The earth is still spinning, but it doesn't feel alive anymore.
Mountains stand like tombstones. The oceans have turned thick and dark, stretching endlessly under a sky that hasn't shown blue in years. Every sunrise smears red across the horizon, as if the planet itself remembers the blood that was never spilled, only traded—for silence, for order, for control. They called it progress. They said we'd understand one day. But standing here, all I see is failure wrapped in quiet.
There are no more seasons. No birds migrating, no rain that falls clean. What little greenery remains grows crooked, brittle, and colorless. Animals are rare now, and when you do find them, they look more like ghosts—starved, skittish, as if they know something we don't. The air tastes faintly of metal and regret. Every breath reminds us we're still here, though we're not sure why.
Those who remain don't talk about the ones who caused this. Maybe they've forgotten. Maybe pretending is easier. But I haven't. I remember who they were. I remember what they promised. And when I look at what's left of the world, I wonder if they truly believed in the future they tried to build—or if they just wanted to watch something burn.
---
The wind bites through my coat as I stand on the deck, the sea stretching endlessly in every direction, quiet and vast beneath a pale red sky. It's almost peaceful—too peaceful for a world that's falling apart. I lean against the railing, letting the salt sting my eyes, pretending it's just the wind and not the weight of everything behind me. I can't stop my mind from drifting, slipping into that dreamlike haze where memories feel sharper than reality. I see their faces—my friends. I can still hear their voices, their laughter echoing like ghosts in my ears. Almost all of them are gone now. I try not to count how many. It's easier that way. The world is crumbling, cities swallowed by silence and smoke, and I'm still here—breathing, drifting on this ship like a relic of something that once meant something. I don't know if I'm the last, but I feel like I am. Maybe this ocean is all that's left to carry the story.
"Sahabi, Sahabi!"
A girl with short, light brown with soft curls and white tips at the ends spoke to and approached me. It's been a while since I met her in person but her green star-shaped hairpin on the left side of her hair still becomes her unique mark for me.
"…oh, what is it?"
"Your face looks pale, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Almira."
"Mm, are you sure?" Almira asked with concern.
"Yes," I said with a smile.
I didn't even hesitate when I said it. The words came out calm, practiced—like I'd said them a hundred times before. Because I had. Because it's easier that way.
But the second the words left my mouth, I saw it—the shift in her eyes, the subtle way her expression fell, just a little.
Now she's standing there, arms crossed tightly, her brows drawn together like she's holding back a hundred things she wants to say. I can see it in her eyes—this quiet, fierce kind of concern that digs deeper than words. She doesn't believe me. Not for a second.
"If you start to feel unwell, let me know right away, okay?"
"Okay, thanks for worrying about me, Almira."
Her arms dropped from where they'd been folded across her chest, and her fingers curled into her sleeves like she was holding herself together. I met her gaze, just for a second, and I could see it—real, raw worry. Not the loud kind. The quiet kind that digs in deep.
"By the way, are you sure we're going to be okay?"
"You mean this visit?"
"Yeah," Almira replied with hesitation.
She's never seen them before. Not like I have.
She's heard the stories—whispers of betrayal, fragments of what they did, what they helped destroy—but stories are easy to carry when you don't have to look into the eyes of the people behind them. And now, for the first time, she's about to.
I watch her from the side. She stands stiff, trying to hold herself steady, but I can see the unease in the way she breathes—shallow, careful. Her hands fidget at her sides, and she keeps glancing toward the horizon, where we know they'll be. There's something in her face, something caught between fear and disbelief. I know exactly what she's feeling. I felt it once too.
The ones we called traitors—they're different now. No longer drunk on power or poisoned by delusions. They've awakened, shaken free from the twisted lies that once made them dangerous. Their minds are clear. Their eyes… haunted. They remember what they did. They carry it. And that might be the cruelest part of all.
Because now they walk like survivors. They speak like people again. No longer enemies—just the broken remains of who they used to be. And it's hard, even for me, to look at them and still hold on to that burning anger. Harder still, I imagine, for someone meeting them for the first time—not as villains, but as humans seeking redemption.
She's not ready for that. I can see it. The weight of it is already pressing into her, making her doubt what she should feel—hatred, pity, forgiveness… or something else entirely.
"Don't worry, they were traitors in the past, but now things are different."
"Yeah, but I don't know… I'm nervous. Up until now, the only people who've interacted or communicated with them have been you, Fitria, and Rangga. I hope they can accept me."
"Hahaha, hm… but it's really strange for me to see you nervous about meeting new people."
"Hm, you're right, why should I be nervous? I mean, they're our seniors and our friends. Thank you, Sahabi, I feel better now. I want to meet them as soon as possible."
"Okay, that's the Almira I know."
She's laughing now.
Not the kind of laugh you force to fill silence or hide nerves. It's real—unguarded, bright, the kind that catches me off guard for a second. Like I forgot what it sounded like coming from her. Maybe I had.
Just a while ago, she was tense, quiet, her eyes locked on the horizon like it held something too big to face. I watched her carry that weight, knowing what it was—the fear, the confusion, the dread of meeting them.
She was terrified. Not of them attacking—no, not anymore—but of what she'd feel when she saw them. Of what kind of forgiveness—or fury—might rise in her chest when the stories became real faces.
And I couldn't help her through that. She had to meet it on her own.
"Oh right, Sahabi, about our purpose this time—we're not just here to see them, right?"
"Yeah."
I took a document from my bag and handed it to her. After reading it, Almira looked shocked.
"Sahabi, this is…"
"I can't believe it either."
"But how? Where did you get this?"
"Ardianto sent it last week. Looks like he found it while exploring that island."
"If this report is true, then what exactly is that island?"
"That island is definitely mysterious. Even before we chose it as the location for the purification project experiment, it had already been categorized as a forbidden island. I don't know why it was forbidden, but I chose it because it was hard to find."
"Yeah, but a time machine? They're not joking?"
"That's exactly why we're here, Almira. We need to find out the truth."