The sunlight slowly began to fade, casting an orange glow across the campus.
Long shadows now stretched between the staff residences. The campus that had hosted thousands of cheering students only hours earlier now looked abandoned.
It felt as though the world itself had stopped breathing.
"...It's getting dark," Jon said grimly, taking his eyes off the covered curtains.
Icarus reacted similarly, a deep frown etched on his face. Neither of them liked how those words sounded.
They silently walked through the house once more, shutting every window closed, pulling curtains closed but just enough for them to watch outside without exposing themselves, and checking every corner for open spaces.
Occasionally a scream drifted through the neighborhood; sometimes it was distant and at times, it felt frighteningly close.
Only when they had searched every room twice did either of them finally allow themselves to breathe.
The front door was now barricaded with the sofa and kitchen cupboards, and tables blocked the back entrance. It would not stop whatever was outside; both of them knew that. But it made the house feel less exposed.
That alone was enough.
The dining room now held the remains of the food they both found in the house: a few packets of noodles, rice, cooking oil, and some bottled water.
Jon stretched across one of the living room couches, a kitchen knife and pan beside him, while Icarus remained in the armchair opposite him, a broken mop handle resting across his knees.
Neither of them approached the windows anymore. They had already seen enough. It was rather strange that after all that had happened today, they remained sane.
Instead of aimlessly seeking answers, they turned to the one thing that remained constant in all that had happened.
The silver book.
They both stared at the book with mixed and varying emotions. Icarus still stared at the book, curious and suspiciously unknowing of its content.
'He hasn't opened it.' Jon noticed, then stared at his. Unlike Icarus, he stared at his in slight fear and uncertainty.
He had opened his twice now, with the second experience overriding the first experience. In the first, he experienced a strange calm feeling amidst the danger and terror happening in the stadium, and in the second he witnessed the final moments of him killing the infected old woman.
'What will happen if I open it now?' He thought.
"So…without warning, strange substances crashed down from the sky and turned into this book…"
Icarus looked up from the book.
"…why?" Jon asked curiously. He couldn't simply wrap his head around the reasoning and purpose behind such a phenomenon.
"Why are people becoming infected? Why is this happening?"
"I don't know; there could be several reasons for it, like a greater purpose of some sort," Icarus replied.
Jon shook his head, "Greater purpose? What greater purpose turns human against human? Or turns an old woman into an infected creature? What is it then trying to achieve?"
The room fell silent.
Icarus had no answer to the situation. Just as it came as a surprise to Jon, it did the same to him; however, he could feel it.
Jon wasn't just ranting about the silver light and what it caused. There was something else to it, something deeper than people turning into infected creatures.
'Perhaps he lost a friend to the infected creatures, or could it be someone else?'
Neither of them spoke.
The silence became strangely comforting, until Jon finally broke it.
"...My uncle died today."
Icarus lifted his head but did not interrupt.
Jon stared at the ceiling. "He was the last family I had. My parents died when I was six." He smiled faintly, "I barely remember them."
His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. "But I remember my uncle." A small laugh escaped him. "He wasn't very good at cooking."
Icarus blinked.
Jon continued quietly. "He tried. Every birthday, every holiday, he always insisted on making dinner himself."
He drew another faint smile. "He burned rice. He somehow managed to burn soup once."
Icarus couldn't help it, and a tiny smile appeared on his lips.
Jon didn't notice. "My grandfather laughed so hard that day he nearly fell off his chair."
Silence returned.
This time...
It felt warmer.
Jon closed his eyes. "My grandfather used to tell me that every man spends his whole life chasing something, and most people never realize what it is until it's already gone. I didn't understand him then."
His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the couch.
"I think I do now."
Jon swallowed. "I won today."
His voice had become barely more than a whisper. "I finally won."
The words hurt more than he expected.
"I kept thinking that he would've complained that I celebrated too much. He would've asked whether I remembered to stretch afterward. He would've told me not to let one race make me arrogant."
Jon's smile slowly disappeared.
"But he never got to see it. And he never would."
The room became silent once more.
Across from him, Icarus remained still. He had no comforting words, no advice. Some grief simply could not be answered.
After several minutes, Icarus finally spoke. "...When I was fifteen, I found out the man who raised me wasn't my biological father."
Jon slowly turned toward him. Icarus let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it.
"I wasn't supposed to know. I overheard my parents arguing one night." He stared at the silver book resting in his hands and continued.
"Then everything suddenly made sense. Why he always seemed distant, why he never called me 'son.' Why I always felt... different around him."
Silence settled between them.
"I hated him for it," Icarus admitted. "For years. I stopped talking to him unless I had to. Every conversation became an argument. I convinced myself I didn't need him."
He smiled bitterly.
"Then, a few years later, my grandmother told me something."
Jon remained silent, listening. "'He knew from the beginning,' she said."
Icarus' fingers tightened around the edge of the book.
"He knew I wasn't his child... and he stayed anyway."
His voice grew quieter.
"He worked every day to feed us, paid my school fees, taught me how to ride a bicycle, stayed awake whenever I was sick. He did everything a father was supposed to do."
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
"Turns out... blood isn't always what makes someone your father."
The smile faded from his face.
"...I spent years pushing him away."
He looked toward the boarded window.
"And now..."
"...I don't even know if he's alive."
Jon watched him quietly.
"...You miss him."
Icarus nodded once.
"...Yeah."
"I think... if I ever see him again..."
He swallowed.
"...I'd call him 'Dad' for the first time...Yeah."
Neither of them spoke again, and silence reigned, both of them deep in their thoughts.
Jon no longer had any family member to even worry about, but there were people close to him he considered like family. Unfortunately, the majority of them were among the thousands who were inside the stadium when the silver light descended.
How many had survived?
How many had become those things wandering outside?
The questions had no answers.
The sun slowly disappeared and night slowly took over, and the staff quarters became quiet. The distant screams and growls had disappeared, almost as if nothing was happening outside.
'Uncle, what can I do with you gone? I miss you.' Tears slipped down his eyes.
Strangely, Jon's breathing gradually slowed and his accumulated fatigue struck
'No. I can't sleep. Not now, not today.' He struggled to fight it, but he couldn't make the first move as his eyelids grew heavy and the knife slipped slightly in his hands.
Before his eyes fully closed, he caught sight of Icarus. He saw Icarus open his book and stare at it.
A golden pulse instantly flashed, and within moments, a massive pillar of silver light pierced through the ceiling and descended on Icarus.
Unfortunately Jon was unable to witness it. He was already fast asleep.