RWBY: Heart of Rust
Prologue: Instruction Manual for a Bad Story (Page 1) 📖
The sky wasn't burning. The skies were. 🔥
Because there was not one sky, but a mosaic of broken realities 💔, fragments of dying worlds suspended in a sickly purple void. Black lightning ⚡, silent as death, crept between the floating islands of earth and stone, connecting the ruins of forgotten civilizations in a web of corrupt energy. The air smelled of ozone and an inevitable end.
At the epicenter of this apocalypse, upon a fragment of obsidian that was once the pinnacle of a tower, stood a man.
He was not the young man who once ran across the rooftops of a distant city. This was a man forged in war ⚔️, a veteran of a conflict that had lasted a lifetime. His name was Russet Prime, and the scars on his face told the story of every battle. A silver line crossed his right eyebrow, a memento from a duel under a broken moon 🌙💔. Old burns, like maps of dry rivers, stretched across his forearm, a testament to an unleashed power that had nearly consumed him. His clothes, an amalgam of his old brown blazer, now tattered and patched, and improvised pieces of armor, were the uniform of a survivor, not a soldier.
Before him, the cause of it all. The entity. 🌀 It had no definite form; it was a swirling vortex of shadows and negative energy, anchored by a core that shone with the devoured light of a thousand suns. Eyes that were voids of dying stars fixed on him.
Further below, on the islands of debris that surrounded them, the battle raged. His friends... no, correction. His family. ❤️
He saw Yang, her metallic arm shattered and sparking 🦾💥, using her own body as a battering ram to protect Blake, who, in turn, created shadow clones that were instantly disintegrated by tentacles of dark energy. He saw Weiss raising glyph barriers ❄️ that cracked and shattered under unimaginable pressure, while Jaune, his Aura amplified ✨, tried to reinforce their shields and heal the wounds of an exhausted Ren. He saw Nora, a whirlwind of electricity and fury, smashing her hammer 🔨 against monstrosities that defied classification, while Ruby, a scarlet blur 🌹, moved with desperate speed, searching for an opening, a weakness, anything.
And he saw her. Winter. The Winter Maiden. ❄️ Her power was a furious blizzard amidst the chaos, a storm of ice and soul that held the main horde at bay, giving them all a precious respite.
WINTER (her cry, carried by the cosmic wind): Russet, now! The ritual won't hold for much longer! ⏳
He nodded, once. He closed his eyes.
The air around him began to vibrate. A low, ominous hum filled the void, and the color seemed to drain from the world immediately around him. The nearby ruins began to crumble, not from an explosion, but as if eons of time were passing in a single second. Metal turned to dust, stone to sand. An aura of a deep, rusted red, almost black, erupted from him—not like a flame, but like a disease, a controlled entropy that devoured light.
He raised a hand, palm open towards the entity. All that energy of decay concentrated in front of him, forming an unstable sphere of pure annihilation ⚫, a small black hole that promised not just destruction, but oblivion.
His gaze met the creature's voids. His voice, when he spoke, was not a shout, but a whisper that resonated across the broken realities.
RUSSET (V.O.): I have lived as a fraud. 🎭 I have lived as a hero. I have lived as a ghost. But everything... everything has led me to this single, genuine moment. ✨
(The power reached its critical point. The sphere of energy collapsed in on itself, ready to unleash a wave that could erase a god from time. He was about to change the fate of all worlds. 🌌)
(And then, the image froze). 🧊
(The sound cut out. The apocalypse was paused). ⏸️
(The silence of the frozen apocalypse lasts for a heartbeat. Two. Then, it's shattered by the unmistakable sound of a vinyl record scratching loudly). ⏪
RUSSET (V.O., his voice losing all its epic solemnity, transforming into the tone of someone who has just seen the worst movie of his life):
Hold on. Pause. Stop the presses. Seriously? This is how we're starting? 🤦♂️
(The image on screen begins to rewind, violent and chaotic. Like an old VHS tape being eaten by the VCR, the apocalyptic scene scrolls backwards at high speed, with thick lines of distortion and a hum of white noise. We see inverted flashes of the battle, explosions contracting, screams sounding in reverse).
RUSSET (V.O., now with a tone of pure exasperation, as if arguing with an incompetent director):
No, no, no! Rewind this piece of crap! ⏪ You've skipped ahead like three hundred pages! 📖 This is the end of the book, who starts a story at the end? That's Storytelling 101. You establish the character, introduce the conflict, develop the arc... you don't just throw the reader straight into Armageddon with delusions of cheap poetry!
(The rewind accelerates. Now we see flashes of moments that haven't happened yet, blurry and out of context: a shared laugh with Yang in the rain, an intense look with Winter in a training room, a comforting hug from Ruby, a silent argument with Blake in a library, the glint of a rust-colored katana... ⚔️).
RUSSET (V.O., now addressing us, the audience, directly):
Hey. Yeah, you. 👉 The ones sitting there, comfortably, waiting for a fairy tale about a mysterious hero and pretty girls. I'm sorry to inform you that you've signed up for the wrong service. Starting with the climax is a cheap trick. It's like telling the punchline before the joke. Awful service. Two out of five stars. ⭐⭐ And I'm only giving it two because, let's admit it, the cinematography of that scene was pretty decent. I looked good. 😉
(The tape continues to rewind, passing through the fall of Atlas, the Vytal Festival, the docks of Vale, the streets of Mantle... until finally, the image slows and stops. The noise fades, replaced by the soft hum of city traffic on Earth).
RUSSET (V.O., his voice softens, becoming younger, more tired):
To understand how a guy whose biggest problem was the social media algorithm 📱 ends up trying to disintegrate an immortal queen, you have to start at the beginning. The real beginning. Before the swords, before the magic, before the five... well, six... incredibly complicated women who decided my existence was their personal problem.
(The image settles. We are looking at a modern apartment on Earth 🌍, through the reflection of a large window. A young Russet, 21 years old, is standing on the balcony, looking out at the city with a vacant expression).
RUSSET (V.O.):
It all started with a lie. 🤥
(The camera closes in on his lips as he forces a smile).
RUSSET (V.O.):
The one I told myself every morning.
(The scene changes. We now see Russet from behind, in front of a professional camera mounted on a tripod 🎥. He turns to look directly into the lens, and his tired face transforms. A bright, energetic, and completely fake smile appears on his lips).
RUSSET (to the camera, his voice full of a pre-packaged enthusiasm):
Hey everyone, Zenith here, and today we have an epic adventure...! 👋
(He stops mid-sentence. His smile falters and then drops completely, replaced by a grimace of irritation. He runs a hand over his face, frustrated).
RUSSET (muttering to himself, but his lavalier mic picks it all up):
No, wait. That's not what the script said... 📜
(He walks away from the camera, out of frame. We hear him rustling papers off-screen). 📄
RUSSET (V.O., his voice now that of the exasperated narrator again):
See? Even the beginning is wrong. The pressure, the burnout... I can't even remember my own lines anymore. One second, I have to find the right page. 📄
(The camera, still recording, stays focused on the empty space where he was. After a moment, Russet re-enters the frame, this time with an old, worn leather notebook in his hand, the same one we saw on his future self. He opens it, flipping through the pages in frustration.)
RUSSET (to no one in particular):
"Catchy tagline"... no. "Sponsor shout-outs"... nope. Ah, here it is. Page one.
(He clears his throat, ready to try again. But as he holds the notebook open 📖, the camera slowly zooms in, ignoring his face and focusing on one of the corners of the notebook.)
(There, peeking out from under a torn page, is a small sheet ripped from a storybook. It's wrinkled and worn. As the camera focuses, letters begin to materialize on the empty corner of the sheet, as if an invisible quill were writing them with heat ink.) ✒️
The letters form the words:
RWBY
(A second later, beneath it, more letters appear, these with a coppery sheen):
HEART OF RUST
(As soon as the title is complete, the letters of "HEART OF RUST" begin to change. The coppery sheen fades, and a reddish-brown color spreads across them, as if the metal were rusting in real time. A small flake of rust detaches from the last letter and dissolves into the air.) 🍂
(Cut to black.) ⚫
The Origin Monologue
(The scene opens with a fast-paced, stylized montage. The voice-over of RUSSET (21 years old) guides us, his tone is flat, almost monotonous, like someone reciting a story from memory.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
Well, I guess every story needs a beginning. Here's mine, the short version, so we don't get bored.
(IMAGE: An aerial shot of vast vineyards under a golden sun. A small boy, RUSSET, runs at full speed between the rows of vines.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
Name: Russet Prime. Place of origin: a small town where the biggest thrill of the year is the harvest, and the smell of fermented grapes is basically the official perfume. I was born into a family that knows more about wine than people. "Tough love" was our daily bread, which usually translated to more hard work.
(IMAGE: Young Russet and a girl his age, ZOE, laugh out loud while hiding in an old barn, covered in hay.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
It was me and Zoe against the world. Or at least, against the crushing boredom of a town with a thousand people. She was the brains, I was the feet. Usually, my feet got me into trouble and her brains got us out of it. A perfect balance.
(IMAGE: A 12-year-old Russet arrives in the city. Quick cut to him at 13, watching a group of traceurs, his eyes lighting up. Then, at 14, recording himself with an old phone for his family 📱.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
At twelve, I was sent to the city. At thirteen, I found parkour, or it found me. At fourteen, I started recording so my parents wouldn't think I was just learning how to fall with style.
(The image freezes on a 15-year-old Russet, with a questionable haircut, about to attempt a jump.)
RUSSET (V.O., his tone becomes fast and dismissive):
Then come the years from fifteen to seventeen. And honestly, we're just going to skip that part. You know how it goes: the typical rebellious teenager phase, mixed with monumental stupidity and moments so embarrassing they should be classified by the government. Lots of hair gel, bad decisions, blah, blah, blah. Let's move on.
(The montage resumes with a burst of energy. The music becomes upbeat and energetic 🎶. We see an 18-year-old Russet, now more mature and focused, signing his first contract with a genuine smile 📜. The alias "Zenith" appears for the first time on a competition poster.)
RUSSET (V.O., his tone changes, now there's a trace of nostalgia and pride in his voice):
And then, from eighteen to twenty, everything was... perfect. Too perfect. My passion became my job. I signed contracts, won competitions, traveled the world. The audience hailed me as one of the best in the scene. Zenith wasn't a brand, it was a rocket, and I was on the tip of it, going nowhere but up. 🚀
(IMAGE: A quick montage of his best moments. Him on a podium, lifting a trophy 🏆. Zoe by his side, celebrating. Him signing autographs. His parkour videos, now incredibly polished and professional, go viral. Life was good.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
I was living the dream. The problem with dreams is that, eventually, you have to wake up.
(The music cuts abruptly. The montage stops on an image of him, at 21, alone in his apartment. The smile is gone. The light in his eyes has dimmed. He looks exhausted.)
RUSSET (V.O., his tone flat and tired again):
And my alarm clock was a wake-up call named "reality" ⏰. The rocket ran out of fuel. The mountaintop turned out to be a very lonely and windy place. The dream became a routine. The routine became an obligation. And the obligation... became a cage. 🔒
(IMAGE: Cut to Russet sitting in front of his monitor, the screen's light illuminating his exhausted face. Beside him, a can of the energy drink he sponsors 🥫.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
And so, without realizing it, the athlete at the top of the world became a product about to expire. A guy who jumps off buildings to sell a promise of energy that he himself no longer feels.
(He lets go of the mouse and leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face with a long, deep sigh.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
Which brings me to... today. The day the bill for that "dream" finally came due. And believe me, the interest rates were sky-high. 💸
The Team of Idiots
(The scene cuts from Russet's tired face in his apartment to an explosion of chaos and color. We are in the same room, but now it's full of life. The deafening sound of a fighting video game fills the air, mixed with shouts of victory and wails of defeat.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
But that day didn't start in solitude. It started, as the best days used to, with my team. My real team. My team of idiots.
(The camera shows us the scene. RUSSET is on the couch, controller in hand 🎮, focused on the screen where his character—an agile warrior with silver hair and elegant armor—is being mercilessly beaten by ZOE's character, a grim-looking mage who controls time.)
ZOE:
And... checkmate. Again. Your offense is predictable. You should know by now that your "charge straight in" style doesn't work against a structured defense, Rus.
RUSSET:
It's not fair! Your mage is broken! I'm calling for a nerf!
(From the other end of the couch, MARCO, a guy with messy hair and a rock band t-shirt, lets out a laugh.)
MARCO:
Dude, stop complaining! Besides, you keep picking the hardest characters just because you like the design! You got beat by a sorceress with pigtails. Admit it, you only picked her because she's pretty!
RUSSET (without looking away from the screen, with a half-smile):
I appreciate good aesthetics, Marco. It's an artist's weakness. You wouldn't understand.
(LENA, sitting on the floor and checking the empty pizza boxes, looks up with a tired smile.)
LENA:
Stop arguing, you animals. The real question is: who ate the last slice of pepperoni? 🍕 Because if it was you, Marco, you owe me one.
(The atmosphere is light, chaotic, filled with the comfort that only years of friendship can forge. Russet looks around at his friends, and for a moment, the "Zenith" mask vanishes completely. He lets out a laugh, a genuine, open, and carefree laugh. It's the sound of someone who is exactly where he wants to be.) 😄
RUSSET (V.O.):
These were the moments. The genuine moments. No cameras, no sponsors, no scripts. Just... us. For an instant, I could almost forget the weight of the name "Zenith". Almost.
(And then, the sound. A sharp, professional buzz that cuts through the air. It's Russet's phone, the work one, the one he never turns off. On the screen, a name flashes: "DAVID - AGENT".) 📱
(Russet's smile freezes and then vanishes. The light in his eyes goes out. He stands up from the couch with the rigidity of an automaton.)
RUSSET:
One second. I have to take this.
The Grind and the Promise
(The scene picks up right where it left off. Russet moves away from his friends and walks to the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him for privacy 🚪. The camera stays inside with his friends.)
(The room, once filled with noise and laughter, is now in an uncomfortable silence. The video game is still paused on the big screen, a frozen reminder of the moment that was broken. Zoe, Marco, and Lena watch Russet's silhouette through the glass. They can't hear what he's saying, but his body language tells the whole story: the way he runs a hand through his hair, his tense posture, the way he nods his head like a soldier receiving orders.)
MARCO (breaking the silence, his voice now lacking its usual mocking tone):
Again... I hate that guy, David.
LENA (sighing, starting to pick up the empty pizza boxes):
It's not David's fault. It's his job. The problem is Russet doesn't know how to say no.
ZOE (her gaze fixed on Russet, her voice low and worried):
He thinks if he stops, everything will fall apart. He doesn't realize he's the one falling apart. 😟
(The conversation dies. The atmosphere is heavy. They know their friends' night is over. When the balcony door opens again and Russet comes in, his face is a mask of professional calm, but his eyes are a million miles away. His friends are already grabbing their jackets and backpacks.)
RUSSET (trying to force a light tone, an effort that rings hollow):
Hey, you guys leaving already? I thought we could play another round. I'll pick the broken character this time.
LENA (gives him a sympathetic but sad smile):
It's late, Rus. And you've got a long day tomorrow, by the looks of it. Get some rest, okay?
MARCO (claps him on the shoulder as he passes):
Talk to you tomorrow, man. Don't work yourself to death.
(They say their goodbyes and leave, leaving Russet and Zoe alone at the entrance. She is the last to leave, but she stops, blocking his way back to the couch.)
ZOE (she looks at him intently, her eyes demanding that he really look at her):
Don't you dare tell me it was "nothing."
RUSSET (finally, he lets out a sigh, the facade cracking):
They want one more shot. At the Oak Valley facility. Tomorrow. They say the last video didn't have enough "risk."
ZOE (shakes her head, a mix of exasperation and fear in her voice):
"Risk." Rus, you're running out of bones to break. You have to stop.
RUSSET:
It's the last one. I swear. After this, the contract is up. I'm free.
(Zoe scrutinizes him, searching for a lie in his eyes, but she only finds infinite exhaustion. She knows she can't stop him. The only thing she can do is remind him what's at stake.)
ZOE (her voice is now a soft but firm plea):
Then, keep your promise. The real one. One last video, and then the road trip. No excuses. No calls from David. No "risk" other than picking the worst motel on the highway. Promise me again, Russet. Look me in the eyes and promise me. 🤞
(He finally meets her eyes. And in them, he sees his own tiredness reflected, and her fear. Guilt hits him.)
RUSSET (his voice is a whisper, but sincere):
I promise, Zoe.
(She looks at him for another second, then nods slowly. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.)
ZOE:
You'd better. Now go to sleep. Not to edit. To sleep. 😴
(She turns and leaves, closing the door softly. Russet is left alone in the middle of his apartment, the echo of his promise resonating in the silence. For a moment, it looks like he's going to follow Zoe's advice. But then, his gaze drifts to his computer monitors, which are glowing like sirens in the dark.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
And, of course, like the idiot I was, I didn't listen. 🤦♂️
(He walks to his workstation and sits down 💻. The light from the screens envelops him, and the montage of the grind that will take him to dawn and his fateful destination begins.)
The Calm Before the Storm
(The scene changes. The morning sun is pale and watery, struggling to break through a layer of industrial fog. We are on the outskirts of the city, in front of a colossus of concrete and rusted steel: the abandoned Oak Valley Processing Facility. 🏭 A chain-link fence, broken in several places, is the only welcome.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
Every urban explorer has their sacred mountain. Their personal Everest. Oak Valley was mine. A labyrinth of catwalks, silos, and forgotten machinery. A place that was dangerous, unstable, and, of course, strictly forbidden. In other words, perfect for getting that "extreme" shot my sponsor wanted. 🎥
(We see Russet, now dressed in his parkour gear, slipping through a gap in the fence. He moves with a silence and efficiency that contrast with his visible exhaustion. There is no emotion on his face, only the mechanical focus of someone performing a task.)
(Once inside, the sound of the outside world fades away, replaced by the echo of his own footsteps and the groan of the wind through the broken structures. The camera follows him as he navigates the interior. It's not the fluid, energetic run from his videos. It's methodical, almost somber.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
But that day, I wasn't looking for the perfect shot. I wasn't thinking about camera angles or lighting. I was just... there. A ghost in a city of ghosts. 👻
(Instead of heading directly to the filming spot he had planned, he takes a detour. He climbs a series of rusty metal stairs until he reaches the rooftop of the tallest building. The wind is stronger here, and the view is stunning: the city sprawling on one side, a dense forest on the other.)
(He sits on the edge, his legs dangling over the void. It's not an act of bravery, but of pure indifference. He stays there, just breathing, watching. It's the first time we've seen him stop completely.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
It's funny. You spend years building a life out of noise: notifications, comments, loud music, the roar of the crowd... And suddenly, the only thing you crave is silence. A place where you can hear your own thoughts, even if you don't like what they have to say.
(He pulls out his personal phone, not the work one. 📱 He ignores the dozens of social media notifications and opens his photo gallery. His fingers slide past images of podiums, events, and fake smiles, until he finds one. The camera focuses on the screen.)
(The photo is simple. It's him and Zoe, as teenagers, sitting in the back of an old pickup truck, eating ice cream straight from the tub. They are covered in mud, probably after a day of work in the vineyard. The evening light is warm. Their smiles are genuine, carefree, real.) 🖼️
(A small, true smile appears on Russet's face as he looks at the photo. 😊 It's the first genuine smile we've seen on him since the scene with his friends.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
She was right. As always. At what point did the dream turn into this... cage? 🔒 At what point did I stop running for the joy of it and start running on a hamster wheel for others to watch?
(He puts the phone away. His expression is no longer one of exhaustion, but of a new, quiet resolve. He looks out towards the city, and then towards the forest.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
After today, everything changes. I finish this contract, take the money, and we're gone. A road trip. No destination. No cameras. Just... us.
(He stands up, stretching his muscles with renewed purpose. The decision is made. He feels lighter, freer than he has in years. The recording is no longer an obligation; it's the final formality before his new life.)
RUSSET (V.O.):
One last jump... and then home. 🏡
(He takes a deep breath of fresh air and turns, ready to begin. Just at that moment of calm and resolve, a sharp, familiar sound cuts through the silence of the wind.)
(It's his phone. The work one. But the ringtone isn't for his agent. It's the tone he has assigned for his family.) 📞
(On the screen, a photo of his sister is flashing.)
(Russet's heart lurches. A sense of inexplicable, ice-cold dread runs through his body. The phone in his trembling hand, the photo of his smiling sister on the screen. He answers the call, his heart pounding with an inexplicable dread.) 📞
RUSSET:
Hello? Are you okay? It's weird for you to call at this—
(He doesn't finish the sentence. The sound coming from the other end is not his sister's voice. It's a sob. A broken, ragged sob that chills the blood in his veins.)
SISTER (V.O., her voice choked with tears):
Russet... Rus... 😭
RUSSET (his own voice a taut whisper, panic seizing him):
What is it? What happened? Is it Mom and Dad?
(There's a silence on the line, broken only by his sister's desperate attempt to catch her breath. And then, the words that would shatter his world.)
SISTER (V.O.):
It's... Zoe. There was an accident. On the highway... a truck lost control...
(Russet stands motionless. The wind howls around him, but he doesn't hear it. The world has shrunk to the trembling voice of his sister in his ear.)
RUSSET:
No... no, no. She was fine. I talked to her last night. She was...
SISTER (V.O., her voice finally breaking into a wail):
She didn't make it, Russet. She's gone. 💔
(The sentence hangs in the air. She's gone. Two words. A universe of meaning.)
(The scene picks up with Russet on the rooftop, the phone pressed to his ear with a force that turns his knuckles white. He has just received the news. The world has become a blur of white noise. His sister is still talking on the other end, but he no longer hears the words, only the pain.)
(With a slow, robotic movement, he lowers the phone from his ear. He doesn't let it go. His hand clenches around it like a vise. It is his last connection to his family's voice, to the world that has just imploded. He puts it in his jacket pocket out of pure instinct, a gesture to protect the only fragment of that conversation he has left.)
(A silent scream forms on his lips. There is no sound, only the raw agony on his face. His mind, overloaded by exhaustion and now shattered by grief, shuts down. Logic, discipline, control... it all vanishes.)
RUSSET (V.O., his voice is now a distant, fragmented echo):
And in that moment... nothing mattered. Not the contracts. Not Zenith. Not even gravity. There was only one thought. A primal instinct...
I have to get home.
(He starts to move. It's not a run, it's a flight. He launches himself from the rooftop, not towards a safe route, but towards the shortest, most direct, most dangerous path. He is no longer the calculating athlete. He is a wounded animal.)
(The camera switches to a frantic first-person perspective. We see rusty steel beams rush past. The warning signs—"DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE," "RISK OF COLLAPSE"—are blurs. ⚠️ His feet hit the metal with reckless force. His breathing is a desperate gasp.)
(He launches himself towards a jump that, on any other day, would have been challenging, but feasible. But today is not any other day.)
(Failure of Judgment): His mind, flooded with grief, miscalculates the distance.
(Physical Failure): His body, pushed beyond the limit of exhaustion, doesn't have the necessary power. His muscles scream in protest.
(We see in slow motion as his outstretched fingers miss the edge of the next catwalk by millimeters. He fails. For an instant, he is suspended in the air, his eyes wide, reflecting the realization of his final mistake.) 😱
(He lies there, broken, motionless. His parkour backpack has burst open from the impact, its contents spilled around him. The canvas has torn, revealing a strange-looking device beneath it: a series of metallic rings and crystals that are now blinking with a faint light.) 💎
(His phone, which was in his pocket, has been thrown clear by the fall and now lies a few inches from his head. The small music player, his "iPod Shuffle," has also rolled over to touch one of the device's crystals directly.) 🎵
(The device reacts. The crystals, which were blinking faintly, now begin to glow with increasing intensity, as if they were trying to read or absorb the strange, unknown energy from the Earth objects. A sickly purple light emanates from the center.) 🔮
RUSSET (V.O., his voice is now a distant, fragmented echo):
I don't know what happened exactly. Maybe it was the phone's lithium battery. Maybe the music player's data architecture. Or maybe... maybe it was just bad luck.
(The device's metallic rings begin to spin, slowly at first, then faster, emitting a low, ominous hum ⚙️. The purple light intensifies, filling the room, casting dancing, twisted shadows on the walls.)
(The camera closes in on Russet's face. One last, clear, and devastating thought crosses his mind before the light consumes him.)
I wish... I wish it had been me.
(The purple light explodes outward, blinding. Then, it implodes into a single point and vanishes, taking Russet, his phone, his backpack, and all its contents with it.) ✨
(The final scene shows the empty rooftop. There is no trace of him. Only the wind blowing through the ruins. The only hint that he was ever there are the fresh footprints in the dust leading to the edge of the broken roof.) 👣
(Cut to black.) ⚫