The moment the man's eyes fell on Henrry, he began striding toward them—deliberate and furious. His gaze was fixed, his movements unhesitating. Mclery, who until now had faced every strange event with curiosity, suddenly felt everything go horribly wrong. Fear rooted him to the ground. His body refused to move.
Henrry stood just behind him, frozen, watching the figure draw closer. There was rage in the man's eyes, fury carved into every line of his face—as if he had been searching for this very moment.
"So," the man growled, voice like thunder, "you've finally been found."
That snapped Mclery out of his paralysis. With sudden urgency, he grabbed Henrry's wrist and yanked him back. "Run!" he shouted.
They bolted toward the school corridor, dodging fallen books and scattering students. Mclery knew they couldn't stay here—they had to escape. They sprinted for the back gate of the school, hearts pounding, footsteps echoing in chaos.
Behind them, screams filled the air. Students were yelling, glass was shattering, furniture crashing. And somewhere in the madness, they could hear the man chasing them—his footsteps heavy, relentless.
Then came his voice again, louder, darker, more forceful:
"Vido Narmate"
Mclery stopped, turned back. Both of them now understood: they weren't dealing with an ordinary man. They were caught in something far bigger, far more dangerous than they had imagined.
Reaching the back gate, they skidded to a halt. Two figures were already standing there—a boy and a girl, around their age. Strangers.
Before Henrry could flee in another direction, the same man appeared there too, blocking the path.
Trapped.
Confused. Overwhelmed. Terrified.
Then suddenly, the two strangers charged at the man. Swift, precise, coordinated. They attacked without hesitation.
The man snarled—then vanished. As if he'd been swallowed by the wind.
Mclery stared at the two strangers in shock. But Henrry didn't wait. He turned and bolted through the gate, fleeing into the street.
"Henrry, wait!" Mclery called, chasing after him.
Henry's mind echoed with that voice—"You've finally been found."
He couldn't stop trembling. His chest was tight with panic. He didn't know where he was running, only that he had to get home.
When he reached his street, he stopped abruptly.
The front wall of his house was broken.
"No… no…" he whispered, rushing forward. The door was already ajar.
Inside, glass littered the floor. Smoke clung to the air. Something had burned—chairs, paper, parts of the wall. Panic surged through him. He called out:
"Dad?!"
His eyes darted around until they landed on a corner of the room.
James.
Slumped against the wall, his face pale, his shirt scorched, a wound on his forehead bleeding slowly. His hand clutched his side. His eyes opened slowly—barely able to stay awake.
"Dad!" Henrry ran and stumbled toward him, falling a few feet short.
Mclery arrived moments later and helped Henrry crawl to James's side.
Henrry threw his arms around his father, his voice breaking. "Call an ambulance!" he screamed at Mclery.
Mclery fumbled, trying to find phone, hands shaking uncontrollably.
James reached for Henry weakly, eyes filled with sorrow and pain. "Henrry…" he whispered. "Take care of yourself… there's so much I wanted to tell you…"
His breaths were short. His strength fading.
"No, no, no—stay with me, please!" Henrry begged, clutching his father tighter. But James's hand slipped away. His body went still.
James was gone.
"No!" Henrry sobbed, burying his face in his father's shoulder. Mclery stood frozen behind him, tears welling in his eyes, unable to stand, his knees trembling.
His phone dropped to the floor.
Then, at the broken doorway, two shadows appeared.
The boy and girl who had fought the man.
They stood silently, watching Henrry and Mclery with unreadable expressions.