“Run! Keep moving!” Kiran’s voice cracked as he shouted above the chaos, his throat raw from the smoke and dust that choked the air.
The sky was falling—fire streaked down in blinding torrents, meteors smashing into the city with deafening explosions. Every impact sent shockwaves that rattled the earth beneath their feet, shaking buildings to their foundations. Concrete crumbled like sandcastles, their shattered remains scattering through the streets in a chaotic dance of destruction. Flames licked the sides of skyscrapers, which seemed to teeter, as if the entire city was about to collapse in on itself.
People surged in every direction, their desperate cries drowned out by the constant barrage. A storm of fire and debris swept through, and Kiran barely had time to process what was happening. The world had turned into a furnace. A man ahead of him stumbled, his legs buckling beneath him as his knees gave out in fear and exhaustion.
Before Kiran could shout a warning, a meteor—massive, as large as a car—crashed into the pavement just ahead. The shockwave ripped through the air, tossing the man aside like a ragdoll. Kiran’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t dare look back. There were too many. Too many bodies lost in the onslaught. He had to keep moving—he had to focus on the living.
“There! The tunnels!” he shouted, pointing toward the underground metro entrance.
A mother, clutching her crying child, sprinted for the entrance, her eyes wide with terror. She was followed by an old man who staggered beside her, his legs too weak to carry him much further. His breaths were ragged, each one more desperate than the last. Kiran ran to his side, throwing the man’s arm over his shoulders, and dragged him forward, his body aching from the effort. His eyes flicked between the chaos surrounding them and the promise of safety below ground.
“Keep going, I’ve got you!” Kiran grunted, hoisting the old man’s frail body as best as he could.
The old man’s lips trembled, but he couldn’t speak, only nodding weakly in acknowledgment. His trembling hands grasped Kiran’s shoulder.
Then, a blinding flash erupted to their left—a building, once towering and proud, crumpled under the weight of an explosion. The sound of its collapse echoed through the streets, a funeral bell for the dead. Dozens of people were swallowed whole by the rubble. Kiran clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away. There was no saving them now. The world above was a graveyard. A battlefield.
“Move!” Kiran shouted again, his voice hoarse. “Get to the tunnels!”
But as they neared the entrance, another blast shook the ground. The walls of the metro entrance quivered, and debris rained down. People screamed as the tunnel’s entrance threatened to collapse.
The mother, her arms trembling from holding the child too long, stumbled back. “It’s too dangerous! We can’t—”
“There’s no choice!” Kiran cut her off, pushing her forward. “The tunnels are our only chance. Get inside now!”
With a final desperate push, he forced the door open, and the others scrambled inside. Kiran shoved the old man in first and then slid in after him. He slammed the door shut just as the sound of another meteor crashed into the street above.
Inside, the air was thick with tension. Everyone gasped for breath, their eyes wide and uncomprehending. The glow from Kiran’s flashlight illuminated pale, fearful faces. A young man, barely more than a boy, was trembling beside a woman who clutched a child to her chest.
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“Is everyone here?” Kiran asked, trying to steady his breath.
A man nodded grimly. “I think so. But we can’t stay here forever. What happens when the meteors stop? What happens next?”
Kiran’s eyes hardened. He didn’t know. But they had no choice. The others couldn’t bear to hear his doubts.
“We’ll survive,” Kiran said, though his voice faltered. “We’ll find a way out. We have to.”
Weeks passed in the darkness. Days bled into one another. The sound of meteors pounding into the earth above never ceased. Sometimes the air was thick with dust, other times, it was choked with the smell of burning. Kiran lay awake at night, listening for any sign of life outside. The survivors clung to the hope that the storm would one day end.
It was during one of those sleepless nights when the world suddenly grew quiet.
Kiran woke with a start, sitting up quickly. He scanned the darkened room, trying to detect any sounds—any sign of life above. But there was nothing.
He stood, careful not to disturb the others, and moved toward the stairs that led up to the metro entrance. His heart pounded in his chest. The world had been a constant roar of destruction. Was this the calm before the storm—or was it something else?
Kiran climbed the stairs, his breath shallow, and pushed open the door.
It was like stepping into another world.
The sky, once filled with fire and ash, had cleared. The air, instead of choking him, felt cool and fresh. For the first time in years, Kiran could breathe without the metallic taste of poison in his lungs. He stepped outside, gazing up at the sky, now black and speckled with stars.
He turned back toward the metro entrance and whispered hoarsely, “It’s over. The meteors—they’ve stopped.”
The survivors—scattered around the metro station—came forward cautiously, squinting into the unfamiliar light of a world untainted by smoke. A woman, her voice filled with disbelief, was the first to speak.
“Is it… is it really over?” she asked, her hands trembling as she took in the clear sky.
Kiran nodded, though his words came slowly. “I think… I think it is.”
And then the rain came.
It wasn’t just a drizzle; it was a storm, heavy and unrelenting, sweeping through the broken streets. The floodwaters quickly rose, washing away the ash, the debris, the remnants of a world on fire. People who hadn’t made it to safety were swallowed by the raging waters, their bodies carried away by the torrents.
But Kiran and the survivors pressed on. They fought through the storm, moving through the streets that were once familiar but were now transformed into rivers of destruction. For hours, the storm raged.
“Don’t stop!” Kiran shouted as the floodwaters reached their waists. “We make it through this—we survive!”
They kept moving, every step harder than the last, as the world around them was swept clean. Kiran’s body ached, his legs burning with exhaustion, but he pushed through. For them.
The rain finally slowed on July 27.
Kiran stood on the roof of a broken building, the rain now gentle, the sun piercing through the clouds. His eyes closed as he lifted his face to the warmth, breathing in the scent of wet earth and renewal.
“It’s beautiful,” someone whispered beside him.
Kiran opened his eyes and nodded, his voice steady. “We survived,” he said quietly. “And we won’t waste this second chance.”
Years passed, and the ashes of the old world were replaced with the steady work of rebuilding. Kiran stood among the founders of the World Protective League, his face weathered by the years but his resolve stronger than ever.
At a gathering of the League, a man turned to Kiran, his eyes filled with doubt. “How can we make sure this never happens again?”
Kiran looked up at the horizon where the sun hung low in the sky. He thought of the rains, the destruction, the lives lost. “We take care of the Earth. We honor it. And we remember what it took to get here.”
“But what about the world government? What will they do to protect us?” another survivor asked, her eyes full of hope.
Kiran’s gaze turned hard, his voice firm. “The United World will rise, but we must ensure it never forgets. We must never forget that the Earth belongs to no one—not to us, not to anyone. We belong to the Earth.”
His words rang out again, firm and clear.
"Man belongs to the Earth, but Earth belongs to no one."
As the World Protective League continued to form, Kiran’s words were engraved in their hearts, guiding them to rebuild a world that would not repeat the mistakes of the past.
And with that, the future began anew.
