To Dust

The world ended on a Wednesday.

Not with fire or thunder or a sudden vanishing—just a quiet, almost polite collapse. The sun rose pale. The air tasted metallic. And the dust, fine as ash and soft as winter breath, drifted from the horizon like a slow-moving tide.

People called it different things: the Gray Veil, the Breath of God, the Last Storm. But to Mira, it was simply the dust—the same dust that had taken her father, her home, her entire town. Now it clung to her clothes, her hair, even the lines of her palms, as if trying to carve its name onto her skin.

She walked alone through the empty road, a faded backpack slung over one shoulder. A cracked sign bent sideways in the wind: WELCOME TO HAVEN’S EDGE. The irony made her laugh once—a short, humorless sound she barely recognized.

Haven’s Edge had been her mother’s last hope.

A safe zone, the rumors claimed.

Clean air. Clean water. Clean sky.

But now, as Mira stepped into the silent streets, she knew the truth.

Nothing was clean anymore.

The dust covered everything—cars, rooftops, swings in playgrounds that now creaked back and forth with no children to push them. Even the air shimmered with it, turning the sunlight into something muted and sickly.

Mira pulled her scarf tighter around her face and walked on.

The Last House

She stopped in front of a small blue cottage at the edge of town. Its windows were intact. The door was shut. And for a moment, she dared to believe it might be safe.

Inside, the air was still. Quiet. Dust-covered, but not choking.

She closed the door behind her and let herself breathe.

That was when she heard it—a faint tapping, like fingers on glass.

Mira froze.

The tapping came again, steady and rhythmic.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she approached the hallway. A half-open door revealed a small bedroom. Dust lay thick on the floor, except for a single trail of footprints.

Tiny footprints.

The tapping grew louder. Faster.

Mira’s breath caught as she pushed the door open fully.

A boy—no older than seven—sat cross-legged on the floor, tapping a small stone against the wooden bedpost. His eyes lifted to hers, wide, almost luminous in the dimness.

“You’re… alive,” she whispered.

The boy blinked. “You’re late.”

Her pulse stumbled. “Late?”

He nodded, pointing to a makeshift map drawn on the wall in charcoal lines and trembling circles.

“You were supposed to come before the dust got heavy. That’s what he said.”

“Who?” Mira whispered.

The boy hesitated before answering.

“The man who saved me.”

She knelt beside him. “Where is he now?”

The boy lowered the stone, his voice going flat.

“He turned to dust yesterday.”

A chill ran through her spine—colder than the wind outside.

The Choice

For the first time in days, Mira felt something like purpose.

A child. Alone. Waiting for someone—anyone—to help.

She offered him her hand.

“What’s your name?”

“Lio.”

“Okay, Lio. We can go together. There’s a place east of here—mountains, cleaner air, maybe—”

Lio shook his head.

“We can’t go east. They’re there.”

“Who?”

His answer was a whisper so soft she barely heard it.

“The ones who made the dust.”

Mira’s mouth went dry.

“So… where can we go?”

Lio pointed to the floorboard beneath his feet.

“Down.”

“What’s down?” she asked.

“Not dust.”

The board creaked as he pushed it aside, revealing a ladder descending into darkness—cold, dust-free darkness.

Mira hesitated at the edge.

The dust outside would kill them both eventually.

The world above belonged to silence, emptiness, and whatever “they” were.

But the world below?

That was still unknown.

Untouched.

A place where something might still live.

Lio tugged her sleeve gently.

“Please,” he whispered. “It’s better than up here.”

Mira looked once more at the dim house, the gray sunlight pressing against the window like a dying breath.

Then she climbed down.

Into the Dark

The ladder led deep underground, deeper than any bunker she had ever seen. The air grew cooler, cleaner. She could breathe. She could finally breathe.

At the bottom was a tunnel lit by faint blue lights embedded in the stone walls. And at the far end of the tunnel… voices.

Human voices.

Dozens of them.

Lio smiled for the first time.

“He said you’d help them,” he whispered.

Mira stared at him.

“Help them do what?”

His small fingers intertwined with hers.

“Start over.”

And as they walked into the light at the end of the tunnel—into the last living pocket of humanity—Mira realized something:

The world above might have turned to dust.

But somewhere in the dark, hope was still breathing.

And it had been waiting for her.