If there had been people here, they might have rushed in all at once.
But no refugees ever reached the end of the highway. The flow of evacuees had already spilled down to the surface from the interchange before it, and it was clear at a glance that the expressway itself was severed midway. No one would come this far.
Messiah and the other people of the present age descended the rope in an awkward way, curling their bodies like inchworms as they clung to it.
By contrast, the soldiers from the future slid down swiftly, landing on the ground with practiced ease, weapons raised as they immediately began securing the perimeter.
“So, future people don’t know how to get down safely, huh?”
Illart Gahanov muttered sarcastically as he reached the ground first.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just come down together at the interchange?”
“The outcome was already understood. Please think of it as a deliberate choice.”
The priest pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he replied.
Then, carried by the scorching summer wind, a hideous dying scream reached their ears. Illart froze, as did the young people clumped together on the rope like pill bugs. The voice—high, almost boyish—came from the direction of the interchange Illart had mentioned.
The sound was like fingernails scraping against a wall.
Maria Priy, who had just landed, turned pale.
“Father…”
So many words piled up in her small chest. Yet she was afraid to ask. If she heard the answer, she felt her father might truly stop being her father.
The priest met her tear-filled gaze, gently tapped her head twice, then removed the cylinder from his gun and began loading it with bullets.
By the time everyone had reached the ground, the sun had set, and darkness wrapped the rubble.
“We’re behind schedule. We need to move quickly.”
A young soldier checked the remaining rounds in his magazine as he spoke to his superior. Max Dinger pulled an old flip phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and checked the time before nodding lightly and glancing at the group.
Each of them looked as though the events of the day were a waking nightmare, their exhaustion casting shadows deeper than the surrounding darkness.
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“There’s a place we can rest two kilometers ahead. We’ll run there and wait for morning.”
The young soldier stared at his commander in disbelief.
Ignoring him, the priest urged the young people forward, boots kicking up dust and fragments of asphalt as they ran across the ruined road.
“Why the hell do I have to go through this…”
Illart Gahanov complained almost as soon as they started running, dragging his body forward sluggishly.
This morning had been just like any other—truly ordinary. He had been heading to university, as usual. He went almost every day, spending time with upperclassmen and underclassmen alike. Gifted at sports since childhood, he rarely lost at anything physical and was often called in as a substitute for various teams.
He currently lived with his older sister. Their parents were said to be living in Italy. Originally from Russia, the siblings had moved to Italy and later entered university in this city, where they began living together.
That morning, as always, his sister had dragged him out of bed. They took the subway together. Then came the tremor. The train derailed. Somehow, they escaped with the other passengers and fled to that station.
How could he not resent the reality he’d been dragged into?
“Stop whining and run properly,” his sister snapped.
“If you want to live, running is the only option.”
Siblings, no matter the era or place, always seemed to be opposites. These two were no exception. The sister excelled at everything she did and naturally took the lead in conversations, standing at the center of any group.
Her younger brother, on the other hand, was athletic but struggled academically. His attitude toward others was rough, often earning him criticism. His childish remarks frequently caused confusion or stalled things altogether.
Fan Loppen, long-legged and effortlessly composed, caught sight of the siblings at the edge of his vision. Same as always, he thought, choosing to remain silent.
Messiah had met this tall, long-faced young man on a rainy afternoon shortly after entering university. Caught in a sudden downpour and unsure what to do, Messiah had been approached by Fan, who said cheerfully that walking in the rain could be fun—and proceeded onward without an umbrella.
That peculiar persuasiveness worked then as well. Before he knew it, Messiah was stepping into the rain beside him.
The outcome was pitiful. Both of them caught colds. Worse still, they ended up sitting side by side on a waiting room bench at the same general hospital. That was how their friendship began.
The group ran across the exposed earth of the ring road until the priest suddenly stopped. Everyone halted with him.
Hands on their knees, they struggled to slow their pounding hearts with deep breaths.
“This building won’t collapse tonight. We’ll rest here.”
Following the priest’s gaze, the young people saw an apartment complex barely standing—its exterior cracked like a spiderweb, leaning like an old man propped up by a cane.
We’re spending the night in a place like this?
Messiah muttered under his breath.
But the priest showed no hesitation, striding straight inside.
“Do you think it’ll still be standing by morning?”
Messiah asked, glancing at Maria as he held her hand.
“If we’re together,” Maria smiled softly,
“even being buried alive doesn’t sound so bad.”
The two clasped hands tightly and stepped into the dust-filled apartment building, through the shattered remains of its automatic doors.
To be continued in Episode 1-11
An endless myth—without an ending, without completion—a story that continues to branch and evolve.
Those who encounter it become observers, and whether you choose to watch or turn away, the idea of this story will continue to expand.
