The wood creaks as I push the door open, and an icy gust rushes into the cabin. The dry air bites into my lungs like needles. I pull my old wolf pelt over my shoulders, still reeking faintly of the beast even after all these years, and breathe in deeply the mingled scent of resin and ashes. It's the only smell that reminds me we're still alive.
The forest stretches before me, black and white all at once, its gaunt trunks standing like lances. It looks like a graveyard on its feet.
"Da…ddy?"
The small voice pulls me back. It grates, falters, clings like a dead branch in the wind. I turn at once. In the shadows, my son lifts his eyes to me, still too large for his thin face. His fingers clutch a chipped wooden cup filled with murky water he must have fetched himself, bucket by the frozen stream. His cheeks are hollow, his lips cracked, and yet his eyes shine like those of a child waiting for praise.
He staggers slightly as he comes closer, knees stiff. His lips move before he has even found the words.
"Da…ddy… look! Taka… not spill!"
I crouch to his height and take the time to place my hand on his trembling wrist.
"Drink slowly, Taka. Not in one gulp."
He nods too quickly, as if eager to obey before even understanding. He repeats in a half-whisper:
"Slowly… slowly… not in one gulp…"
Then he raises the cup to his lips. His hand shakes, but not a drop falls. He sips in small gulps, with the stubborn concentration of a child learning to walk. When he sets the cup down, his eyes search mine, hungry for approval. I force a smile, and he beams back, blissful, as if that smile were a treasure.
Good boy. Too serious for his age. Forced to grow too fast. And yet… so fragile. At times, it feels like he's trapped at ten years old, caught in a broken memory where each word must be repeated to exist.
I sit by the dying fire in the center of the cabin. A few damp branches smolder, coughing out more smoke than warmth. The smoke stings my eyes, claws at my throat, but without it the cabin would freeze. My gaze drifts into the flames, and despite myself, I think of her.
Meya.
Her name alone is a blade. Her breath had gone out in my arms twenty years ago, as the sky split in two and the world began to scream. The blinding light, the cries, the waves of energy tearing through the air… then silence. Her skin had already taken on that otherworldly pallor when the System announced itself to us. Since then, I've only heard her voice in dreams.
I sweep the memory aside with the back of my hand. Not now. If I let myself drown, I won't stop.
"Daddy… I'm hungry…"
The whisper drags me from my thoughts. Taka has sat down again, knees to his chest, eyes lost in the smoke. His hand rubs at his hollow stomach.
"My belly makes… makes noise… like beasts…"
I sigh, ruffle his hair. His strands are coarse, greasy, matted.
"Me too, Taka. Me too."
I rummage in the leather satchel propped against the wall. My fingers close around a small cloth bag, light as a feather. Inside, a few dried roots and the heel of hardened bread. I break off the largest piece and hold it out to Taka.
"Here."
His eyes light up as though I'd handed him a royal feast. He takes the bread carefully, clutching it to his chest a moment as if it were a precious toy, then bites into it. He chews slowly, cautiously, his teeth scraping the hard crust in a sound that twists my heart. Between bites, he looks up.
"It's good… daddy! It's good!"
I nod, unable to answer otherwise.
"And you, daddy? You… you not eat?"
I look away, pick one of the tiny crumbs and chew without tasting.
"Don't worry. I already ate."
He stares at me a long time, too long. His eyes blink rapidly, as if trying to pierce my lie. Then he repeats softly, almost like a prayer:
"Daddy ate… yes… daddy ate…"
He isn't fooled. But he just echoes me. That's how he bears the truth. So I smile, for show, though my lips are dry and cracked.
When he returns to the fire, he rocks back and forth, arms wrapped around his legs, mumbling a half-forgotten nursery rhyme. Sometimes the words break apart, then knit together again.
"Wolf in the night… wolf in the night… hide Taka… hide…"
I look away. There's almost nothing left in the bag. Two days, three at best. After that… I'll have to go down to the next village again, risk the paths crawling with bandits or beasts. Again. And Taka wouldn't survive an attack. He wouldn't even know which way to run.
I drag my hand through my hair, weary. My nails snag in the thick, tangled strands. The weight of exhaustion crushes me. I've carried this burden so long I don't remember how to set it down.
I grab my old cloak hanging on a nail and fasten it around my shoulders.
"I'm going outside, Taka. Stay close to the fire, alright?"
His head jerks up, startled.
"Outside? Not… not long, right? Daddy… not long?"
I step closer, place my hands on his bony shoulders.
"Not long. Just a little while. You stay here. You guard the fire."
He nods too fast, repeating, stammering:
"Taka guards the fire… yes… fire warm… not let go…"
I push the door open, and the bite of cold grips me at once. The forest spreads silent beneath the pale starlight. My steps crunch on the hard snow, each heavier than the last. The cabin vanishes behind me, swallowed by shadow.
I circle around the cabin. My steps sink into the snow, every crack echoing in the frozen night. The air is so dry my lungs burn with each breath. My numbed fingers clutch at the threadbare wool of my cloak. Ahead, the forest keeps its silent watch, frozen like an army of specters.
The mound of stones soon takes shape. A grave. Simple, poor. Nothing more than a pile of rocks stacked with care, topped with a plank of wood where a half-faded name still fights against winter.
Meya.
I kneel, knees stabbed by frost. The cold seeps into my bones, but I lack the strength to rise. My hand slides over the top stone, rough, frozen, almost cutting.
"I've held on, Meya. Twenty years."
My voice shakes. It slips into the wind, weak, as if the world refused to hear it.
Breath escapes in mist. My eyes blur.
"I thought after you left, I couldn't go on. But… he's here. Taka."
I shut my eyes, the pain burrowing deeper.
"He's strong… in his way. He takes after you, even if the world broke him."
I see your smile again, the one I've only glimpsed in dreams. The last light in your eyes when it all fell apart. Dust, blood. Your cold body. Your voice, swallowed by silence.
I swallow hard. My throat is raw, scraped.
"You would've known what to say. Me… I lie. Every day. I pretend everything's fine. That tomorrow will be better. But tomorrow…"
The words fade. I shake my head. My hands clutch the stone, knuckles whitening.
"I'm tired, Meya. So damn tired."
The forest answers with silence. No owl, no wolf, not even a snapping branch. Just the cold and my own bones creaking. Even the world seems to hold its breath.
Still, I go on, low-voiced.
"Yet I'll endure. For him. Even if I starve. Even if I sell my soul. I'll endure."
The wind rises, sweeping snow, making branches groan. Flakes whirl, sting my cheeks, lash my skin. For a moment, I think I hear your voice, tender, in the frozen breath. A murmur almost familiar. But I know it's only a dream. A cruel snare of memory.
I stay there, kneeling, unable to move. My knees numb, my fingers blue, but I can't break the bond. Here, I still find a trace of reason.
Then my eyes snap open. Behind me, a strange light pulses through the trees. Not the moon. Not fire. Something else. A glow too bright, too steady.
The light pulses again, stronger. My eyes narrow, blinded by a brilliance that feels unnatural. It cuts through the trunks, tears the forest apart like a blade. Shadows twist, branches seem to burn.
"Da…ddy!"
Taka's voice slices the night. I turn. He bursts from the cabin, barefoot in the snow, trembling all over. His arms rise clumsily before his face, as if to ward off the radiance. His gaze is empty of understanding, filled only with raw fear.
"It burns! My eyes! Dad, it burns!"
I grab him, hold him tight. His body shudders, wracked by spasms. His hands claw at my cloak like a child scared of a thunderstorm.
"Don't look, Taka! Close your eyes!"
But the brilliance pierces my eyelids, drills into my skull. The ground trembles. Stones roll and clash, even the grave moans. Then a voice falls.
Not thunderous. Not divine. Just… clear. Calm. Inevitable.
[ Inhabitants of this world. ]
My heart tightens. Snow melts beneath my knees. Taka trembles in my arms, lips quivering.
"No light… no light… no… no…"
He repeats it, like a cracked record, as if trying to ward off what he cannot understand.
[ Twenty years have passed since the establishment of the System. Twenty years during which you were left free. No rules, no direct constraints, no intervention. You had the chance to adapt your societies, to maintain your balances, to protect your lands and your families. ]
Each word drops like a stone down a well. Each phrase like a funeral bell. I shut my eyes, but the images flood in. Burned villages. Starved bodies. Children dead in the snow. I've seen them. The voice only counts them.
[ The facts are clear. Your kingdoms divided. Your peoples slaughtered each other. Your harvests failed, your rivers were defiled, your armies ravaged your own fields. Famine set in. War became your common tongue. ]
Breath leaves me. Taka whimpers, shakes his head.
"No break… no break Taka… no break Dad…"
His fingers clutch me with desperate strength.
[ You have proven one thing: left to yourselves, you cannot maintain stability. ]
It's not said in anger. Worse. It's said as fact. A cold diagnosis. I'm suffocating. My mind seeks an escape, but there is none. Only this frozen truth.
[ The System has observed. The System has waited. But now, the time of observation is over. ]
A rumble shakes the air. Clouds part. A column of light strikes far away, straight and sharp like a celestial blade. Then another. Then another. The sky fills with scars.
[ From this moment, the System takes direct control. ]
Taka lets out a strangled cry. His forehead thumps against my chest. He rocks back and forth, chanting over and over:
"No light, no light, no light…"
I squeeze him tighter. My heart pounds, ready to burst.
[ To protect the planet. To safeguard the species. To prevent your extinction. ]
I open my eyes. The horizon burns. Each capital, each great city is marked by a white column pulsing like a cosmic beacon. The air vibrates. Snow melts around us, oozing into dark mud.
[ All rulers, without exception, are summoned. They must assemble. They must decide new common laws. ]
Assemble? All of them? Kings, priests, emperors, even elves? Impossible. Unimaginable. But the voice continues, relentless.
[ The System will provide the place. The System will provide the means. You, rulers, will provide your vows. ]
The ground trembles again. Another wave of columns falls. The sky is torn end to end. My teeth chatter. Taka cries, his tears freezing on his reddened cheeks.
"Don't erase Dad… don't erase…"
[ Those who refuse will not survive. Those who refuse will be erased. ]
The threat is not shouted. It's spoken softly. That softness freezes the blood. I feel it in my bones: this is not a promise; it's a verdict.
[ You had twenty years of freedom. That was your chance. You failed. ]
My legs give way. My whole body bows. Taka clutches me, trembling fingers digging into my tunic. His lips still repeat:
"Dad… no fail… Dad no fail…"
[ You will now have order. ]
Silence falls. Not the silence of rest. The silence after a sentence.
So I lift my head. And I see.
Not a dozen columns. Not a hundred.
Thousands.
The entire horizon is covered. Mountains, forests, plains, even the far sea, all speared by these pillars. As if the sky had nailed the planet down with stakes of light.
Taka sobs against me, spasming. His words crumble into broken sounds. My arms hold him, but I'm shaking too. Because deep down, I understand.
The world has just tipped.
I decide to head back to the cabin, to set Taka down—he can't calm himself.
As I push open the door, breath ragged, Taka curls against me, arms locked around my neck. His hot tears stick to my frozen skin.
I lay him gently on the pallet.
"Stay here, my son. Don't move."
"But Dad—"
I press a finger to his lips.
"Not a word. Close your eyes. Pretend it's just a bad dream."
He nods, cheeks trembling. I pull the worn blanket over his frail body, then turn away before he can see my hands shake.
Outside, voices rumble.
They're here—the villagers from next door.
Men, women, old folk, children wrapped in blankets too thin. Torches sway, their flames battling the spectral glow still staining the sky. Their faces are hollow from hunger, but tonight it's something else that wears them down: fear.
"Jarel!"
They call me from all sides.
A woman steps forward, eyes wild.
"The System spoke! Twenty years it was silent, and now…" Her voice breaks. "…what does it mean?"
An old man leans on his staff, hands trembling.
"It said we failed. Is this our end? Will it erase us?"
A young man, fist clenched, cuts in.
"Or maybe it's a blessing! It said it would protect the planet, the species… Maybe we'll never starve again!"
Voices cross, clash. Prayers, pleas, cries of rage.
"Chief, tell us what to do!"
"You heard it like we did!"
"The System will judge us!"
I raise a hand. Silence slowly falls, heavy with expectation.
My gaze sweeps their faces. I see the same thing in every pair of eyes: the terror of having heard a verdict.
I draw a long breath.
"What we heard… wasn't a dream. The System is back. After twenty years of silence, it takes the reins again."
A shiver ripples through the crowd.
I go on, my voice steadier than I thought:
"It has summoned the rulers. Kings, priests, lords. Not us. But…" I hesitate, then lay down the words like stones. "…once they decide, their laws will fall on us too. No one will escape."
A murmur rises.
"Then?" an old woman asks, her eyes clouded with age fixed on me. "Then what must we do?"
I close my eyes for a heartbeat. The columns of light still dance on my retinas. Thousands, everywhere, like the sky has pinned the earth in place.
I open them again.
"We wait. We stay together. We survive."
Silence lingers. Then a few heads nod. Not trust. Despair. But sometimes, believing in the chief is all that's left.
My heart beats too fast. My words burn my throat. But I stay upright, because that's what they expect. Because I can't show them that I'm afraid too.
Should I still go and take a look?