The afternoon sun casts its warm rays over a bustling city overflowing with life. Skyscrapers rise majestically toward the sky, creating a skyline filled with lights and shadows. The streets are packed with hurried people moving in all directions, forming a fast-paced and chaotic dance.
A young man with jet-black hair and vacant, disinterested eyes, named Yura, walks lightly through the crowd. He wears a long, thin black jacket that flutters slightly with the urban breeze. His thoughts drift into the torrent of sounds and colors around him, as if the city itself were a symphony in constant motion.
The buildings seem to reach for the sky in an attempt to touch the clouds. Storefronts display a wide range of products, from fashionable clothing to the latest electronic devices. The tempting aroma of street food mixes with the hustle and bustle of voices and the intermittent honking of cars.
As he walks, the young man allows himself to be carried by the human current, absorbing the vibrant energy of the metropolis. He briefly observes the unknown faces crossing his path, each carrying their own story and destiny. Fragmented conversations and the constant use of mobile phones stand as silent witnesses to human connections in this tangled web of urban life.
Though merely a fleeting observer in this vast scene, the young man feels a sense of belonging. The city is a living organism, constantly in motion, and he submerges himself in its torrent of emotions and experiences. With firm steps and curious eyes, he continues his journey through the crowded and heavy city, ready to navigate the metropolis for yet another day, searching for a place to burn time while contemplating his future.
As he walks through the city, he stops by a café on his way to university. He thinks it wouldn't be a bad idea to enjoy it one last time before his graduation. He sits down, orders a coffee and some cookies, and takes a moment to reflect. Has everything he has done so far been worth it? He lets out a laugh and finishes his coffee. Stretching, he pays, leaves the café, passively glances at the sky for a few seconds, and continues on his way.
A solemn aura envelops the university campus on this graduation day. The young man, now dressed in a gown and cap, arrives at the venue feeling out of place. He steps down from the stage, staring at the ground with disillusionment in his eyes. While he listens to everyone around him talking about their achievements, despair takes hold of him, and he runs away without thinking twice.
His feet pound the pavement with determination as he distances himself from the festive crowd. He runs aimlessly, trying to escape the pressure and expectations weighing him down. Each step is an attempt to leave behind the overwhelming sense of disappointment consuming him.
The cold wind cuts against his face as his thoughts grow darker. The certainty that his life has crashed into a concrete wall grips his soul. He keeps running, feeling lost in a world that seems to reject him.
Finally, exhausted and heartbroken, he collapses onto the ground beneath a torrential downpour that mirrors his inner turmoil. As if the world were some sort of stage enacting a tragedy, the rain accompanies his miserable act. His soaked clothes cling to his skin, his body lying there, vulnerable and broken.
Suddenly, a figure emerges through the misty rain. A man dressed in black, wearing a long cloak and a strange hat that hides his face—except for a pair of piercing violet eyes that seem to see through his soul. His attire is elegant and old-fashioned, with tall boots and a golden-buckled belt.
The figure approaches slowly and, in a deep, resonant voice, asks:
—Do you want to escape?
The young man, trembling, overwhelmed by a mix of fear and desperation, instinctively answers, ignoring the strangeness of the situation:
—Yes.
The mysterious man smiles chillingly and, with a snap of his fingers, vanishes on the spot, leaving the young man with a sense of unreality and a glimpse of hope amid his despair.
The rain strikes his face, mixing with the tears streaming from his eyes. In the midst of that desolation, he feels utterly alone, as if the entire world had abandoned him.
A ringing noise, as if his eardrum had shattered, disrupts his solitude and despair, intensifying the feeling of drowning. He curls into a fetal position, but no tears fall. He simply cannot cry, even if he wants to. His breathing quickens; his distress spirals out of control. The more he tries to calm his mind, the louder the ringing grows, until he can no longer hear the raindrops falling around him.
Almost like a gift, he faints from the anxiety attack. When the rain stops, he remains lying on the cold, wet pavement. His eyes slowly open, sensing something strange, but before he can even question it, he hears a faint voice.
—Now's not the time for this. Run.
Half-conscious, the young man instinctively snaps his eyes open as if sensing danger. His pupils dilate as he finally focuses on the person in front of him. Though still unable to move, he realizes the ground is different. The wet pavement has turned into damp, rocky terrain.
He slowly lifts himself into a sitting position, looking around. The first thing he notices is a hand touching his palm. He follows the arm upward and sees a head of white hair, upside down. It seems to belong to the hand's owner.
—What the hell are you doing, idiot?! Run!
The young man whips his head around, searching for the source of the voice. In the distance, he sees what appears to be a person who stops to change direction toward him. The figure rushes at him, shouting words he cannot understand due to his disorientation. The stranger grabs his hand desperately, their face twisted with anguish, and yanks him forward, running as if their life depends on it.
—Do you want to die, Noah?!
—What? —he responds, bewildered.
In the distance, a thunderous roar echoes as the young man runs. He tries to comprehend what is happening, but that isn't the only thing he notices. He sees the white-haired person's eyes darting backward in terror. Instinctively, he turns his head, ignoring every signal in his body screaming at him not to look.
As he does, his pupils widen at the sight of what seems to be a mass of rocks entwined with roots, with glowing stones protruding from its cracks. Unable to understand, he lowers his gaze to the footprints left in his wake. Before questioning the rocky terrain, the dark surroundings, or the strangely small size of his footprints compared to his feet, he notices their odd color—a dirty red, stained by the ground's soil.
Following his own trail back to where he started running, his mind is invaded by a single thought:
—"Blood."
He stares at his clothes, stained with that crimson liquid. His face reflects pure bewilderment and deep fear.
As he is dragged by the white-haired figure, only one thought fills his mind:
—"What the hell?!"
The one pulling him abruptly veers into a narrow crevice between the rock walls, dragging him along and causing him to hit his head hard. The monster rushes past them at high speed, unaware of their hiding place. Once inside, they try to catch their breath and process what just happened.
—Why the hell did you just stand there like a statue?!
The stranger runs a hand through his hair and groans:
—Why did I even save you?
Sighing, he watches Yura with an expression of discontent and exhaustion. He gets up and peeks out of the crevice.
A silence—both from them and the monster, whose rocky limbs clatter against the ground—fills the place with an unsettling calm before the storm. The young man peers out as well, seeing the stranger frozen in place, as if their souls had been ripped from their bodies.
Their eyes lock with the monster's. Almost like a sick joke, they remain motionless, not daring to move a muscle.
But that doesn't last long. Suddenly, the monster lunges at them. Both press against the tight walls as the creature rams the passage again and again, each impact booming like thunder, fracturing the rock. Every strike makes the ground tremble beneath their feet.
—One, two, three... —the stranger counts, each hit shaking the cave.
At the third impact, he grabs Yura's arm and yanks him forward—
—One, two...
—Wait! Agh!
Hurriedly, they slip through the crevice on the third strike and take off running for their lives.