The silence was no longer unsettling; it was absolute. The children were gone from the square. The fishing boats remained, untouched, their shadows stretching long in the afternoon sun. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Ragnar stood on the pier, the wood rough beneath his feet. He scanned the village, a ghost town in broad daylight. Doors were shut, windows dark. No smoke rose from the chimneys. The only sound was the distant cry of a gull, a lonely, mournful sound.
He walked through the streets, calling out, his voice hoarse and echoing. "Hello? Is anyone there?" Only silence answered.
He reached his own house. The door was ajar, the interior dim. Kai's toy boat lay overturned on the floor. A half-eaten plate of waffles sat on the table, cold and untouched. A chill deeper than the Arctic wind settled over Ragnar.
He found a note on the kitchen table, written in his daughter's hurried hand: "Papa, they're taking us to..." The rest was smudged, illegible.
"Taking us?" Who? Where?
He stumbled back outside, his heart pounding in his chest. A truck rumbled past on the main road, its windows blacked out. Soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms sat inside, their faces grim, their eyes fixed ahead. They didn't acknowledge Ragnar's presence.
He watched them disappear down the road, leaving him alone in the silent, empty village.
The aurora would return tonight, he knew, a breathtaking display of cosmic beauty. But Ragnar would not be there to see it. He had a new destination, a desperate journey into the unknown.
He was a man alone, searching for his family in a world that had turned cold and silent. The questions burned in his mind, unanswered, terrifying.
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