Nantigar, Kelun's Story - 1
To Kelun, that day had started out perfectly ordinary. His father had a huge fight with his mother, and that very day, she left the house. Kelun peeked into the room and saw his father looking heartbroken, but when their eyes met, his father put on a brave face and spoke to him cheerfully, as if nothing had happened. And so, they simply took a walk through the streets after a long time apart. They decided to pop into a shop that caught their eye and enjoy a tasty lunch. But before long, the city crumbled right before their eyes.
Screams echoed in place of alarms, and the streets burst into flames. The billboards on the streets, their broadcasts cut off, stood silent. The Dists, now out of control, began attacking people. Kelun clutched his father's hand and ran until his lungs burned. They jumped into the car and fled the chaotic city. Kelun hung his head low, praying desperately that this was all just a dream. Before he knew it, the car was speeding onward without end. His father drove relentlessly toward the outskirts.
"Kelun, don't worry. Remember, Dad built the Nantigar barrier back in the day. We'll head there."
The words 'What about Mom?' swirled in Kelun's mouth, but he swallowed them down. His father's face looked a little sad. Even at that young age, Kelun was the kind of child who hated burdening his father. He fell asleep in the car, woke to the car still racing on. It might have seemed aimless, but his father was driving toward a clear goal. No one could judge safe zones faster than he could. Kelun couldn't understand it then, but that first barrier—built with exorbitant labor costs that drew every construction firm—had always puzzled even its creator. And now, with six barriers standing and this catastrophe unfolding, he couldn't help but wonder if it had all been some prophecy. A ridiculous thought.
It was quite a distance, but Nantigar wasn't much of a city anyway. An underdeveloped backwater with poor transport links. He'd driven there many times before, so even with all satellites dead, he didn't get lost. He thanked whatever god had granted him that experience. The highway to Nantigar seemed to have escaped the Dist threat for now. Then Kelun spotted a couple ahead, waving and gesturing frantically.
"Dad, shouldn't we help them?"
His father hesitated, then clamped his lips shut and floored the accelerator. Vroom! The pair, trying to block the road, scrambled aside as the car sped up. Kelun's mouth fell open in shock at his father, but then—
Bang! Bang! Gunshots rang out from behind, and a horrific crack shattered the rear window.
"Kelun, don't look back."
His father finally spoke only after driving a long stretch, as if making excuses. "You can't trust anyone anymore. Don't help strangers recklessly. I don't know what the barrier cities are like... but until we get there..."
His beard had grown thick and unkempt, but he still smiled at Kelun without fail. Small villages seemingly free of Dists showed burned houses and ruined shops visible even from afar. His father focused on quick refuels and grabbing food. One day, Kelun spotted the old pistol in his father's hand as they drove and was startled, but he pretended not to notice. A remarkably mature boy for his age. His father was simply grateful. Even in this mess, Kelun cooperated fully, always mindful not to tire his dad. Their sudden journey lasted a full three days before it ended.
They arrived at the Nantigar barrier as darkness fell. What greeted Kelun and his father were abandoned military trucks and armored vehicles—the remnants of an army. With fuel running critically short despite the equipment's numbers, faulty gear had been dumped outside the barrier to serve as barricades. Towering walls rose dizzyingly high like castle battlements. At the center path stood a massive gate, flung wide open.
His father pulled over a short distance away, gripped his pistol tightly, and shoved Kelun behind him. "If there are soldiers here, that means some level of control."
"Yeah."
"Stay behind Dad. If anything happens, you run."
He drew his pistol with a grave expression and added, "Even if it means leaving me behind."
His father spoke with resolute conviction, and Kelun hesitated before nodding. Only then did his father flash a grin and ruffle his hair. But Kelun had no intention of running. His father was all he had left. Over those three days, his father's back had seemed broader than ever—like a hero from an old movie.
'Nothing bad will happen.' Kelun chanted the words to himself like a spell as he followed close.
As they neared the barrier, well-equipped soldiers approached slowly. "Refugees? You've been through hell."
His father still clutched the pistol. The soldier, fully aware of the chaos beyond, betrayed a flicker of tension but spoke reassuringly. "The barrier is safe. Everything's under control."
"Hey, why aren't you out rescuing civilians? I didn't see a single soldier heading into the city on my way here. The people meant to protect us fled first?"
Kelun's mind raced at his father's words. They'd passed through hellish scenes the whole way, but he'd never spotted any troops from their country.
"No, our unit just isn't deployed directly. Other forces are still active."
Some soldiers hung their heads in silence. Kelun's father fell quiet. Lies. This country's rotten to the core. That's why it ended up like this. The bitter thought left him hollow, and he shoved the pistol into his pocket. Only then did the soldiers escort them inside.
It took Kelun and his father days to learn this disaster wasn't confined to their nation. Even the world's strongest power had collapsed faster due to its advanced tech. Ironically, their vast stockpiles of outdated gear now played a crucial role. Though the nation had fallen, their combat forces and equipment made them a real power among surviving militaries. But Nantigar was different. A weak nation from the start, the experimental first barrier. Troops were stationed there, but the city inside remained uncontrolled. Unlike other barriers, no provisional coalition of surviving forces had intervened early.
Mikhail Chernenko, who had commanded the strongest nation's army, was already renowned as provisional supreme commander. He efficiently reorganized forces across barriers and built cooperative systems. But Nantigar was low priority—its surviving old powers uncooperative with the provisional military. Officials from the ruined nation strutted about, prioritizing their interests. And the fatal flaw: unlike other barriers, many buildings inside were private property. City districts remained in civilian hands, leaving even officials unable to control the interior. People fended for themselves, rendering the provisional government useless.
Kelun's father chuckled wryly at the chaos. "Not everything's better just because it's first."
"Then why did people oppose building the barrier?"
"They ignored public opinion when erecting it. Handed out peanuts in compensation and built anyway. So even though the barrier saved them, plenty still resent it."
Nantigar's residents harbored mixed feelings from the barrier's controversial start. With refugees now flooding in—something no one foresaw—the confusion dragged on. Nantigar was just a wall, lacking the systems of a true barrier city.
Fortunately, the locals were friendly to refugees. With government collapsed, networks down, and currency worthless, people hilariously turned to mutual aid. Human resources mattered most in this interim. Thanks to their kindness, Kelun and his father secured an inn room and settled in. The distant nuclear plant still hummed, providing power despite severed networks. TVs and computers worked. Broadcasts were limited to two channels: provisional military programming and looped old media. No new shows. But early reports of coalitions forming between barriers brought daily updates—and subtle entertainment.
Then, proxies appeared. Beings beyond human limits. Drone footage showed black-uniformed figures moving with blinding speed, smashing Dists with raw power. Skeptics dismissed it as fake, but sightings in Nantigar and eyewitness accounts from joint ops spread real hope inside the walls.
One evening, Kelun stepped out of the inn and lingered at the plaza where locals gathered, waiting for Dad. He overheard young men chatting during a break.
"You see that video? Man, I still can't believe it. Aren't they awesome?"
"Totally. That provisional commander guy... Chernenko? Like a hero with that greatsword. For real?"
"Without them, humanity's done. They're holding the front lines outside."
"Guess it's not the end after all. I like Shtafenberk more than Chernenko, though. Saw him solo a Dist horde?"
The excited talk stretched on, names Kelun recognized making his heart race. He began idolizing proxies, especially Mikhail Chernenko. Powerful, fearless, builder of the management bureau—the epitome of a boy's heroic dream.
"What're you doing here, Kelun?"
"Just... um... Dad, can I become a proxy too?"
Kelun saw his father as a hero, but he wanted to be one himself. Dad smiled warmly, ruffling his hair. "Who knows? Our boy's smart and kind—maybe he could."
Uncharacteristically childlike words from Kelun seemed to lift his father's spirits.