"Before the Silence"

The wind moved like a breath between broken buildings. It tugged at Elias’s coat as he stood in the center of the abandoned square, staring at the statue that had once meant something. Now, it was cracked in the middle, one half missing an arm, the other worn by rain and time. Pigeons no longer landed here. People no longer gathered. The silence that had followed the last broadcast was absolute.

But this wasn't the silence Elias feared. It was what would come next.

He clutched the small device in his hand — an old transmitter, repaired more times than he could count. Its tiny green light blinked, waiting. He had rewired it over months, scavenging parts from old radios, broken drones, anything that might carry a signal beyond the mountains. The Resistance called it foolish. The Elders called it pointless.

But Elias remembered the voice.

It had come through once, months ago, before the comms blacked out. A girl, or maybe a woman — her voice trembling, but alive: “We’re out here. Still breathing. Still listening.”

Then silence.

He had never forgotten it. While the others turned their focus inward — rebuilding, surviving, forgetting — he had listened. Waiting for the moment to speak back.

Now, the skies were growing darker, not from clouds, but smoke. The air carried the scent of scorched earth. The invaders were moving again. The Silence Protocol would activate at sunset — when all energy would be cut, all lights shut down. A total blackout, to hide their presence and protect what remained.

He had less than an hour.

Elias raised the transmitter to his mouth, pressed the worn button, and spoke.

“This is Elias, transmitting from Zone 9. Anyone hearing this, you’re not alone. We haven’t forgotten.”

He waited. Nothing.

He tried again. “We remember your voice. You said you were out there. If you still are… say something.”

The wind answered with nothing but dust.

He felt foolish. The Elders were right — hope was a distraction. But as he turned to leave, a static hum stuttered through the speaker. Then a voice. Faint. Fragile.

“Elias?”

He froze.

“Is that you?” the voice repeated. “This is Mira. I didn’t think— I thought you were gone.”

His knees weakened. Mira. The voice from all those months ago.

“You're alive,” he whispered.

“We're few,” she said, “but we’re here. Across the valley, beyond the ash fields. We thought we were the last.”

“You’re not,” Elias said, a laugh escaping his throat, sharp with disbelief and joy. “You’re not.”

The transmitter crackled. “They’ll track the signal. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Elias said. “But it’s worth it.”

A pause. “How many of you are left?”

“Thirty. Maybe less. Children, elders. We have supplies, but no way to move.”

Mira breathed audibly. “We’ve got transport. If we move before nightfall, we can reach you. But you have to mark your location. Just once. A flare. Something bright.”

Elias looked around. The sun was sinking fast. The flare gun was in his bag — a relic of the old war, passed down like a myth. He pulled it out, aimed high.

“Do it,” came Mira’s voice.

He fired.

The red flare cut through the ash-choked sky like a scar. It arced above the ruins and lingered like a defiant heartbeat.

Then everything changed.

The ground trembled beneath his feet. A low mechanical whirring filled the air — drones, no doubt drawn by the flare’s signal. Elias ducked behind a wall, clutching the transmitter.

“They’re coming,” he hissed into it.

“We’re faster,” Mira replied. “Hold your ground.”

Minutes passed like hours.

Then, over the horizon, came the sound of engines — low, steady. Shapes emerged through the smoke: a caravan of armored transport vehicles, flying colors Elias didn’t recognize. They rolled in like a thunderstorm, pushing aside the silence with roaring wheels and shouting voices.

The drones never had a chance.

Mira was the first to step out — dusty, older than he imagined, but fierce-eyed and real. She walked straight to him, and they stood there, looking at each other like two halves of the same sentence.

“You waited,” she said.

“I listened,” he answered.

And for the first time in years, the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of breath, of motion, of life returning.

The sun dipped below the horizon. The lights went out.

But now, the silence had meaning.

It was the sound before rebirth