Radit's hand shook as he scribbled into the notebook, each word scratching out a fragile thread to keep the walls around them solid. The alley was narrow, cluttered with debris from buildings that no longer existed, but here — in this small pocket of stubborn existence — they had a moment to breathe.
Tamari leaned against the wall, clutching her scarf like a shield. Her eyes were rimmed red, her voice hoarse. "I can't stop seeing them," she whispered. "The hollow things… it's like they're inside my head now."
Radit swallowed hard, forcing the panic down. "Don't listen to them," he said. "They're echoes. They're hungry for our words. But they're empty. We're not."
He took her hand, feeling how cold her skin was. "You remember this place, right?" he whispered. "This alley. This broken street. Tell me something real."
Tamari closed her eyes, trembling. "There was a lantern shop here," she whispered. "Every New Year… they'd light paper lanterns and let them float into the sky. I… I came here as a kid. I watched the lanterns burn like tiny suns in the night."
As she spoke, Radit felt the air steady around them, the cracks in the pavement halting their crawl. In the gloom above, a faint golden glow shimmered, as though a lantern's light hovered just beyond sight.
"Good," Radit breathed. "Keep going."
"I can't," Tamari choked, tears running down her cheeks. "I don't remember enough. It all feels like… like someone else's dream."
Radit pulled her close. "Then we make new memories," he whispered. "Right now."
He tore a scrap of paper from his notebook, and fumbled a small lighter from his pocket. He pressed the paper into her hands.
"Write something," he said. "Something we want to see come back."
Tamari's lips trembled as she scrawled onto the paper: *A sky full of lanterns.*
Radit lit the edge. The flame caught, burning bright in the dark alley.
For a heartbeat, the hollow whisper in the cracks fell silent. And above them, just for a moment, dozens of faint lights drifted into the darkness — glowing, trembling, fragile — like the memory of a festival reborn.
Tamari gasped, clutching Radit's arm. "You see them…"
Radit nodded, tears in his eyes. "We're making this city remember," he whispered. "One small light at a time."
But then the whisper returned, harsher, angrier. The shadows rippled at the mouth of the alley, and a hollow figure stepped into view, its body crackling with dark static.
Tamari's voice broke. "They're coming."
Radit squeezed her hand, raising his notebook like a weapon. "Then let them come," he whispered. "We won't fade quietly."
Behind them, the lantern lights flickered, stubborn and bright. The hollow figure hissed, its shape twitching, learning, listening.
Radit braced himself. "This is our story now," he breathed.
And he wrote the next words, daring the darkness to swallow them: *We fight. We burn bright. We stay.*