The fire was small at first.
A red dot in the darkness.
Mumin thought it was just a light.
Then it moved.
Slowly, the fire began to grow.
The wall was heating up.
The air was heavy.
A shadow stands inside the fire.
Two eyes burning—but no sound.
Mumin keeps staring.
Then—
The fire moves forward.
Mumin runs.
He doesn't know what it is.
He doesn't know if it's real.
He just knows—he cannot get close to it.
The wall is melting.
The ceiling cracks and fire pours down.
The floor is getting soft.
He doesn't look back.
Because those who look back
get caught.
His chest is pounding.
Breath is slipping away.
Tears come to his eyes.
"I can't…" he whispers.
No superhero.
No black costume.
No power.
He is just running.
The fire doesn't call his name.
It doesn't threaten.
It just comes.
Suddenly, the wall collapses in front.
He turns left.
There is darkness.
Behind, fire.
Ahead, darkness.
He chooses the darkness.
Suddenly, the ground gives way.
He can't even realize—
he has fallen into a pit.
His body descends.
Descends.
Descends.
Around him, only black.
As he falls, he begins to cry.
"I'm not Musa… I am not…"
The fire stands above.
Falling, falling, he waves his hands—
trying to grab something.
Nothing.
Suddenly—
He jumps.
His body trembles.
Eyes open.
Dark room.
Fan spinning.
Sweaty pillow.
From afar, the adhan floats—
"Allahu Akbar…"
Mumin is panting.
He clutches his chest.
It was a dream.
Maybe.
But why does his hand still feel warm?
He slowly opens his hand—
Nothing.
Yet he is afraid.
Because the fire did not catch him today.
But he knows—
The fire does not run.