Ink & Shadows: The Words of Osiris j Reapor

Humanity lasted one week.

Seven days from the first global alert to the last flicker of broadcast. Seven days of collapsing hospitals, unanswered calls, planes grounded where they stood. It moved too fast for denial, too fast for hope. A virus that did not linger. It simply stopped hearts.

On the eighth day, the world was quiet.

Daniel turned off the radio when it became nothing but static. He didn’t say the words out loud. He didn’t have to.

It was just them now.

Him.
Elena.
And their three children.

They had not run. There was nowhere to run to. Instead, they stayed in their home, curtains open, letting the late winter light pour in as if that mattered.

The children did not fully understand. They knew only that no one answered the phone anymore. That there were no more voices on television. That the sky, somehow, seemed bigger.

Daniel and Elena understood enough.

They had felt the slowing begin that morning. A heaviness in their limbs. A strange, gentle fatigue beneath the surface of everything.

The virus had burned through humanity in a week.

And now, on the eighth day, it had come to finish its work.

Daniel brought down the old box set from the shelf — the extended editions of The Lord of the Rings. The children cheered softly, grateful for something familiar.

“If this is our last movie night,” Daniel said, managing a small smile, “we’re doing it right.”

Elena squeezed his hand.

They built a nest of blankets on the living room floor. Popcorn, though none of them were very hungry. The curtains left open so the fading afternoon light could mingle with the glow of the television.

The music of the Shire filled the house.

For a little while, it almost felt like before.

Noah curled immediately against Daniel’s side, small arms wrapping around his father’s waist. Grace tucked herself against his other shoulder, her head resting just beneath his chin. Daniel pulled them both close, breathing in the scent of their hair, memorizing it.

On the other side of the room, little Samuel climbed into Elena’s lap. She wrapped both arms around him and held him as if the world might steal him away.

Halfway through The Return of the King, the house grew very still.

Outside, no cars passed. No dogs barked. No airplanes crossed the sky.

Frodo struggled up the slope of Mount Doom.

Daniel felt Noah’s breathing slow first. Not strained. Not frightened. Just softer. Like the rhythm of someone drifting into a deep, perfect sleep.

Grace shifted once, snuggling closer. Then she, too, grew quiet.

Daniel’s chest tightened.

“Elena,” he whispered.

She looked up, already knowing.

Samuel’s small hand had slackened against her sweater. His head rested peacefully beneath her chin, mouth slightly open the way it always did when he slept.

They didn’t rush to check. They didn’t need to.

Daniel pressed his cheek to Noah’s hair. He felt no breath against his skin.

Tears filled his eyes, but his voice stayed steady.

“They’re asleep,” he said, though the words were too small for what it meant.

Elena nodded, tears spilling freely now.

“They weren’t afraid,” she whispered.

“No.”

On the screen, Sam lifted Frodo in his arms.

Daniel swallowed hard.

“Do you remember?” Elena asked, her voice breaking.

He nodded. He could barely see the television through the blur of tears.

He spoke anyway.

“I can’t carry it for you,” he said softly, his voice trembling.

Elena finished it with him, barely above a breath.

“But I can carry you.”

Daniel leaned forward carefully, laying Noah and Grace fully against his chest, wrapping his arms around them as if they might still feel it.

Elena kissed Samuel’s forehead, then rested her own against his.

“They were so loved,” she said.

“They still are.”

The movie continued to play to an audience that no longer breathed.

Elena’s tears slowed. Her eyelids fluttered once.

Daniel reached across the space between them and took her hand. Their fingers intertwined over the blankets, over the stillness.

“I’m glad it was you,” she said.

“At the end of all things.”

His voice cracked, but he meant every word.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Her grip loosened gradually, not slipping away but relaxing, as if she had simply grown tired after a long day.

Daniel felt her breathing slow.

He held her hand tighter.

“Rest, love.” he whispered.

Elena exhaled softly and did not inhale again.

Daniel held back a sob as the music swelled. The world outside remained utterly silent.

His own body felt heavier now. Warmer. The same gentle pull he had sensed that morning.

He leaned back fully against the couch, tightening his arms around Noah and Grace, still holding Elena’s hand.

The last thing he saw was the image of the Grey Havens — ships sailing into light.