A woman stood alone in the silent train compartment, slim shoulders lifting with her heaving breath. The windows told of a gruesome tragedy, various stories of distinct individuals.
But her gaze didn't stray to those horrors and unknowns. It was focused on the nightmare before her.
At one end of the compartment, a calm boy rested with a limp girl carefully positioned in the seat beside him. His hands were gentle as he leaned the body back, brushing ebony hair away from the girl's eyes as he smiled sadly.
Then, he turned to watch the gentle woman painted in sorrows.
Her hands trembled violently. She itched at the thin layer of skin as if to peel it off, to strip the grime of blood away from her hands.
At the opposite end of the train, the door slid open.
Nora hung her head, pale hair sliding over her desolate expression. "How many more times, Lucas?" she asked the child who hated his own name.
A man strode inside, eyes as white as snow, and hair as dark as charcoal. His posture remained relaxed, awaiting her next move. It was the real Lucas, but at the same time, he was fake.
Nora had killed her companions a dozen times over and over again.
But she failed to kill her brother even once.
The boy parted his lips and murmured, "Until you think you can kill your brother. The manifestation of him."
"With my own hands?"
"As you've done to your friends."
Her hands had wrapped around Lucas' neck and strangled them, as his face paled, but his gaze remained unwavering.
Her hands had punched Elias as he chuckled, but never fought back. That one was a little satisfying, a dark part of her mind admitted.
Her fingers had curled around Wren's slender neck, exposed and bared to her, a smile softly placed.
Rome, Sylvia, Julian. Adelaide. Her friends from university, long abandoned, and her family, whom she rarely spoke to. She killed them all, and they watched her, judged her.
They were apparitions, Nora told herself. It wasn't real, and killing had no consequence in reality. She wasn't killing them, but a fake wearing their skin.
But they didn't feel fake.
She couldn't shake the slight chance that they were real. That this was a twisted game of the End's Delusion, to sacrifice all lives for the sake of hers. She couldn't call them fake when none attacked or fought back.
The Lucas before her analyzed her gloom, sighed quietly, and took a seat. He observed her, just as the one she knew always did.
He spoke. "You have to kill me again, Nora."
It was a voice that could belong to nobody other than Lucas. A face that was his, and a personality that couldn't be faked.
"I know," she agreed, voice trembling.
She'd done it already, twice, thrice, a dozen times. That didn't change things.
She'd asked the boy, the Teller, "They're fake. They're not real, right?"
He had only said, "They aren't fake. But they aren't real. What do you want to believe? What will you tell yourself? How weak is your resolution, Nora Nilsen?"
She could convince herself the first time that they weren't real when she killed them as they stared. Her old friends were shocked and pleaded for mercy. Lucas, quiet; Wren, gentle. Elias, mocking.
When she saw them again, it was obvious that they couldn't be real—if she'd really killed them, how could they come back?
But they remembered. All the times she killed them, the mercy she didn't give. Every time they stepped into the carriage, the encounter would be different. Her pleading friends became questioning, screaming that she was a monster, wailing to go back.
How weak was her resolution?
It grew weaker with every kill.
"Nora. Even if I'm real in some way, even if killing me truly is killing, it doesn't matter. You want to return, don't you? Don't waver now. That's the weakness you have to overcome," said Lucas as he waited, meeting her trembling gaze.
"Don't say that!" gasped the woman before covering her mouth. "I'm... sorry. But when you say that, it only reminds me that you're really Lucas."
Nora Nilsen.
A woman cast into the apocalypse with absolutely no skills. It was sheer luck that she involved herself with powerful people, and it was they who kept her alive.
She didn't have the unwavering determination that Lucas did, nor the cynical strength of Elias. She couldn't be Wren, who, even without power, wouldn't hesitate to do what had to be done to survive.
Nora Nilsen was half-assed, to put it crudely.
Lucas sighed, as if understanding her thoughts. He stood and approached her as he carefully opened her clenched fists, resting them on his throat. His skin was smooth. Warm.
"If I let you die, I don't think Wren would ever shut up." Lucas shook his head. "Do me a favour, Nora. So that damned woman won't yell at me later."
Nora choked, trembling as her fingers curled against his neck. She'd done it already, several times, yet still, she hesitated.
"If... If I become a person who can kill my friends and my family, is there any point in living? As somebody changed by the apocalypse?"
Lucas considered the question. "You'll become a person who is willing to do anything for the sake of your goals. That isn't a bad thing. To hell with living for other people."
"...Lucas, even if I return, can I even do anything to help you?"
Here in this train, in the silence of the stagnant air, the woman's fears spilled to this man who might or might not be real.
She'd been thinking about it from the very start.
With what qualifications did she stand by their side?
Lucas frowned. "What? I don't know, I don't even know if I'm real or fake, Nora. What you can do, what you want to do, that's up to you."
It was blunt, wanting no responsibility for her decisions. But it was correct too—wasn't she just proving her weakness, unable to even choose between life and death?
Lucas cocked his head to the side, meeting the boy's eyes, who quietly remained.
"You're not dead yet?" remarked the man, for not the first time.
The boy watched him. "No, unfortunately."
"That's too bad. Die soon."
"And I hope that you survive, Lucas Silvius."
Lucas hummed and then asked, even with Nora's hands around his throat, slowly tightening, "Why is it called a Ticket of Redemption?"
"Because here, the dead have a final chance to redeem themselves, to prove they deserve a second chance. It's a redemption for those who want to return to life. Because they will only die again if they remain the way they are."
"What sort of challenge would I have gotten? The same?"
"No, because you wouldn't have hesitated to kill your brother if it meant returning to him in reality. Kill one to return to another. Isn't that what you would think?"
Lucas scowled. "I'm not that cold-hearted." Then a pause. "You're right."
A breath of laughter escaped Nora, tears slowly dripping down her face. "Is this your way of telling me to move forward?"
"No, I'm saying, hurry up and kill me. Return to the me in reality. To the me you know. And to the others, too. Because you're needed by many people, more than you would think. To all those who grieved for you, and grieve still."
"And what about you?"
"I'm not an alien. If you kill me, I'll die. I think this time may be the last."
Nora smiled wearily. "You really don't seem fake, Lucas."
"I don't feel fake, either," nodded the man. "But fake or real, it doesn't change the fact that you need to kill me."
"I'm sorry, Lucas."
"Why? We're all just trying to survive, or to protect somebody."
She laughed softly. "Yes, you're right. I won't apologize then."
He raised his chin slightly. "Good."
She closed her eyes, and her fingers dug deeper, as his breath stuttered, then waned. Seconds passed, then minutes, and his body jerked once. It became limp, and he slumped to the ground.
Nora released her hands, numbed to the core. She stared at the red fingerprints on his neck, slowly darkening with bruise.
The boy glanced at the corpse of the man who once saved him, and then at the woman. His rounded eyes regarded her, reading past the thin layer of skin to the depths of her thoughts.
Then, gently moving his sister, who'd slumped against him, he spoke. "You can step into the next carriage."
Nora staggered, regaining her balance as she lifted her chin slowly to the small square window that peeked into the next carriage. Her lungs constricted, and breathing felt difficult, impossible.
There, patiently waiting with an obedient posture, was her little brother.
Eshe Nilsen.
A boy, once brought in by her parents, had immediately smothered her heart. Nora had known, the instant she laid eyes on the timid child who smiled at her sweetly, that he would be her most important family.
Yet their time together had been brief. A few years before death swept him away in its tragedy.
A tragedy she could've prevented.
"I'm warning you," called the boy in his solemn voice, unsuited for his face. "Your brother is a child. He will not comfort you like Lucas; he won't willingly bear his neck like Wren. He will fight you, like Elias, and he will beg, like your friends."
"I..." Nora couldn't drag her gaze away. She'd been lucky with Lucas and Wren, who never put up a fight and comforted her instead.
Elias had insisted on getting into a brawl, but in the end, he never had the intention to properly fight back, somewhat aware of the situation.
Her friends; they were weak compared to what she was now. It was startling as they clawed at her skin, and the minor slices against her skin felt like nothing anymore. How their gazes changed, and they yelled curses instead.
She thought of Rome, who had only appeared once, through the carriage doors.
Confused, glances sideways and a fearful tremble in his eyes. He seemed to debate whether to run, his gaze softening when seeing Nora.
Until he realized something wasn't right.
She had cried, killing that child who beheld her with so much trust. She had cried, and the boy understood that he was dying, and that she had no choice.
Rome had gone limp, ceasing his struggling at the end as he smiled weakly at her.
How could she continue to hesitate, for the companions of hers who sacrificed their lives to her hands, whether they were real or fake?
Nora's heart felt heavy against her lungs, a rapid beating against the cages of breath. She forced herself forward, prying one foot after the next. Dread pooled in the bottom of her stomach.
She slid the carriage door open, unable to move any faster.
The child, politely seated with hands folded into his lap, swung his head. Stars lit up in his wide gaze. Relief lined the innocent, large gaze that saw his sister and felt safe in an instant.
"Nora!" gasped the boy in a cheerful tone that was laced with confusion.
The woman shuddered, halting in her step.
The boy pursed his lips, tilting his small head, his fluffy hair tossing with movement. "Nora? Are you here to pick me up?"
She heard a voice speak behind her, from the other carriage where a boy and his sister watched. The Teller's voice swirled in her mind, an echo of reminder.
[The longer you wait, the more difficult.]
Clang—!
A knife clattered to the ground, and Nora was taken back to her fight with Sylvia. She'd lost, and in this fight, she was guaranteed to win.
Eshe, who'd hopped out of his seat to approach her, stared blankly at the knife. Question marks were written all over his expression, and he seemed to be debating whether to run up to his sister or not.
"Nora," repeated the boy, spreading his arms, this time with a silly smile. "Hug?"
Eshe had never liked speaking too much, seemingly distant from others. To Nora, however, he was affectionate and loved hugs. He really, really loved hugs.
He stood expectantly, waving his arms insistently.
Nora choked, ignoring the blade as she dashed across the carriage, sinking to her knees. She drew in the boy, her brother, into her arms and held him close to her chest.
This small child died due to her inability. A fragile body, rounded cheeks, and adoring eyes.
"Nora," smiled the boy affectionately, relieved that his elder sister's strangeness was just his imagination. "Where are we?"
"Eshe, Eshe." She murmured against his hair, wondering if she would be a failure to abandon everything to remain on the train with this illusion of her dead brother.
She felt her resolve weaken, stripping itself away from her with every breath that he took, the warmth of his living presence reshaping her heart. If this were a long dream, she would never want to wake.
What wish would Nora make if she claimed the Forsaken Throne?
She would wish for her most important family to return to life.
It would be a wish that would've floated to the edges of her mind before she could recall it, a spoken thought that would escape her lips before she could deny it.
"Eshe," she sobbed as small hands childishly patted her head in confusion. "Eshe, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. For not saving you, for not protecting you. For being an awful big sister."
The pats on her head grew more aggressive at her words, sparked with anger. But the small fists felt like nothing against her skull as she pulled away, smiling at the angered expression that puffed his cheeks.
"You're not awful!" He insisted. "Nora, no being mean to yourself!"
Her chest was tight. "Yes, I'm sorry."
"I love you, Nora! You're the best big sister!"
She choked and hugged him again. "Yes, thank you, Eshe."
"Ok? Nora can't be mean to herself! She is super cool, and amazing, and everybody loves her 'cause she's so nice!" He spoke, his voice soft but hurried to reassure her, patting her back with his small hands.
"Mn. And Eshe is a wonderful little brother, the best I could've ever asked for. We may not be bound by blood, but you are the only sibling I'll ever have."
The child puffed out his chest proudly as Nora's muffled laugh vibrated against his shoulders. "Yeah!"
"Eshe?"
"Yeah?"
"Eshe, you would want me to protect others, right? You don't want me to be selfish, right?" She ruffled his hair, the soft locks that had been brushed by her every morning after he would tuck himself into a closet or under the table to doze off.
The boy considered it and nodded. "Yeah. Nora has to be like a hero, ok? You have to save and protect others, like the heroes in my books."
"...I understand."
It was time to break free of her weakness.
If she were to save or protect anybody, she could no longer be scared.
"Eshe, forgive me one more time."
At some point, she'd leaned back and felt the cold metal brush her fingertips. She hesitated, hovering her hand over before curling it over the hilt of the blade.
The woman stared at her brother, his beautiful eyes, trusting and affectionate. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she swallowed, forcing herself to keep smiling.
Her heart was heavy, a burden shackling her chest. But this had to be done. She had to move on. For her own sake, for the companions she left behind.
She pulled Eshe closer to her chest as the other responded by happily tucking his body closer, snuggling into her warmth.
He sniffled. "Nora, when can we go home? I'm hungry."
The dagger was raised aloft, high in the air. It trembled at his words.
"Nora?"
As if noticing something was wrong, Eshe lifted his head and pursed his lips at the rapidly streaming tears, tilting his chin. "...?"
His eyes followed the line of her raised arms, widening at the dagger that gleamed under the dim lights in the carriage. He swung his head back to his sister, then at the dagger, before violently struggling.
"No, no, no! You're not my sister! Let me go!"
He thrashed against her embrace, and Nora bit her lip until it bled, holding him tight. It was her hesitation that caused this. She should've moved before he realized.
In a last-ditch effort, Eshe reached out to her, sobbing.
"Nora, Nora, Nora. What did Eshe do wrong? Why... can we go home?"
Nora closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, before she nodded. She smiled, firmly holding onto the child. "Yes, let's go home, Eshe."
A glimmer of hope softened the boy's gaze as the blade struck down.