The screams came first, sharp, and frantic, slicing through the morning air. Then the growls followed, deep, guttural, almost alive.
Smoke curled upward, thick, and acrid, filling my lungs with a choking, bitter tang. The streets were unrecognizable.
Buildings I had once known—my school, the little nursery at the corner, my home—lay in ruins, shattered glass and twisted steel reflecting the flames that devoured everything.
I ran blindly, my feet pounding over cracked asphalt, slipping over pools of dark, sticky liquid. Shadows darted past me, some human, some not, all screaming, all running, all dying. My heart thumped so loudly it drowned out everything else, a frantic drumbeat of panic and fear.
"Lyra! Lyra!"
The voice was high, urgent. I spun around, desperate to see my mother. She stood atop a pile of rubble, blood streaking her face, clothes torn. Her eyes were wide, panicked but fierce.
"Run, Lyra! Save yourself!" she shouted, her voice trembling yet commanding.
"Go! Don't look back!"
I froze for a heartbeat, my legs rooted in terror. My mind screamed at me to move, but my body refused.
The ground beneath me trembled violently, and a massive war machine emerged, glowing red lights cutting through the smoke. It crushed everything in its path—cars, debris, even people. Sparks flew as it smashed into buildings, metal groaning under the strain.
A roar erupted behind me. I turned, and my father was there—tall, strong, a blade shimmering in his hand. He fought with precision and intensity, cutting down enemies that seemed impossible, monstrous, like they had crawled out of the nightmares themselves.
My chest tightened; my lungs burned. I wanted to scream, to protect them, but the ground itself seemed to rise and pull me down, holding me captive in a nightmare loop.
Explosions erupted around me, throwing shards of metal and glass in every direction. I was thrown into the air, landing hard on the street. Pain shot through my arms and legs, a fire of agony igniting with every heartbeat.
"Wake up! Wake up, Lyra!"
Her voice, my mother's, echoed through the chaos, a lifeline pulling me back. I clawed at the rubble, at the ground, at the air, desperate to reach her, desperate to escape. But everywhere I turned, the nightmare shifted.
The streets stretched endlessly, twisted impossibly. Shadows twisted into faces I recognized: friends, neighbors, teachers, all distorted, screaming, reaching for me.
Then I saw a familiar blur—a small golden figure darting through the smoke. My heart lifted slightly. It was Kibo, my loyal dog, barking fiercely, standing guard beside me even in this chaos. His fur was singed in some places, but his eyes were bright, full of courage.
Before I could reach him, everything slowed. A bright light enveloped me. I felt strong arms lift me effortlessly, and I realized I was being placed into a cylindrical capsule—smooth, cold, and humming with energy. Kibo leaped beside me, pressing close, his body warm and alive. The capsule sealed shut, locking us both inside.
Kibo whimpered softly but stayed close, his head resting against my chest.
The world outside blurred into streaks of fire and smoke. My family's voices became faint whispers. I held Kibo tightly, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Everything went black. Silence replaced the screams. My body and Kibo's trembled together. The nightmare had consumed us entirely.
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