There was no day or night underground. Only the gray glow of architectural lights that never went out, shining along narrow corridors that twisted like the mechanical intestines of the earth. In the depths of the Lower Zone, buried far beneath the ruins of what was once revered as cities, stood the headquarters of Anti-Solaris, the last organization striving to preserve the remnants of reason amid the collapse.
There they were—three figures cloaked in shadows of terminals, projections, and the silent hum of unknown machines. The laboratory wasn't large, but the entirety of its universe was contained within it—in schematics, cables, theories, and a heavy silence.
Project Ark. That's what they called it. A grand joke upon history, or perhaps merely an inevitable repetition. Like Noah building an ark to save living beings, they carved blueprints from the frail hope of humanity. Not from wood or nails, but from imagination, particles, and infinite calculations. This Ark would not sail the oceans, but instead pierce the pseudo-space of the Bubble World, suspended between reality and what has never truly existed.
Dr. Dhira stood at the center of the room, her body upright beneath a giant holographic projector displaying the structural mechanisms of the Ark. She was relatively young, yet her eyes still burned with conviction. Her fingers danced in the air, shifting layers of theory and systems—a multidimensional diagram glowing softly, revealing the architecture of artificial reality. A world within a world.
Paper was no longer used. Everything was stored in encrypted networks, yet Dhira kept all the critical designs in her mind. She trusted her thoughts more than any system. She knew that if the world truly fell, only the human mind could still salvage what was left.
Across the room stood a small figure with straight black hair to her shoulders, and eyes that seemed to pierce atoms themselves. Dr. Fumiko. A scientist from the Far East who joined Anti-Solaris after her entire village was consumed by the Honkai disaster. She had lost everything, yet from those ruins was born a spirit that could not be killed. Her job was to dig as deep as possible, to penetrate the smallest limits of matter.
Today she analyzed subatomic layers down to the quark, examining particle resonance in Imaginary Space—a realm that could only be simulated with courage and madness. A shard of the "Core of the Void," a crystal from the Princeps of the Void discovered in the ruins of the Helix laboratory in the Mediterranean, was used as a catalyst. Through that shard, she caught glimpses of an infinite world. The Bubble Universe. Parallel worlds brushing against each other without ever truly touching—each governed by alien laws of physics, sometimes beyond the reach of human logic.
One world had an atmosphere of pure nitrogen. Another moved time backward. There was even one inhabited only by sound—without form, without body. All of them were possibilities. All of them were options. But not without cost.
"The deeper we peek," she murmured softly, almost like a mantra, "the more the universe becomes aware of us."
Not far from them, the third figure was crouched before a giant cylindrical machine encased in dark metal. Dr. Wen, a man who never spoke unless necessary. He was working with a miniature version of the Large Hadron Collider. This device, a relic of Helix Industries Corporation, had been salvaged before the final rebellion.
The original version had been destroyed along with the entire CERN facility when Honkai swallowed Europe in an explosion of immeasurable scale and form. CERN was dissolved. Science lost its heart. But Wen brought fragments of that heartbeat here.
He turned the dials, adjusting proton waves until they reached Imaginary resonance levels—a frequency only attainable when the mind is calm enough to peel back the absurdity of reality. His goal was simple yet impossible: to dive into atomic structures, then match them against the Honkai patterns.
Because in the silence following Europe's collapse, scientists had recorded one hypothesis that made their skin crawl: the structure of Honkai mirrored the structure of atoms. As if Honkai were part of the universe that had been hidden all along.
Now, through the Ark, they sought to exploit that truth. They aimed to open parallel worlds, house humanity, and escape this species into pseudo-spaces—even if it meant violating every law of physics and betraying nature itself.
"If we continue this," Fumiko's voice broke the silence, "we're not just accessing parallel worlds. We're slicing into the walls of existence."
Dhira nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on the projection.
"I know. But if we don't do this, we're just waiting our turn to be annihilated."
"Are you sure those worlds will survive if we inhabit them?" Wen finally spoke, his voice heavy like rusted iron. "Or will they collapse under our presence?"
The question lingered for a long time. Not because there was no answer—but because everyone knew the answer, and hated it.
Parallel worlds were not paradise. They weren't promises. They were merely vessels—places that might endure just long enough before they too collapsed. But when this world could no longer sustain life, even the slimmest chance felt like salvation.
Project Ark was the final escape. Not to save Earth, but to preserve human consciousness, even if it meant slipping into another reality. The scientists of Anti-Solaris knew they were creating a massive imbalance. The Ark didn't just cut through space—it forced another space to house something that didn't belong.
"What happens if the laws of physics there reject us?" asked Fumiko.
"We learn to adapt," Dhira answered softly, "or we perish. As usual."
The projector flickered. Fluctuation signals from Imaginary Space showed interference. Whether it was the effect of the Core of the Void fragment or the proton accelerator probing too deeply, they didn't stop. The machines kept pulsing. The lights stayed on. Because if the machines stopped, so did hope.
Outside the laboratory, the world was slowly vanishing. Honkai spread from the northern hemisphere, shredding the remains of civilization like rotting flesh. Eastern Europe was no more. Scandinavia was no more. Cities became nameless graves. CERN turned to ash.
And in that destruction, Anti-Solaris built the only path of escape—not into space, not into the past, but into places that even nature had never come to understand.
And in that timeless underground, three humans endured—not as heroes, but as the last gatekeepers of human consciousness.
When the world crumbles to forces beyond reason, the only strength left... is belief in what does not yet exist.
***
Summer crept into the pores of a world already weary, slipping past the metal walls of the underground base, which now felt increasingly stuffy. In that small room, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Alexa's sleeping face.
There were traces of tears on her cheeks. Thin—almost invisible if you didn't look closely. I reached out and gently wiped them away. My movement was instinctive, a quiet attempt to protect her from something I couldn't face—and perhaps something she couldn't voice.
Alexa—or Avery, a name only I knew. The world knew her as a Valkyrie soldier. A shield in an unending war. But in moments like this, she was just a weary human being.
I stared at her for a moment, then took a deep breath. This world was cruel enough to make anyone cry in their sleep.
"Ethan?"
The voice came from behind. Chloe.
I turned. She stood at the doorway, looking like she had just woken up. But from the way she looked at me, I knew she'd been awake for a while. Maybe watching. Maybe listening.
Her face was calm as always. Cold, but not harsh. Just... too well-trained to show anything real.
"Alexa's asleep?" she asked softly.
I nodded.
"Good. She needs rest." Chloe walked in. "You've both been in this room too long. Summer's already here, and we're still holed up in a bunker suite."
"If you've got an alternative plan," I replied briefly, "I don't know mine going forward."
Chloe gave a small smile and leaned against the table. "What if we head south? Onsen. Or the beach. Fresh air. Open sea. At least before we return to... all this."
I looked at her, then at Alexa.
"I guess it's not a bad idea," I said quietly. "As long as there's no sudden mission."
"Mr. Owl hasn't given any signal. So we're safe... for now."
A few minutes later, Alexa woke up. Her face still bore traces of exhaustion, but she didn't ask anything. When Chloe mentioned the idea of a short trip, Alexa simply raised an eyebrow, then looked at me.
"I have no other plans today," she said, her voice as flat as usual. But I knew, behind that calm tone, she wasn't truly refusing. Maybe she needed an escape too, even if only for a moment.
"In that case," I said, standing up. "I need to stop by the shop first. I've got a few things in the staff room."
"I'll come with you," Chloe said quickly, her smile unchanged. "I happen to have something I need to check too."
Alexa just nodded and took my jacket.
The three of us left together, walking through the cooled corridors that led us to the surface. Our steps weren't hurried, but there was a subtle tension in the air. Not because of a mission. Not because of danger. But because of something unspoken.
I walked in front, listening to the sound of their steps behind me. Chloe's—light but steady. Alexa's—almost silent. Two
forces so different, yet both unpredictable.
And in that silence, Chloe glanced at me briefly—then at Alexa.
She didn't fully trust us.
Not out of hatred, but because of orders from her superior.
"Watch them. Don't let Ethan move too freely. And don't let Alexa blur her position."
That order came directly from Mr. Owl. An instruction that could not be ignored.
And Chloe, the loyal soldier with no emotional face, made her decision:
She would come. But not just for the vacation.
She would come to observe.
Silently.
Until the time came.