Echoes

We breathe without thinking— a quiet rhythm shared by cities, forests, and lungs. Yet the air, once invisible in its kindness, now carries the weight of what we burn, what we build, what we forget. Dust and smoke drift like unkept promises. Nitrogen, sulfur, ozone— names too technical for what they take away.T hey enter through the nose, settle deep in the lungs, write inflammation where breath should be. Asthma becomes a language, and coughing, a form of prayer. But the harm

The well behind the school had always been shallow, but now it was dry.Mira stood over it at dawn, watching dust spiral where water used to shimmer. The bucket hit the bottom with a hollow thud. She didn’t need to look to know it was empty again. In her village, every family had built tanks on their roofs, waiting for the government’s promised pipes. They never came. Rain fell twice last year, the second time for only ten minutes. “Climate shift,” her teacher called it, traci

In the endless theater of the Milky Way, stars are born, burn, and collapse. Most planets are loyal spectators—until the curtain falls, and their sun devours them whole. It is a script written billions of times over.But one world refused to follow. Its name is Halla . A forbidden planet. A survivor. Where countless orbits have ended in fire, Halla still circles its dying star— Baekdu , swollen and crimson, burning helium instead of hope. According to every law we know, Halla