.

His father hadn't hidden the truth out of fear.

He had hidden it to protect Rai from it.

But now the silence was louder than protection.

It was a call.

By midnight, the city was asleep.

Rai wasn't.

He moved quietly. Filled his old satchel. Notebook. Flashlight. One of his father's small first-aid kits. A knife. Water. A copy of the invoice with the red-circled address.

He opened the garage.

The black 1970 Mustang stood under a layer of dust like a ghost.

He ran a hand across the hood and whispered, "Hope you remember how to run."

She did.

By the time the sun crept over the horizon, Rai was gone.

[Morning – Rai's Apartment]

Emma knocked three times.

No answer.

She hesitated, then pulled out the old brass key he'd given her months ago—"just in case."

Inside, everything was too still.

The coffee mug from last night was washed and placed upside down on the rack. The folded blanket on the couch hadn't been moved. His sketchbook was gone.

And the Mustang?

Gone too.

She stood in the center of the apartment, phone shaking in her hand.

No message.

No note.

He was just—gone.

[Afternoon – Study Room]

"He left," Emma said, voice steady but too quiet.

The group looked up from their usual seats.

Marin's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean left?"

Emma placed her phone on the table. The screen was blank.

"No calls. No texts. The Mustang's gone. His bag too."

Owen sat back. "Where would he go?"

Emma didn't answer immediately.

Then she said, "The address. The one we found in his father's study."

Cyrus frowned. "He went alone?"

Emma nodded. Her voice cracked, just barely. "He didn't even say goodbye."

No one said anything.

Until Marin glanced at her. "It's not just worry, is it?"

Emma didn't reply.

She didn't need to.

[Outskirts – Industrial Ruin]

The Mustang growled to a stop beside a collapsed chain-link fence, its frame swallowed by vines and rust.

Rai stepped out slowly, sweat lining his neck. The air was dense—like walking into memory. The building had no signs. No warnings.

Just a half-sunken stairwell, hidden beneath broken concrete.

He descended carefully—

Until the ground beneath him gave way.

He hit hard.

Dirt. Metal. Pain.

His hand was bleeding badly—sliced on twisted steel.

He winced, pulling the pack open and fumbling for the old first-aid pouch.

"If you can't stop the bleeding, glue it shut."

His father's voice again.

He tore the cap off the superglue and hissed as he sealed the jagged wound.

It burned like hell.

But it held.

Just enough to keep going.

The ruins weren't a lab.

They were a grave.

Collapsed terminals. Melted notebooks. Dust over everything—except one wall.

A spiral.

Carved in stone.

Still sharp.

Still waiting.

He followed the spiral into a half-buried chamber. A filing cabinet, split open, held journals and half-ruined documents sealed in thick plastic.

He opened the first.

His father's handwriting. And someone else's—older.

"The five shrines were channels. Not sources. They did not create their power. They carried it."

"He gave them that power. And they gave him everything."

"The people called them gods. But they only served one."

Rai's breath caught.

"They loved him. Not as a leader. As something more."

"When he chose silence, they followed. Even if it meant being forgotten."

Rai sank to the floor, blood drying beneath the bandage on his hand.

He closed the journal.

And for a long moment, he said nothing.

The spiral on the wall seemed to hum.

Not calling to him.

But remembering him.