CHAPTER 2

—

The smell of metal overpowered the foggy air, with each hot breath leaving a trail of cold air behind it. Visible streams of vapor dissipated in the dark void.

Argh… At the end of this extended dimness—an ethereal space like a fleeting dream—a sudden shock, brought on by an intense urge, jolted my consciousness into focus.

My head was bowed, facing the black headliner as I felt a sudden urge—wanting nothing more than for my brain to burst in two and release all my pent-up energy.

A wave of nausea and warmth washed over me. I struggled to stay upright though the metallic smell of iron made me feel sick to my stomach and a throbbing pain shot through my gut; feeling a pulsing ache in my core.

My limbs were numb and immobile; it was as though part of me was disconnected from reality. But I couldn't feel any pain, just confusion at why my body wasn't responding to the sensations like before—it almost felt like a dream.

After spending what felt like forever fighting against the restraints, I finally managed to loosen the straps enough for me to move.

Realizing standing wasn't going to work, I crawled out of the car through the broken window with plans to call for help.

Slowly, slowly… I crept through the shards of broken glass and flakes of dried snow on the frozen ground. My arms bled, creating scarlet-red tracks.

By the time I made it out from underneath the vehicle, my legs were completely frozen from all the crawling.

Going outside the car would almost certainly result in death from hyperventilation or freezing.

But—if I could call out for help, I might be able to save everyone.

It was wishful thought.

After a while, I lost the ability to move—my body gave out since I couldn't muster the strength to move again, so I rolled onto my back.

The severe cold forced deep breaths out, heavier by the second, as blood streamed out, coating my pathways like a painted canvas.

"H-help...! H-help…!! H-help…! H-help…! Hah… H-e—", I leaned back and yelled with all my strength. My throat was burning, as I had inhaled the snow that filled the air.

"Help…!" I screamed in desperation as my voice echoed through the empty night.

But no one came to my aid.

The silence only amplified my feeling of isolation and despair.

Why isn't anyone out at this hour? I thought.

Nobody would find us until morning, and by then we were all going to be dead.

"—He-he… He-h… Ha… Ha-ha… Hahahahahahaha!!"

The sinister laughter shattered the silence, a chilling discordance that jarred with the situation. The sky seemed to taunt me, starlit and indifferent, as I realized that the haunting laughter was mine, contorting my face into a grotesque mask of amusement.

Why was I laughing? A paradox of awe and dread gripped me, as I faced the grim truth that perhaps this was the only resolution.

Inescapable fate—everyone's demise was carved in inevitability. The creeping laughter underscored the finality of it all, a cascade of emotions culminating in grim acceptance.

Why was I laughing? A strange combination of awe and dread bubbled up inside me. I had the sudden realization that this was probably for the best.

Everyone going to die

I’m going to die here alone.

Everything will end

*crack. A loud crack echoed from the snow. I looked down and saw a large fissure cutting through the ice beneath my feet.

Before I could do anything, the cracking began to spread around me—I was standing on top of a frozen lake.

The ice collapsed beneath me, trapping me in its icy depths as it was too weak to support my weight.

Desperately, I reached for air with one arm while trying to swim upwards with the other.

My limbs were becoming numb from the cold as I felt my strength ebbing away.

The bubbles escaping my lungs floated up towards the surface like tiny beacons of hope.

In the heart of the frozen abyss, my consciousness dimmed, a struggle against the inevitable. The dream waned, leaving me suspended in a void of uncertainty.

3

On the surface of the pristine white marble, the white cat sat, its tail draped like a snowflake over its paws, its demeanor one of watchful poise.

My mind wrestled with the nature of what I had just shared, wondering if it had been mere fiction or a dream laden with ambiguity.

It felt as if I were grappling with the very essence of existence, thrust into an unforeseen crisis of meaning. The cat's eyes lazily opened and closed, before it deliberately shifted its gaze towards the white bookshelf.

Perhaps it sensed the disarray within me and sought to divert my attention from the chasm of uncertainty. Swiftly, it bounded from the floor to the bookshelf, displaying a mesmerizing acrobatic feat as it contorted its path through the air—a display that left me astounded.

But it was the cat's response to my musings that truly left an impression. It might have been content with my answer or anticipated something different—disentangling its intent from its words proved elusive.

I ventured to clarify, "Why did you ask?"

The cat's reply was enigmatic, its words cryptically cautionary. "You might be better off not probing that question."

Perplexed, I raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the unexpected response. I had posed the question for a reason, making the cat's answer all the more puzzling.

—

Before the conversation could unfold further, a familiar voice sliced through the air, breaking our exchange. "Blur! What are you up to? Everyone's waiting."

"Just give me a moment," I responded, selecting a book from the shelf and scrutinizing the title—a task I had intended to complete before the cat's peculiar dialogue.

Satisfied that it was the very book I sought, I searched the room for the feline conversationalist, only to find it had vanished. It seemed the cat had passed the proverbial baton to someone else.

Tucking the book under my arm, I maneuvered through the labyrinthine shelves, arriving at the entrance where the voice had originated.

There stood a girl with wavy white hair and piercing blue eyes. A garland of flowers crowned her head, a tiara-like arrangement atop her white two-piece ensemble—short-sleeved shirt paired with matching shorts.

A sheepish smile crossed her face as she waved, exuding an innocence befitting her age. We were peers, sharing the same youthful juncture, yet our physicality exhibited minimal divergence.

"Apologies for the wait, Aria," I offered, glossing over her flower-adorned appearance.

Curious about my book, Aria leaned over and caught sight of the title, reciting it aloud, "Cake Recipes." She looked up, puzzled. "What's cake?"

I provided a succinct explanation, delving into the concept. "It's a kind of sweet dish, something from a bygone civilization. And traditionally, it's served on special occasions like this."

Her face lit up with delight, seized by the singular word that resonated—'sweet.'

Aria's understanding seemed to revolve solely around the allure of sugar.

"You'll have to wait a bit for that sweetness, Aria," I cautioned, redirecting the conversation. With that, we strolled away from the library, stepping into the expanse of the white hallway.