Mars is quiet.
Too quiet.
The sky begins to change.
Not fast.
Not sudden.
Red fades first.
The strong red becomes soft.
Then pink spreads like a wound under skin.
After that, dull purple rises from the horizon.
It looks tired.
Old.
Ash-like clouds move across the sky.
They do not follow the wind.
They move the wrong way.
Slow.
Heavy.
The air feels thick.
Breathing feels harder.
Not painful.
Just wrong.
The wind blows, but it is weak.
It does not rush.
It crawls.
Like it is scared to move.
Deep inside the ground, something stirs.
No explosion.
No sound.
Only a low vibration.
Slow.
Long.
Like the planet is breathing.
In.
Out.
In the market, people stop walking.
A fruit seller reaches for an apple.
Before his hand touches it, the apple falls.
Then another.
Then many.
Fruits roll across the ground.
No one bends to pick them up.
Coins shake in open bowls.
Cloth tents tremble like they are cold.
A woman holds her child close.
The child is not crying.
The child is staring at the sky.
Birds fly above the market.
Suddenly, they stop.
Mid-air.
Wings frozen.
Eyes wide.
Then they fall.
Straight down.
Like stones.
Dogs begin to cry.
Not barking.
Crying.
They run under carts.
Under stairs.
Into dark corners.
In the temple, bells begin to ring.
No one touches them.
The sound is slow.
Deep.
Uneven.
People kneel without knowing why.
Hands shake.
Lips move, but no prayer comes out.
Statues cast long shadows.
Too long.
The shadows stretch across the floor.
They bend.
They twist.
They reach places they should not reach.
In the streets, people look at each other.
Strangers feel familiar.
Friends feel far away.
Someone drops a cup of water.
The water does not splash.
It trembles on the ground.
Then slowly spreads, like it is alive.
On rooftops, watchers feel pressure in their heads.
Not pain.
Weight.
As if the sky is pressing down.
The vibration grows stronger.
Still silent.
Still deep.
People place hands on their chests.
They feel it there too.
Heartbeats change rhythm.
Slow.
Then slower.
A whisper moves through the city.
No voice.
No mouth.
Just a feeling.
People begin to speak.
Together.
Without looking at each other.
"Era…"
The word slips out softly.
"Era…"
No one knows why they say it.
"My Era…"
Fear spreads, but it has no shape.
"Save us…"
Children repeat it.
Old men repeat it.
Even those who cannot speak, whisper it inside.
The chant grows louder.
Not shouted.
Pulled out of them.
"Era… Era… My Era… Save us…"
The sky listens.
The sky gives no answer.
No thunder.
No light.
Only silence.
Then it comes.
A pressure wave moves through the city.
Not sound.
Not wind.
Something deeper.
It passes through walls.
Through skin.
Through bone.
People fall to their knees.
Some collapse.
Some hold their heads.
The planet exhales.
Mars feels it.
And it remembers.