Snow.
Cold. Still. Silent.
It was the kind of silence that gnawed at your ears, until you forgot what a voice sounded like.
I woke to the sound of my own breath—shallow, ragged. My body ached, stiff from years in cryosleep, but it was the emptiness that hurt most. The pod opened with a low groan, releasing a mist of frost that spiraled into the air. It was as though the world itself was frozen in time, locked in some ancient, forgotten moment.
Where am I?
The Church of Earthology's sanctum had become a tomb. Shattered glass, cracked stone, and icicles hanging like forgotten chandeliers. The place where once, prayers and incense filled the air, now was swallowed by silence.
I staggered to my feet, my legs trembling beneath the ceremonial robes. They were once white, but now, they were stained by age and frost, the emblem on my chest barely visible. A witch. That's what they called me. The last one. But there was no one left to call me anything now. Not even myself.
My mind wandered, distant, like the forgotten memories of the world. I was born to serve Earthology, to carry the souls, but somewhere along the way, everything had gone wrong. The fall of the world wasn't just the collapse of cities—it was the collapse of faith, of hope.
I wandered through the desolate halls, my footsteps echoing like whispers. The remnants of a life I couldn't remember. The scent of incense had long since faded, replaced by the biting cold of a world that had forgotten warmth. It seemed impossible, that such a place once had life, once had sound. Yet now, it was a graveyard, frozen and unmoving, much like my own heart.
And then, I saw it.
Footprints.
Human.
Still fresh, even in the biting cold.
Hope stirred within me, faint but undeniable. I wasn't the last, then. Not entirely.
I followed the tracks through the snow-covered courtyard, clutching my half-burned scripture. The ink bled into the paper, but I could still recite the words by heart:
"To carry the souls is to light the stars anew."
A crash.
The harsh sound of metal meeting metal.
I rounded a corner, and there he was.
A man, crouched next to a rusted generator, his hands covered in grease and oil. His eyes—sharp, tired, but alive—met mine like I was an intruder, and in a way, I was.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. His posture was defensive, like he expected me to attack him, or perhaps it was the exhaustion in his bones that held him in place. The air between us crackled with tension, the weight of something unspoken hanging in the silence.
He stood slowly, his hand gripping a wrench, but he didn't raise it. The smell of metal and oil lingered in the air around him. The cold didn't seem to bother him, not like it bothered me. His clothes were worn, patched together, as if he'd been living here for much longer than I had.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, his voice rough from disuse.
I hesitated. My voice felt foreign after so many years of silence.
"I… I am Fei Lin. A witch of Earthology. I've come to build the rocket."
His lips curled into a bitter smirk, and he scoffed.
"A rocket? You're insane."
I swallowed, my voice steady despite the uncertainty that crept into my heart.
"I'm not insane. I'm doing what was promised."
His eyes narrowed. There was something calculating in them, like he was weighing me—measuring my worth.
"Promises? You're late, then. The world's already ended."
I didn't flinch.
"The world doesn't end for the dead," I said quietly. "The dead need us to send them off."
The words hung in the cold air between us. He didn't respond right away, but his gaze softened—just barely. For a moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. A memory, maybe. A thought too painful to voice.
"You're still talking about the dead like they're waiting for you," he muttered, his voice distant. "You really think they're listening?"
I nodded. The uncertainty lingered in my chest, but it was the only answer I had.
"The souls are always listening. They're waiting for us to carry them."
His snort wasn't as harsh as before. It was like he was testing me, seeing if I would break.
"Well, good luck with that. You won't get far without a rocket."
I couldn't help but smile, despite the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.
"I didn't expect to build it alone."
A long silence stretched between us. The wind howled in the distance, dragging snow across the ruined courtyard. The sky overhead was a dull gray, like the very heavens had forgotten how to shine.
Finally, he spoke again.
"Name's John. And if you want a rocket, you'd better follow me. You're not going to find anything in this wreckage unless you know where to look."
I hesitated.
"You'll help?"
"Help?" He looked at me, his expression hardening. "You don't need help. You're going to need to survive out here, witch. Whether you like it or not."
I took a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs for the first time in so long. The frozen wasteland stretched out before me, but there was a flicker of hope now—a path forward. I wasn't alone, not entirely.
"Then I'll survive. With or without your help."
He gave a brief nod, then turned, leading the way.
The journey through the ruined city was long and painful. The buildings that once held life were now just decaying skeletons. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flicker of movement in the corner of my eye. The snow had swallowed everything, and only the faintest echoes of the past remained. Even the sky above us seemed tired. It was grey, unbroken, like it had forgotten what blue looked like.
We passed the remnants of old factories and market stalls, their structures crushed under the weight of years and neglect. Once, people had walked these streets, lived here, laughed here. Now, there was only silence.
As we approached a pile of rusted metal and discarded machinery, I could see the remnants of something that had once been a dream.
A rocket. Part of one, anyway.
John led me toward it, his eyes focused.
"This is where we start," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "This is what's left."
I knelt beside him, my fingers brushing against the cold metal. It was rough, battered, but it was something. It was a start. It would have to be. There was no time to wait for something better.
"It's not much," John said, as if reading my thoughts. "But it's enough to begin."
I nodded. The weight of my promise hung heavy in the air, but it felt different now—more real. The journey wouldn't be easy, but I would see it through. I had to.
I could hear the wind howling in the distance, but it was drowned out by the beating of my own heart. There was a chance. A flicker of hope.
And that was all we needed.