The tunnels grew colder as they walked, the static hum of the cracks now a constant presence beneath their feet. Tamari stayed close to Radit, one hand gripping her red scarf, eyes darting at every shadow.
They climbed a narrow stairwell, and when they pushed through a rusted metal door, they found themselves back on the surface.
Or what was left of it.
Where the Old Market District had once been, there was only emptiness. Wide gaps where buildings should stand. Fragments of brick and concrete hovered in the air, frozen like broken puzzle pieces. A few stalls and tattered awnings remained, anchored in space by nothing but memory.
Tamari shivered. "It's… like the world forgot how to finish building itself," she whispered.
Radit nodded, feeling his breath catch. He flipped open his notebook and started writing, describing every floating fragment, every faded sign, every echo of what had been.
As he wrote, he felt the ground beneath him solidify just a little. But the cracks were already forming again at the edges of his vision.
Then Tamari pointed. "Radit… look!"
At the far end of the broken square stood a figure — tall, thin, wrapped in the same rippling shadow he had seen before. But this one wasn't moving away. It stood perfectly still, head tilted slightly, as though studying them.
Radit felt the pencil tremble in his fingers. "It's waiting for something," he whispered.
Tamari's voice shook. "Maybe… maybe it's trying to tell us something."
Suddenly, the ground quaked beneath them, sending cracks splintering across the pavement. A low hum filled the air, building into a roar. Around them, the floating fragments of building and street began to crumble into dust.
Radit tried to write, but the pencil snapped in half.
"Radit!" Tamari screamed, grabbing his arm.
The hollow figure raised one long, thin arm — and pointed directly at them.
And then the shadows behind it exploded outward. More hollow figures poured into the square, clawing at the remnants of the world, leaving trails of blankness wherever they passed. The fragments vanished on contact, dissolving into empty space.
Radit pulled Tamari back. "We have to run!"
But Tamari yanked him the other way. "No!" she shouted over the roar. "If we run, the blankness follows us. We have to anchor this place — right here — or the city keeps vanishing!"
The ground split beneath them, a yawning crack opening into black nothingness. Radit felt himself slipping, Tamari's grip the only thing keeping him from falling in.
"WRITE!" Tamari screamed. "SAY SOMETHING! ANYTHING!"
Radit swallowed hard, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't have a pencil. He didn't have paper. But he had his voice.
"This place is real!" he shouted into the roaring wind. "The market was here! There were stalls, and food, and people — we stood here, together, every weekend —"
The shadows hissed, shrinking back slightly.
Tamari joined in, her voice raw. "I came here with my mother! She bought me this scarf! It's real — it happened — I remember!"
For a moment, the cracks in the ground paused. The hollow figures twitched, flickering.
Radit screamed again, voice cracking. "This place matters! The city is still here! I refuse to forget it — I refuse!"
One of the hollow figures lunged forward, its form shivering violently, and slammed into Radit's chest. A cold so deep it felt like death flooded his lungs. He gasped, clawing at the emptiness pressing into him.
Then Tamari threw herself at the creature, her red scarf whipping through the air. She screamed words Radit couldn't understand, raw and primal. The figure reeled back, hissing, as though the bright flash of her memory burned it.
Radit fell to his knees, coughing. The crack in the ground beneath him sealed shut, the pavement holding just a little longer.
Tamari collapsed beside him, panting. "We… we did something," she gasped.
Radit looked around. The figures had retreated to the edges of the square, shivering and indistinct. The floating fragments had stopped crumbling. For now.
Tamari pressed her forehead against his. "We have to keep doing this," she whispered. "Keep remembering. Keep shouting it out loud, until the city hears us."
Radit nodded, tears mixing with sweat on his cheeks. "We're not letting it vanish," he said hoarsely. "No matter what comes for us."
But as he said it, he saw the figures shifting again at the edge of the square. The blankness wasn't gone — just waiting. Listening.
And he realized with a jolt of terror that the shadows hadn't come to erase them.
They had come to learn how to speak.