The forest felt calm again.

  That alone felt like a victory.

  I leaned back against the tree I had half ruined earlier, breathing slowly while the last traces of recovery magic faded from my skin. The ache was still there, but muted now, distant enough that I could ignore it. Mana drifted normally again, no longer pulled tight around me like a held breath.

  It had worked.

  Not perfectly. Not safely. But enough.

  I let out a tired laugh, staring up through the canopy as light filtered down in broken patterns. Doom rested deep inside me, heavy but stable, like a beast that had finally been fed and told to stay.

  “This is progress,” I muttered.

  For once, I meant it.

  I stood, brushed dirt from my clothes, and opened a passage back. The magical world folded away cleanly, without resistance, like it was content to let me leave this time.

  The normal world greeted me with noise.

  Cars. Voices. Neon signs buzzing faintly overhead. Evening had settled in while I was gone, the sky washed in dull oranges and grays. My stomach reminded me how long it had been since I last ate.

  The convenience store on the corner was still open.

  I grabbed whatever didn’t require thought. Food. A drink. Normal things. The cashier barely looked up. The receipt printed. Life continued.

  Outside, I took three steps.

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  And stopped.

  Fear hit me all at once.

  Not mana. Not Doom.

  Fear.

  Every instinct I had screamed in unison, sharp and absolute.

  Danger.

  Do not go forward.

  My heart slammed against my ribs as I stood frozen on the sidewalk, breath shallow, hands trembling. This wasn’t anxiety or imagination.

  This was a warning.

  And it was coming from only one place.

  Home.

  “No,” I whispered.

  I ran.

  The world blurred as I crossed streets without looking, ignored horns, ignored shouts. The closer I got, the louder the warning became, until it felt like my entire body was vibrating with it.

  The front door was open.

  That should not have been possible.

  I stepped inside.

  Blood.

  It coated the walls. The floor. The furniture. Thick in some places, smeared in others, as if someone had taken their time. There were no signs of a struggle. Nothing overturned. Nothing broken.

  Just silence.

  I dropped the bag. It hit the floor softly, absurdly normal.

  “Mom?” I called.

  My voice didn’t echo.

  “Dad?”

  Nothing.

  I moved through the house slowly, like my body no longer trusted itself. Every room was the same. Blood. Absence. No bodies.

  That was worse.

  When my knees finally gave out, I didn’t try to stop it. I collapsed in the living room, staring at a familiar handprint on the wall.

  Mom. Dad.

  Akari.

  They were gone.

  Whoever did this hadn’t killed strangers.

  They had erased my world.

  Something in my chest cracked. Not shattered. Not exploded.

  Cracked.

  I waited for Doom to rise.

  It didn’t.

  I waited for rage to take over.

  Instead, I laughed.

  The sound came out wrong, broken, tearing itself from my throat as if I’d forgotten how anything else worked. Tears blurred my vision. My hands shook as I covered my face, laughter spilling out of me like I had no say in it anymore.

  This wasn’t grief.

  This was the moment reason stopped mattering.

  The laughter kept coming.

  It echoed through the empty house, bouncing off bloodstained walls, stretching longer than it should have. Too loud. Too hollow. The sound of something breaking and not bothering to hide it anymore.

  I laughed until my chest hurt, until my voice went raw, until there was nothing left to hold onto.

  Far away, beyond the reach of my senses, beyond the broken house and the ruined silence, someone watched.

  They stood still, patient, unseen, as if this had always been the outcome they were waiting for.

  The laughter echoed.

  And the night listened.