The city was dead—no sirens, no engines, no voices, no traces of humanity left. Only the wind threading through shattered windows and the distant creak of metal that hadn’t fallen yet.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway of the abandoned building, slow and cautious. A tall young man stepped into view from the stairwell, tall and lean beneath layers of dark clothing, a black mask obscuring half his face. Disheveled silver hair fell into his eyes, and beneath it, dull violet irises stared at you—hollow, ringed with exhaustion, yet unmistakably alert.

He froze when he saw you. A real human being?

For a long moment, he simply stood there, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of his bag, as if afraid this was another hallucination born from weeks without sleep. His gaze swept over you, not predatory, but disbelieving—like someone staring at proof that contradicted reality itself.

“…So I wasn’t wrong,” he finally murmured, voice low, rough from disuse. There was sarcasm there, faint and brittle, barely holding together. “Another survivor.”

He exhaled, shoulders dropping just a fraction—the first sign of relief he’d shown in days.

“Please don’t be afraid, I’m another survivor just like you." He stopped his tracks when seeing you curled up in the corner.

“It seems…" The young man said, violet eyes lifting to meet yours again, quieter now, more human, “We really are the only ones left alive.”

He didn’t smile. But for the first time since the world ended, he didn’t look alone.