The city was a battlefield, a landscape of decaying hope and twisted ambitions. But beneath the storm clouds and the choking smog, something wild and pure still burned within Elian and the others.
Freedom.
It was a concept so fragile, so elusive, that every step toward it felt like a risk. A promise, like a mirage, always fading just when they thought they could reach it.
But they couldn't stop. They wouldn't.
The narrow streets of the city twisted like a maze, forcing them to take sharp turns and duck into alleyways. The sound of distant footsteps and echoes of voices were the only things that filled the suffocating silence.
---
It was Maren who saw it first.
She stopped suddenly, her breath catching in her throat.
"Elian," she whispered urgently, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Look."
He turned to follow her gaze.
At the end of the alley, half-hidden beneath a crumbling building, was a figure. A man. Dressed in ragged clothes, his back hunched over as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Elian's heart skipped a beat.
"Is it—?"
"Yes," Maren cut him off, a cold dread washing over her.
The man looked up, his face gaunt and hollow, but it was unmistakable.
It was an older version of the man who had given them the first clue about the safehouse. The one whose death had haunted them for weeks.
He had been part of the Resistance.
Had he somehow survived? Had he been left behind, or was this some twisted message?
Elian took a step forward, cautiously.
"Who are you?" he demanded, voice steady despite the shiver crawling down his spine.
The man didn't respond right away. Instead, his eyes drifted to the cracked streets beneath him, as though weighed down by an unbearable memory.
Then, in a raspy voice, he whispered, "The world is ending. And so are you."
---
The words hung heavy in the air, cold and final.
Elian's pulse quickened. "What are you talking about?" he asked, though a part of him already knew the answer.
"The Resistance—" the man rasped again, shaking his head. "They... they failed. Everyone failed. There's no more safehouse. No more hope."
Maren stepped forward, her hand trembling as she gripped Elian's arm. "No... you're wrong. The message said—"
"The message is a lie," the man interrupted, his voice sharp. "A trap. They're all dead. I was the last one to escape... but it was too late. They killed us all. There's nothing left for you."
Elian felt his throat tighten, his heart sinking into his stomach.
The last shred of hope they had clung to was nothing more than dust in the wind.
---
Sora turned sharply, her face pale with shock. "How could they... how could they leave us like this?"
Jonah, still clutching his makeshift crutch, turned his angry gaze toward the man. "What do you want from us, then?" he spat, frustration and anger boiling over. "To watch us die, too?"
The man's eyes softened for a moment, but there was no kindness in them—only resignation.
"I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this," he muttered. "But there's nothing left to save you. Not even me."
With that, he stumbled away, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared.
---
Silence fell heavily around them, thicker than the dust in the air. The weight of the man's words echoed in Elian's mind, refusing to fade. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to push the feeling of defeat away.
But it stuck, like a bitter taste in his mouth.
Maren stepped closer, her voice soft but filled with a kind of strength that made Elian pause. "We can't give up," she said, looking up at him with eyes that had once been full of hope, but now held something deeper. "We can't stop now."
Elian took a deep breath. "I know. I know we can't."
---
But as the day wore on, their steps grew slower, more labored. The streets seemed to stretch endlessly before them, and even the shadows felt hostile.
Sora said nothing. She hadn't spoken much since the man had vanished into the darkness, and her silence was like a heavy fog, suffocating them all.
Jonah, on the other hand, couldn't hide his frustration. "We're wasting time," he muttered, his voice sharp with irritation. "We should've gone faster. We should've just—"
"Stop," Elian interrupted, his tone suddenly firm. "You don't get to talk like that. We're doing the best we can."
Jonah stared at him, a dangerous spark of defiance in his eyes. For a moment, it seemed like they might clash—two people on the edge, desperate and broken.
But then, without another word, Jonah turned and walked ahead.
The tension was suffocating.
---
They reached the outskirts of Sector Seven by the time nightfall came, the skyline silhouetted against the dull glow of distant fires. The city seemed to exhale a heavy sigh, as if preparing for the inevitable.
Maren paused, her face pale and drawn.
"Elian..." she started, but trailed off, unsure how to say what had been on her mind since the moment they had learned the truth.
He looked at her, waiting.
"We need to talk," she said quietly. "About what happens next."
Elian's heart raced. He already knew what she was going to say. They all felt it. The crack in their fragile unity. The moment when hope had slipped through their fingers.
He nodded slowly. "What do you think we should do?"
Maren hesitated before answering. "Maybe it's time we faced the truth. The Resistance is gone. The safehouse... it's not going to save us. We need to decide: do we keep going... or do we stop before it's too late?"
---
Elian stood still for a long time, watching the city burn in the distance. The flames reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, he wondered if it would ever end. If this was the final chapter of their story.
He glanced at the others. Sora, Jonah, and Maren. They were all exhausted, but their eyes still burned with that same spark of defiance.
"Keep going," he said, his voice steady.
"Why?" Maren asked, her voice thick with disbelief. "Why keep fighting when everything is falling apart?"
"Because we're still alive," Elian answered simply. "And as long as we're alive, there's a chance. There's always a chance."
And so, despite everything — despite the lies, the betrayals, the shattered hopes — they kept moving forward.
One step at a time.
Towards the unknown.
Towards what awaited them.
---