To the far west, where the forest boundaries finally came to an end, there stood a house — particularly a two-story one. The trees did not touch it, nor did the shadows of the deeper woods fully consume it. It was built with clear intention: separated from the forest, yet close enough to feel its breath. A boundary wall stood between them, thin but deliberate, marking a quiet line between civilization and wilderness. Although it was close to the forest, it could never be taken as a part of it. It stood on its own. It was isolated, deliberate, and slightly out of place.

  The two-story house looked a little disheveled, as if someone had forgotten it for only a few days. It was not abandoned, but neglected. Leaves had gathered in the corners, caught in small wind pockets. Some clung stubbornly to the walls and windowsills, pressed there by recent breezes. The steps were sprinkled with stray branches and dry fragments of bark, as though the forest had slowly extended curious fingers toward the structure.

  Dust hung lightly in the air outside, thin enough to notice only when light passed through it. Spider webs stretched across railings and door frames wasn't thick, but newly woven — giving the house a slightly forlorn, untended charm rather than the feeling of complete abandonment.

  There were snakes swarming near the house, gliding silently across the warm ground, their scales reflecting faint morning light. They did not attack. They simply lingered, coiled in quiet patience. Above, vultures circled in the sky over that area, moving in slow, deliberate rotations. Their wide wings cut through the dawn air as if anticipating something inevitable.

  Wilted roses were blooming beside the house.Their petals bent and tired, edges darkened slightly, yet still clinging to life. Nearby, fruits had fallen from small trees and were rotting slowly against the soil. Their scent was faint but noticeable , sweet and sour combined. Crows sat on the branches of trees, watching silently. Their dark eyes observed everything without movement, without noise.

  Inside the house, everything looked messed up. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t destruction from violence; it was disorder from neglect. Chairs were slightly tilted. A tablecloth hung unevenly from one side. Books were stacked incorrectly, some fallen, others half-open. Water was pouring out of the basin in the wash area, dripping steadily to the tiled floor. The tap had not been fully closed. The water collected and spread slowly, reflecting faint pieces of the ceiling above. A few objects were scattered across the floor, including shattered pieces of glass that caught the dim light and reflected it sharply.

  Even though it was the beginning of dawn, the interior remained dark. The early sunlight struggled to enter. In one room, the windows were completely closed, shutting out the world. In another, a window had creaked open slightly, swaying back and forth with soft wooden groans as the wind pushed against it. The sound repeated every few seconds — a subtle, restless rhythm. Yet in one particular room, there was an ongoing ceiling fan spinning steadily. Its rotation created a low, consistent humming sound. That room was noticeably cleaner than all the others. The floor had been wiped recently. The air felt more breathable. It was as if this room belonged to a different section of the house entirely, as though someone had chosen to maintain only this single space while letting the rest fall apart. Looking down from the fan, there was a red-colored bedsheet with patterned designs covering the mattress. The fabric had embroidered details along the edges. It had small symmetrical patterns stitched carefully. Over it lay an embroidered quilt, slightly folded at one corner. On that bed sat Set. He had just woken up. He was sitting upright, bending one knee while the other leg remained straight. The white blanket that had covered him earlier was now pushed away and lay slightly crumpled at the edge of the bed. It seemed clear he had woken up suddenly almost violently , pushing the blanket away the moment consciousness returned. His breathing was heavy. His chest rose and fell rapidly as if he had been running. He gripped his gray T-shirt tightly at the center, the fabric wrinkling under the pressure of his fingers. Sweat lightly coated his forehead.

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  After a while, his breathing gradually slowed. The fan above continued its steady rotation, indifferent to his distress. His left hand moved to his forehead, pressing against it as if grounding himself. His right hand rested on his lap unmoving. There was something wrong with it.

  He stared ahead blankly for a few seconds, trying to separate dream from reality.

  He got up slowly, using only the support of his left hand. He avoided putting any weight or strain on his right hand. The movement was careful but deliberate. He stood still for a moment before walking toward the balcony.

  The balcony door opened with a faint metallic sound. Morning air entered gently. He held a glass of water in his left hand and drank from it slowly. The water was cool. He paused between sips as if testing whether swallowing itself hurt. The sky was still transitioning from darkness to light. The vultures in the distance were barely visible now. The snakes near the ground moved quietly. Set stood there for several seconds, looking outward but not truly seeing anything. Then he went ahead to freshen up.

  The water running in the washroom echoed slightly against the walls. The sound blended with the distant cawing of crows outside. After some time, he returned to his room. He sat down quietly at the corner of the bed, his legs facing the floor. His posture bent forward slightly. His head hung down as he stared at the clean tiles beneath him. The tiles were clean.But the mind wasn’t.

  His skin had taken on a yellowish tone. There were dark circles around his eyes not from one night, but from repeated unrest. His lips were slightly dry.

  He began speaking softly, almost as if confessing to the empty room.

  “It all began just a week ago, and life’s been hell ever since then. First, it was only the finger that was burned… then the full arm. It took my endurance as I began getting short of breath. I began suffocating. Constant headaches all the time. Weird sounds messing with my hearing.” He closed his eyes briefly.

  “Sounds that I’ve never heard before. Sounds of something burning and drilling combined at the same time. No clear vision… it’s all blurry 24/7. I see visions of myself getting surrounded by ashes and waking up from within them.” His voice grew even weaker. “I see my body having burn marks… which occurred eventually. The muscles in my body stiffened. I lost the mobility I had. The power I possessed weakened significantly.”

  He clenched his jaw slightly.

  “Now, I’m vulnerable to things I was once immune to. I can barely use my right arm. Day by day, it keeps getting worse… and there’s no stop to it.”

  Silence filled the room after his words faded. Then he stood up again. He put on a clean, light white shirt carefully. Every motion involving his right arm was restrained.

  Set placed his left hand over his right arm and began using his healing flames. In which the flames were different this time they were dark green flames appeared and intense in color but small in size. They flickered weakly compared to what they once were. They did not roar. They barely whispered. The flames wrapped around his burned arm from palm to shoulder. The skin slowly began repairing itself. The charred texture faded gradually. After nearly a minute, the arm looked healed — except for the burned ring finger, which remained damaged. He exhaled sharply.

  “Even the slightest movements hurt,” he said in a painful, broken voice. “It strikes the finger like needles stitching into it all over.” He said it in his painful and broken voice.

  Then he continued getting ready. He put on his shoes. Wore his belt. Adjusted his posture.

  Finally, he wore his navy blue blazer coat.

  As he pulled the sleeve over his right hand, something happened. The skin beneath darkened instantly.

  The entire hand , from palm to wrist became fully burned again. Once over completely.As if the healing had never happened. Set saw it and smiled at the pain broken looking outside through a window. The room remained silent.

  Only the fan continued spinning above him.