The next day drifted by in its usual haze of pink fog and floating bats, but Zera couldn't stop thinking about the humans. Every time she blinked, she imagined them — warm skin, quick voices, hearts that actually beat. The mystery gnawed at her mind like a worm in her thoughts, and no matter how hard she tried to focus on her lessons or her friends' gossip, she couldn't shake it off.
When the school bell finally rang, she didn't head home as usual. Instead, she took the tram that wound through Necrovia's quiet countryside — heading toward the outskirts where her grandparents lived.
The ride was long but peaceful. The glass dome above the tram shimmered with light from the twin moons, and the distant hills were dotted with glowing gravestones and skeletal trees that hummed with life energy. The world of the undead wasn't grim; it was strangely beautiful.
When the tram stopped at the small town of Gravemoor Hollow, Zera hopped off and walked down a stone path lined with ghost lanterns. Her grandparents' house stood at the top of a hill — a cozy little cottage patched together from bones and pastel bricks, surrounded by glowing blue roses.
She knocked on the door twice, and a familiar creak followed as it opened.
"Zera?" came her grandmother's voice, raspy but gentle. The old zombie woman blinked her one good eye in surprise. "Goodness, child! You didn't tell us you were coming!"
Zera smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Grandma. I just… needed to talk."
From the living room, her grandfather's deep, gravelly voice boomed. "If it isn't my favorite granddaughter! Come in before your limbs fall off from the cold!"
Zera stepped inside, warmth and nostalgia washing over her. The house smelled faintly of herbal oil and roasted bat wings. Her grandfather sat in his rocking chair by the fireplace, his stitched-up hands holding an old newspaper. His eyes glowed a dim green — the color of age and wisdom.
"So, little Z," he said, motioning for her to sit. "What brings you all the way here without notice? Don't tell me you ran away from home again to avoid piano lessons."
Zera laughed softly. "No, Grandpa. I just… had some questions."
Her grandmother brought her a cup of blood orange tea and sat beside her, curious. "Questions? About what, dear?"
Zera fidgeted with her cup, eyes flickering toward the fire. "About… humans."
The room went still. Even the fire seemed to quiet down.
Her grandfather lowered his newspaper slowly. "Humans, you say?"
Zera nodded. "We learned about them at school yesterday. The teacher said they were dangerous — that they killed thousands of zombies. But… is that really true?"
Her grandfather leaned back in his chair, letting out a long sigh that rattled his ribs. "So they've started teaching you that version, eh? Hmph. History never tells the whole story."
"What do you mean?" Zera asked, leaning forward.
He stared into the fire for a long moment before answering. "It's true that humans were dangerous — but not always in the way your teacher said. They were creatures of thought and chaos. Brilliant minds with fragile hearts. They built wonders that could touch the sky, but their pride destroyed them."
Zera's grandmother placed a hand on his arm gently, as if to steady him.
Her grandfather's glowing eyes turned toward Zera. "You asked if they were dangerous. Yes, they were. But not because they wanted to destroy us — because they couldn't stop destroying themselves."
Zera blinked, confused. "What happened to them, Grandpa?"
He sighed again, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The humans went extinct."
Her breath caught. "Extinct? You mean… all of them?"
"Yes," he said gravely. "A long, long time ago. Before your parents were even born. They waged what they called a nuclear war. A war so massive that it tore their world apart. Cities burned to ash. Oceans boiled. Skies turned black. Not even their smartest survived the fire they unleashed."
Zera's tea cup trembled in her hands. "That's… horrible."
"It was," her grandmother murmured softly. "They destroyed everything they built. It was the end of their age — the Age of Man. When it was over, only the other races remained. The elves, goblins, ogres, merfolk, lizardmen, beastfolk, vampires, and our kind — the zombies."
Zera's eyes widened. "Other species?"
Her grandfather nodded slowly. "Of course. The world didn't belong only to humans. But they believed it did. When they fell, the others survived — hidden deep in mountains, forests, and oceans. After the war, we all emerged to rebuild what was left. The humans' fall became the beginning of our rise."
Zera sat back, stunned. "Then… that's why I've never met anyone who's seen a real human before."
"Exactly," said her grandmother. "Because they're gone, sweetheart. Gone for good. Their bones turned to dust, their cities swallowed by time."
"But if they're gone," Zera whispered, her mind spinning, "why do we still fear them?"
Her grandfather smiled sadly. "Because fear lingers longer than memory. And because even when a species dies, its mistakes live on."
The fire popped, sending sparks into the air. Zera stared into the flames, imagining bright lights exploding across the sky — a human-made sun that devoured everything it touched.
"So the humans destroyed their world…" she said quietly. "And we inherited the ashes."
"Yes," her grandfather said. "And that's why your father — our president — works so hard to keep peace. He doesn't want us to repeat what they did."
Zera nodded slowly. Her mind felt heavy, filled with images she had never seen but could somehow feel: cities collapsing, skies burning red, millions crying out in terror as their own creation consumed them.
Her grandmother placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Don't let the past haunt you, dear. The humans' story ended, but ours continues. The world moves on."
Zera forced a smile, though inside, her heart — or what was left of it — ached with curiosity.
When the night grew darker, she thanked her grandparents and left for home. The tram windows reflected her face in the soft glow of the moon, and for the first time, she felt truly aware of the quiet peace of her world. No wars. No fire. No fear of death.
But deep inside, a question lingered:
If humans were truly gone… why did she feel like their story wasn't over?
And as the tram passed through the mist-covered forest, Zera could swear she heard it again — faint, distant, like the echo of a heartbeat.
Alive.
Somewhere beyond the silence of the dead world.