"The Still Star dimmed. The Hollowing followed."
That day, the world changed.
Something broke.
And for a split second, everyone felt it — deep in the bone, in the blood. Even Perun felt it, sitting at his PC in his darkened room. A shiver laced his spine. He blinked. Then — all the lights went out.
It was late in the afternoon. Summer.
In the small village where he lived, that meant most people were at home, hiding from the heat. His headphones crackled and died.
He pulled them off, stood up, and stepped into the hallway just as a voice called out:
"Perun? Did you feel that too?"
It was Lyra, his sister. Her room was adjacent to his, just across the narrow hall.
"What is there to feel?" he muttered. "It's just a power outage."
"No," she said softly. "Just before it — I felt something. Like… like a cold in the air."
Perun rolled his eyes. "Lyra, you're crazy. That phone's been eating your brain."
"Idiot." she shot back without missing a beat.
He chuckled, genuinely.The insult wasn't unprovoked — not really.Just part of the dance they'd always done.A little piece of normal in a world that was about to be anything but.
Together, they walked into the living room.
Their parents stood by the window, silhouettes in gray light, motionless and confused.
Perun followed their gaze.
It was snowing.
In the middle of summer.
Thick, soundless flakes drifted down from a sky that had turned cold and metallic. There was no wind. No clouds moving. No storm. Just... snowfall.
Their father turned, wearing the kind of smile a man wears when the world stops making sense but he refuses to let it show.
"You guys seeing this? Snow in July — never happened in my youth. "He shook his head, chuckling. "If it had, we'd have been outside building forts instead of staring at screens all day like you two."
He walked to the door and pulled it open. The air that entered felt wrong — not cold, just… still.
Heavy.
Dense.
For a moment, it looked like he might hesitate.
But he ignored the warning—the one his body tried to give him, deep and primal.
"Let me show you how to make a real snowball," he said with a crooked grin.
He stepped outside. Just a few paces.Far enough for the drifting flakes to touch his bare arms.
Then… he exhaled.
One breath.
Soft.
Final.
And he collapsed into the snow like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Dad?" Perun whispered.
Their mother gasped, bolted through the open door, barefoot on the wood. She dropped to her knees at his side — just as a snowflake landed on her neck.
She too exhaled.
And fell.
She hit the ground hard, face-first—then rolled onto her side, arms limp.
Her eyes were wide open.
Staring at nothing.
Mouth slightly open.
Frozen.
Perun stood still — the world shrinking into a pinpoint of horror.
He felt his legs move. He was going to run to them.
But Lyra grabbed his hand, fingers ice-cold and trembling. "No!" Lyra's voice cracked like glass. She grabbed his arm, holding him back with trembling fingers.
"Don't go out," she whispered.
"Perun, don't."
Perun didn't breathe.
His eyes stayed fixed on the bodies outside the door — his father's arms twisted in the snow, his mother's hair sprawled like paint.
Lyra's grip on his hand was shaking, but she didn't let go.
"Don't go out," she whispered again, this time like a prayer.
He took one step back. Just one. He closed the door.
The snow outside still fell. Thick. Soundless. Relentless.
Behind them, a cane thudded on the hallway floor.
"What... what is happening out there?" came the dry, wavering voice of their grandmother. Baba Irena, half blind and stubborn as mountain stone, she stepped into the room, her face furrowed and sharp.
She looked at them. Then at the door.
"Why do you two look like you've seen the dead?"
No one answered. Perun's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Lyra spoke instead, barely audible."Mom and Dad… went outside."
The old woman paused.Not shocked. Just still.
Lyra's face twisted, confused."And they… they just—"
Baba Irena shook her head."What nonsense are you saying, Lyra? If they went out, they'll come back. Enough of that foolish talk."
But then she turned——and saw it too.
Through the living room window, movement flickered across the village.
A child's voice, laughing in the distance.
Old man Dragan opened his door, pipe between his teeth, snow landing in his beard.His grandson bolted past him into the yard.
"Don't—!" Perun started, but they couldn't hear him.
The boy fell first. Crumpled.Then Dragan exhaled.Then dropped.
Another door opened down the road. Then another.
Some ran out calling names.
One by one, they all collapsed.
Like dominos.
Lyra screamed.
Baba Irena didn't speak. She moved.Fast, focused—pulling the curtains closed, one after another.
"No," she said, her voice steel."You will not look. You will not watch what.. whatever this is."
Perun stepped back, numb.His body moved, but his mind stayed frozen at the door.
"What is this?" he whispered.
Baba didn't answer at first. She was already moving toward the basement.
"I don't know," she said at last. "But quickly—get to the shelter. The one your grandfather built when he was alive. God bless his soul."
Perun didn't question it.None of them did.
He grabbed Lyra's hand again.Baba Irena was already halfway down the back hallway, her cane tapping steadily on the wooden floorboards.
The air in the house was changing.Colder — heavier.
Nature had gone silent.
Except…
A scream or two, faint and distant, rising from somewhere down the road — neighbors, maybe.
Then nothing again.
They reached the trapdoor beneath the hallway rug — a warped square of metal, barely visible except for the iron ring at its center. Perun pulled it open. Stale air breathed up from below.
He remembered helping his grandfather build it years ago — a bunker made from rebar and salvaged concrete, stocked with pickled food, clean water, and rusted tools no one ever thought they'd need.
They climbed down. Baba Irena went last, closing the hatch behind them.
They hid in the basement at first. Hours passed, maybe—but time felt like a shapeless, suffocating thing. They didn't speak much. They didn't eat. Grief hung in the air like smoke.
Lyra sobbed on and off in the arms of Baba Irena, while the old woman tried to soothe her in that quiet, matter-of-fact way only grandmothers could. She wrapped Lyra in her shawl and spoke not of comfort, but survival.
"I lived through war," Baba said. "This isn't like that, no. But you still have to think smart."
Perun sat against the concrete wall, silent. His thoughts were a blank haze, his eyes locked on the dark grain of the stone. Baba's voice was the only tether pulling him back into the present.
"You portion food, always. Water is even more important. You stay still. You wait. And most of all—never play the hero. Not even for me. Do you hear me?"
She spoke more of some of her old stories. And somehow, it helped. The steady rhythm of her voice dulled the sharp edge of panic. Lyra finally fell asleep from exhaustion, curled up like a kitten against Baba's side. Baba followed soon after, breathing slow and steady.
Perun couldn't sleep.
He found himself drifting toward the hatch they'd come through, his footsteps soft on the bunker floor.
Climbing up, he cracked the door open just enough to peer out.
Moonlight bled faintly through the curtains.
If he didn't know better, he might've thought it was just another quiet evening —until he noticed the stillness.
Not quiet.Absence. Absence of all sound.
He walked slowly to the window, afraid of what he might see… but still pushed himself forward.
He opened the curtains.
The power was still out.No streetlights. Nothing moved.
Outside, the world was dead.
His parents still lay where they had fallen — untouched, covered in a thin layer of snow.
Across the street, neighbors were slumped in their yards and driveways.
At first glance, they looked like they were sleeping.
But their eyes were open.
Staring.
Perun's body shivered.
That's when he noticed it.
It wasn't snow that was falling. Not really.
It drifted too slowly.It didn't glisten.It was darker.
Like powdered ash.
And yet… only a thin layer covered the ground.
How could that be?
If it had been falling for hours, shouldn't the world be buried by now?
Before he could think further, a sharp voice cracked behind him.
"Silly boy! Have you listened to anything I said?"
Baba Irena's voice cut through the silence like a whip."Don't ever go alone like that again!"
Perun slinked back into the basement, chastened, as she scolded him in whispers just loud enough to carry a threat.
That's how the first days passed. They rationed, listened, watched. And still, the ash fell. And still, it never gathered more than a shallow dusting. As if the ground itself was drinking it in.
They would have stayed longer…
If not for what happened on the third day.
As usual, Perun climbed up to check the house and look for some medicine.
Lyra had come down with something — a flu, maybe. She was burning hot.
As he moved past the windows, an uneasy feeling crept into his chest. He paused. Looked.But the village outside was as still as ever.
Dead quiet.
He couldn't put his finger on it — but something felt… wrong.
Still, he had a job to do.
He grabbed the pills from the cabinet and went back down to the shelter. Lyra was awake, sweating, her skin pale beneath her flushed cheeks.
"Here," he said, holding out the tablets.
She took them without a word, but her eyes weren't on him.
"Did anything change outside?" she asked.
Perun blinked. "What?"
"The ash," she said softly. "The air. The quiet."
She looked… distracted.
Less worried about her fever than about the world above.
"No, everything's quiet as usual, but…"
"Perun. Spit it out."
He hesitated. "It's nothing. Just… I had this weird feeling when I was up there."
"Help me up. I want to see."
"No. You need to rest."
"I won't rest until I see."
Her tone left no room for argument. Baba Irena was the only one she really listened to — and she was upstairs in the kitchen. That left Perun with no choice.
With a sigh, he helped Lyra up, careful not to move her too quickly. Her skin still felt warm — too warm — and her steps were unsteady. But she insisted.
He brought her to the window.
At first, she just stared.
Calm. Quiet.
Then her breath hitched.
Her eyes went wide.
"Perun… I… I see steps. In the ash."She turned to him, voice trembling. "That means… someone's out there."
They looked at each other.Confused.Alarmed.
And then a scream tore through the silence.
From the kitchen.
Perun didn't think. He sprinted down the hallway, Lyra stumbling behind him.
As he entered the kitchen, the smell hit him first.Copper. Wet. Wrong.
Baba Irena was on the floor.Two figures hunched over her — chewing.Tearing into her neck and shoulder, blood pooling fast beneath her twitching frame.
One of her arms reached out toward Perun, fingers shaking.Then her hand dropped.And the light left her eyes.
"NOOOOOO!"
Perun roared and launched himself forward —both feet up, full force, crashing into one of the attackers with a flying kick to the face.The creature slammed back into the table, dishes shattering as it hit the ground.
The second one turned instantly, hissing through bloodstained teeth.
It looked human.Almost. Later on humans would call them "Echos".
Its skin was pale, greyed like it had been drained.The eyes were sunken, the whites thin and stretched.Black lines pulsed faintly under its skin — a crawling web beneath the surface.
It shrieked — an unholy sound, wet and sharp — then lunged.
Perun didn't react fast enough.It tackled him to the floor before he could stand up, fists hammering into his chest like bricks.
He grunted, tried to punch back — but it didn't flinch.It didn't feel pain.
It reared back, teeth bared, about to bite —
Perun raised his forearm just in time.
The creature's jaw clamped down on his sleeve —and almost instantly, the fabric turned red, drenched in his blood.
He kicked, twisted, fought — pure panic.
The first creature was stirring again, getting back up.
He was going to die.
Then —
A thud.A crack.
The attacker on top of him was suddenly flying across the room — slammed into the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the drywall.
Perun gasped and rolled over, scrambling to his feet.
Lyra stood there, chest heaving, hand clenched into a trembling fist.
The lines.
Those same black lines that moved beneath the creature's skin —now shimmered faintly on her arms, etched into her flesh like cracks in stone.
She looked down at her hand like it didn't belong to her — like she couldn't quite understand what she'd done.
Neither could Perun.
But there was no time.
The second creature was already pushing itself off the floor, snarling, its face smeared with blood.
Lyra spun, kicked open a drawer, and grabbed a kitchen knife.
"Catch!" she snapped, and flung it toward him.
Perun barely caught it by the handle —just as the Echo lunged at him.
Its fingers were curled like claws, skin splitting open as black veins bulged beneath its surface.
Perun didn't think.
He moved.
Ducking low, he rolled under its wild swing —and came up with all his weight behind the blade.
The knife sank deep into its side.
The creature didn't scream — it just stared at him.Its mouth opened slightly. Twitching. Confused.
Then he twisted the blade.
That got a reaction.
It spasmed violently, screeched in a pitch that rattled his skull, then flailed backward into a counter. Dishes shattered.
The second Echo, that Lyra sent flying was getting up again. Its jaw twitched as if trying to remember how to move.
Perun stood beside Lyra now, panting, knife trembling in his hand.
"I don't think that one's done yet," he said through gritted teeth.
Lyra's eyes were glowing faintly now — not like light, but like pressure, as if something behind her gaze was straining to break through.
The second Echo launched forward.
Perun raised the knife to block — but Lyra stepped in first.
She moved too fast — faster than she should've.
Her hand lashed out and grabbed the creature by the throat mid-charge, slamming it against the refrigerator with a wet, metallic crack.
The creature twitched once, then fell limp.
Perun stared at her, wide-eyed, chest heaving.
She stood there, arm shaking, black lines pulsing faintly along her wrist and forearm. Her eyes weren't just reflecting light — they were alive with it.
"…Lyra," he breathed.
But she didn't answer.She was staring at her hand — like she didn't recognize it.
She stumbled back, eyes dazed, the black lines still fading from her arms.
"I felt it."
"In my head. In my blood."
"The Voice. It—"
Her body sagged.
And she crumpled to the floor.