Volume 3 – Chapter 11: The Splitting

[August 13 – 48 Days Left]

Uncharacteristically, the very first thing Kaito noticed that morning was the silence. Again. But this time, it was not crushing with a sense of dread. It was something else—a sickly fractured thing. One almost felt as if the silent world lay in layers, each playing a different kind of stillness.

Packing his belongings, boots laced tight and one shoulder slung with a bag, Kaito came down the stairs and found Haruto already standing at the door.

"Where are you going?" Kaito asked.

"The east side checkpoint. People are gathering there. Rumor has it that there is something about a convoy. Supplies or evacuation, I don't know."

Kaito scowled. "I didn't hear any announcements."

"Exactly," Haruto said, finally fixing his eyes on him. "And that's why I am scared."

---

By midday, some fissures had sprung in the town.

Not physical: no earthquakes, barriers, or lines. Rather social. Ideological. One could almost feel it in the way that people talked and by not meeting each other's eyes; it seemed as though they were actually avoiding some wrong kind of thought.

On the one side stood the Planners. Survivors. Those who believed something could be done. That they should spend their days preparing. Building shelters. Protecting the children. They still talked about "hope" and "resilience," glancing at each other with frightened eyes.

On the other side, the Reckoners.

They had given up hope of salvation, finding a strange and fervent clarity in their surrender. They were the ones organizing open-air farewell rituals, preaching about "returning to the earth," and gathering in circles to chant the end as if it were a prayer. They are not talking about surviving. They are accepting.

Then there were the Quiet Ones.

They couldn't give a damn who accepted what.

They just... stopped.

Stopped working. Stopped talking. Stopped reacting.

Some sat for hours on benches outside the square, motionless, their gaze fastened to the horizon.

Kaito spotted a man standing in the middle of the square and dropping his briefcase. Then the man turned and headed for the river, walked straight in while fully clothed, and stared at his reflection, as if he was waiting for it to move first.

Rika called it "the silence disease."

Nobody knew what to do with it.

---

The air was commotion well thickened during dinner.

Daichi was able to sit upright, but he spoke in continued slow measured tones as if he feared another slip into incoherence.

"We're going to have to take a position on the issue," he said.

"Why? Rika asked. "Why does it have to be a side? Why not simply... survive?"

"Because the world is not going to wait," Daichi replied. "It's pulling us. Pulling us toward something. One way or another."

Haruto shook his head. "I will not kneel in the dirt and pretend it is holy just because I am afraid. I have something worth dying for rather than a fate whispered about."

Kaito glanced at Rika. She hadn't eaten anything. Her eyes were fixed on her hands.

Finally she spoke, her voice soft.

"I dreamed of my mother again. She was walking backwards into some kind of tunnel, smiling. She said, 'Don't follow me. The end doesn't need witnesses.'"

No one knew what to say after that.

---

That night, Kaito went out for a walk on his own.

The above stars were clearer than they'd been in weeks, somehow making him feel even more uneasy, like the sky was watching, listening, waiting.

Near the deserted train yard on the edge of town, he found them.

Dozens of people. All seated about a fire which seemed to do little heating in a perfect circle.

In the middle of it stands a woman whose face is painted white, her hands held out as if balancing invisible weights.

Speaking.

Not in tongues, nor nonsensically. Something worse.

Truth.

Or their idea of truth.

"All futures are lies," she said. "There is only the echo of what we already decided to become. The meteor is not coming to us. It is coming from us."

Kaito stepped back.

Someone noticed him. Smiled.

"You can sit if you like," that person said easily. "We are not a dangerous bunch. Just preparing."

"For which?" Kaito asked, his throat dry.

The woman dressed in white turned, her eyes connecting eerily with his.

"For the unraveling," she purred.

And Kaito ran.