Under the bleak, gray sky, the man lay motionless. His body, battered and bruised, was an unrecognizable vessel of pain. Trapped under layers of debris, his breaths were shallow, every inhale a laborious act that scraped against his ribs like broken glass. Blood smeared his skin, mixing with soot and ash, forming a testament to the destruction that had swallowed his world whole.

The air was heavy, and oppressive, carrying the weight of smoke and ruin. The city, or what remained of it, stretched out in lifeless silence. He could see none of this clearly, yet he felt it all—an emptiness vast and unbearable. Every instinct screamed for him to move, to struggle against the crushing weight, but his body betrayed him.

The man closed his eyes. Not to escape, but to find something within himself. Anything. He wasn’t ready to let go, not yet.

Slowly, the pain of his flesh receded into the background, replaced by a strange pull. It wasn’t a sensation of the body, but something deeper—something he could not comprehend. He closed his eyes to follow that feeling, and a tug from within that called to him, demanded his attention, as he focused on it the feeling of his body became fainter. He thought to himself, is he dying, was death just slow to claim him as he did for everything around him? Was what he saw, the lights that tortured him a figment of a broken body trying to comprehend its pain, or was it penance for what ever slights or misdeeds he did in his light? As he stoped feeling the agony, he began to see a world around him, what he sees was not something his eyes took in, but it was as if he was observing his own mind from within. He started looking around, and he observed a vast, infinite expanse that stretched out around him, dark and quiet yet warm and comforting, he belonged here.

In the centre of the expanse, an orb of light revolved, bright and vibrant, pulsing with an energy that seemed alive. Around it, countless other fragments floated, dim and scattered like broken stars—smaller, quieter, and had no sign of life or vitaltiy.

He drifted closer to the bright orb, drawn to it as if by instinct. His hand, though no longer flesh, reached out. The moment his fingers touched the orb, the world around him changed.

Mass amounts of information started flowing into his incorporeal body, vivid and consuming. Memories, sharp and unrelenting, surged into his mind.

His name was Amer.

Fragments of his life fell into place, piece by piece as if his soul had been waiting for this moment to stitch itself back together. He was born and raised in Hashem, the beating heart of the Defiant Strip. A land of resilience. A place where life thrived despite occupation and siege, and where people tried to continue thriving under the suffocating hand of war.

The Defiant Strip was home to four regions: the North, with its few towns and may farms; the Middle, where cities clung to life; the South, with its proud dual cities; and Hashem, the soul of it all. Around them sprawled villages and farmland, the lifeblood of two million people.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

But now, it was gone.

The enemy had unleashed something—something monstrous. A weapon that devoured life yet left the land untouched. There was no radiation, no poisoned earth. Just silence and ash. Amer saw it clearly now; the destruction wasn’t just a result of war—it was calculated. The occupiers wanted the land, but not its people. They wanted to erase everything that connected the Strip to its rightful heirs.

His chest ached as more memories returned. He remembered his father, a man of unyielding resolve who refused to abandon their home, even when the war reached its peak. He had always said, “If the city is to be abandoned, I will be the last to leave.” Now, his father had kept that promise. He was gone, like everyone else. So was his loving mother that endeavoured until her the end came to claim them to build a home from the rubble. His sister carrying for stray cats that now are also gone along with her. His brother who kept his smile even until the eerie explosion swallowed them all.

Amer’s mind faltered as the weight of the memories bore down on him. His family, his friends, his fiancée—their faces flashed before him, only to fade as quickly as they appeared. He had lost the love of his life early in the war. She had been a doctor, devoted to saving others, until the occupiers targeted the ambulance she worked in. The grief that followed was indescribable, but somehow, he had endured it.

Until now.

The full force of the last two years struck him all at once. The horrors. The endless nights of fear. The mounting losses. The pain was too much, an agony beyond anything he thought a soul could bear, he felt his soul on the verge of shattering once again. But with the pain came something else—rage. A rage that burned bright and unrelenting, keeping him from falling into despair. He clenched his fists, trembling as the fire consumed him.

The Zios—the occupiers—they had taken everything. They had stolen lives, obliterated homes, and erased a history rooted deep in the land of olives. Their hatred knew no bounds, and their cruelty had no limits. The thought of their atrocities filled Amer with a helpless fury that only deepened his resolve.

He turned his focus back to the fragments around the bright orb. They hovered silently, lifeless yet strangely alluring. Tentatively, Amer reached out to touch one. The moment he made contact, the fragment dissolved into a faint wisp that flowed into the bright orb at the centre of his mind. Something shifted within him.

Knowledge blossomed, clear and sharp—practical, detailed, and with if flowed ‘experience’ not just book knowledge. He understood first aid now, emergency medical procedures and he knew how to carry each of them, it was as if he did thousands of times, as if he struggled to save hundreds of lives. However, somehow, every thing flect was cold, detached from any feelings, impersonal, devoid of the life.

A chilling realization struck him. This was someone’s knowledge and experience! It seemed to have belonged to a first responder one of the heroes who rushed to save the injured, a person like his fiancé once was.

The fragments—every shard, every wisp—they were the remnants of those who had perished. What flowed into him wasn’t just light; it was the legacy of those who had been lost. Their skills, their expertise, their contributions to the world had been stripped of emotion and personality, left as raw knowledge. The weight of it pressed against his mind.

For a moment, despair threatened to claim him. But then, something else stirred within.

Maybe this is their gift, he thought. Their final act of defiance.

The people of the Defiant Strip—his people—had left behind more than just ruins. They had left behind their knowledge, their experiences, they entrusted it all to him. It was all here, waiting for him to claim. Amer’s weakened fists tightened as resolve hardened within him. He wouldn’t let this legacy be for nothing.