We were nearing the market when we saw thick black smoke rising in the distance.
The rickshaw puller trembled as he said,
"Uncle… I think the market is on fire!"
Karim uncle quickly replied,
"Stop—stop here, brother! Let me see…"
The rickshaw stopped, and we jumped off.
What I saw in front of me… my eyes refused to believe.
The entire market was turning into ashes.
Shops burned, people screamed and ran.
The smoke was so harsh it stung the lungs.
And standing right in front of the blazing fire were soldiers—
guns in hand, cruelty on their faces.
Their uniforms were strange—dark blue tops from shoulders to waist, matching pants below.
A red belt wrapped around their waists, and a red armband with an unfamiliar symbol sat on their sleeves.
Their shoes were tall black boots, rising up to their knees, heavy and intimidating.
Uncle rushed forward, gasping for breath.
"That's my shop!" he cried out.
His small shop—
where he sold salt, rice, oil, sugar, and fish.
His last source of survival.
Burning… turning into nothing.
He walked straight toward the military and shouted,
"That's my shop! Why are you burning it? I didn't do anything, brother!"
One soldier turned around—
a bulky officer.
His nameplate on the left pocket read Palpatine.
He looked around fifty.
His hair was mixed with black and white, his round face plump,
skin pale but sunburnt with a reddish tint.
No mustache, no beard—clean-shaven, yet something eerie clung to his features.
But the strangest part—
one of his eyes was covered with a round golden monocle,
the other eye was blank, emotionless.
When he smiled, I noticed his teeth—abnormally large, stained yellow.
There was a feral hunger in that smile—
as if he would lunge at his prey the moment he felt like it.
No mercy.
Not in those eyes.
"Go back, old man. Government orders,"
he said coldly.
Uncle screamed,
"Government? What government burns its own people alive?!"
I froze beside him.
The people around us fell silent.
Only the roaring fire, the screams, and the chaos filled the air, creating a monstrous sound.
Five soldiers stood behind the officer, rifles in hand,
faces void of emotion—
waiting for command.
Behind them were two dark blue jeeps and one Army Patriot-2 vehicle.
Engines still hot, smoke rising.
On the sides of the vehicles, written in red—
SOUTH COMMAND DIVISION.
Suddenly, a soldier raised his rifle—
aiming straight at uncle's chest.
I screamed,
"Uncle! No!"
A single gunshot—
BANG!
Uncle clutched his stomach and collapsed.
The sack in his hand fell, and all the fish spilled onto the ground—
soaking in his blood.
Auntie's trembling voice echoed in my mind—
"My Rahim never comes back…"
And now… uncle would never return either.
People began to run, some crying, some stumbling,
some collapsing as more gunshots rang out.
I stood there—
frozen.
Uncle Karim's lifeless body in front of me,
and soldiers pointing their rifles at terrified villagers.
Something shattered inside my chest.
I knew I could do nothing.
No weapon.
No strength.
Only fear… and burning hatred.
Yet, I ran.
Not out of courage.
Out of survival.
Bullets echoed behind me.
Smoke filled the sky.
The world felt like it was burning.
As I ran, only one thought echoed in my mind—
"If good men like Karim uncle can't survive, then what are we even fighting for?"
After his death, I slowly began walking home.
My chest felt unbearably heavy.
It felt like the entire village had fallen silent.
The empty bucket in my hand reminded me—
all the fish were gone.
Mixed with uncle's blood.
No matter how much I tried, the vision wouldn't leave my mind.
By now, the entire village had heard about uncle's death.
As soon as I reached home, my mother and Kelly ran toward me, pulling me into a hug.
Both were crying.
Mother said with a trembling voice,
"Baba, are you alright? I felt like my heart stopped when I heard!"
I couldn't respond.
I only nodded and whispered,
"I'm fine, Ma… but Karim uncle is gone."
Mother froze in silence.
Kelly sobbed,
"Brother… he was such a good man…"
Father listened quietly, tears filling his eyes.
I sat silently—
as if a stone was placed on my chest.
By evening, Ryan returned home, his face dark with rage.
We all went to Karim uncle's hut.
The entire village was draped in grief.
A crowd gathered in front of the tiny bamboo hut.
Men in white panjabis, women in black saris—
everyone heading toward the burial.
People cried openly.
Some stood silently, unable to speak.
Auntie—uncle's frail wife—sat on the ground, hair disheveled, eyes swollen from crying.
She wailed,
"Oh God, everything has been taken from me!
My husband is gone…
Rahim too!
He left for abroad and never looked back!
Didn't even come to see his father one last time!
God… take me too!"
Listening to her, many around us broke down in tears.
Old Neil—the fisherman who was uncle's close friend—stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.
His voice trembled with anger and pain,
"They aren't humans… they are devils.
I won't spare them.
One day… I'll wash their blood into this river."
His eyes burned with a strange fire—
a vow hidden inside.
As the villagers cried, others dug the grave.
The air was filled with smoke, dust, and sorrow.
I stood quietly beside Raiyan.
When uncle was buried, even the strongest men in the village had tears in their eyes.
Night fell.
I returned home.
Mother cried softly,
"how do we live in this country?
Where do we go?
Who do we trust?"
I said nothing.
I lay down, staring at the ceiling.
Uncle's smiling face, his stories, his gentle eyes—
everything played repeatedly in my mind.
Sleep wouldn't come.
A thought struck me—
Did this same thing happen in my real world?
In 1971?
Did my own nation cry the same way?
Suddenly, the air in my room turned cold.
A strange blue glow appeared in front of me.
A system window floated in midair—
"If you want strength…
If you want to free your village…
You must begin your training."
Below it—two options:
"YES"
"NO"
I stared at it for a long time.
Uncle's smiling face flashed in my memory.
Auntie's cries echoed in my ears.
My heart burned with a single thought—
I cannot stay silent anymore.
Slowly, I stretched out my hand.
"YES."