prologue "Dead Man's Laugh"

Doubt, till absurdity becomes reality, is what insanity is called. Cursed am I or cursed did I, as I wondered? Curse I did wonder; so, in the process of finding my salvation, to be cursed—the wonder. I went into the shrine of the nature-echoes of the mountain, and as I walked, I thought: once upon a time I saw the beauty of human nature that let me simply walk among the free crowd.

Ugly was the flower of nature that greed made grow on people, for pitiful was the feeling of hopelessness that had made me show the eagerness that one feels from their shame.

Simple was the reason for common degeneration. Complex they made me just for it. A water drop fell from the edge of the mountain ridges I walked; in silence, it echoed, as nostalgia took root in that silence.

As I recalled, the feeling that nostalgia brought lingered within me.

In misery, silence was my quiet comfort, until noise echoed through the solitude I once called peace.

I felt hope, but despair was reality. Happiness was the source for spreading their own sickness. Gnawing was the discomfort in the mind of reality working wonders. Echoes of convenience I heard at the sight of my reality working wonders. In the solitude of silence, it echoed.

Even for the second to be felt—what a life was? The feeling of forgotten happiness was a mistake that was made in the madness of thoughts, that ate away the patience and calmness of emotions, that made silence of reality the way of my life.

As times changed, I began to doubt whether patiently keeping calm in silence was truly what I was doing. Yet, amid all the noise, I started questioning—was I even calm in that silence?

But sickness did spread in the mind; it still echoes the convenience of words that inflamed doubt, that made me want to scream in agony. That would not have been me. But in agony, convenient comfort I would have found. As I looked up, clouds were clearing up. I sighed as my breath was growing heavy from all the climbing, but I still walked, for my mind felt clear.

"I remember the feeling I felt when I even questioned it—what just used to feel wrong even to think, or to have thought, as if it was at someone's convenience. Voices of imagination that defined themselves through forced perception. A granted selfishness. What was wrong to have thought in the silence of solitude? And still anger just resonates in those words, for even now I feel it still. But I was still thinking at that moment, contemplating that moment, for that to now feel like a crime so gruesome that the only thing I feel is fear—so loathsome is that."

"My mind was tired, but still it was functioning.

It resonates deeply now, as I still walk through mountainous terrain full of thoughts. If I had acted in agony, I think it would have made my doubt clear, but anger would still have been there. That convenient comfort would still be felt, but the source of those noises would have had a worse effect on the anger that still lingers. All I could have done was act in the futility of its emotions—in disarray without consent, as if it was not my fault for that madness.

To what end? To whom would it have been directed? All that I have been would have been for naught.

I could get angry at the reality of it, but I would still know the futility of it. Just the anger would have remained."

Reality echoes in it. For all I could have done then was wait patiently.

But lost I was at the noise that echoed in the convenience of the mind; Voices of Imagination—bitter was the truth that I learned. I now know anger was directed at the source of my reality. In reality, I did find anger at the source of my reality. Echoed in silence, voices I heard; but silently as I was, reality did prosper; forcefully they became.

Humble words felt like a curse that could eat away the soul of a person. Arrogance felt like it would have been the right decision. Wrong I was; right was the suffering that led me to the truth. Convenience would still be the goodness to describe them in a way that justifies such actions. For teaching and learning are education that always minimize the life lesson in such situations; for goodness is that situation to let others describe your own conviction—for is that not common? That is what they say to categorize a common person. That could be loathsome for one to be one. Wrong would be that decision.

"Suffering would follow. Where there is suffering, there is a scrounge that feeds on it. Death is imminent. Time is sacred. But there was reality to make me play a part in how they ought to be treated in actuality. Was there happiness driven from spreading sickness, making it clarity based on their reality as an actuality?

No wonder was there for me to wonder there—wonderful wonder. Still, reality of mine felt like an ugly wonder. Wonder I did in that wonder: why the breath of air is cursed to be mistaken for a trapped mouse in a hole so deep that darkness and suffocation are empathy for the rigidity of the situation."

"It was the kind of happiness they shared.

Question all I may, define all I can—the situation would still remain the same. The emotions behind words are already defined, yet still defined by them. It would be the same: a granted arrogance, without even a name. Letting it be would be lame, for the one who thinks upon such a situation remains unchanged.

Emotions are an ugly reality that have made it hard to even know what reality I truly perceived; to bother with such empathy is a gruesome reality, driven by a starvation with no imminent end. The only feeling left is impunity, etched into the soul by this realization. What was, must be let go; the passage of time is just a bothersome, fake actuality.

It defines the present as something that was just a moment ago. Vanity entwined with reality. I wonder when the administration—built on creating and spreading such a sickness—will finally be cured. That was a true sickness; it still feels weird how imagination is enough to let the mind wander until the entire flow of thoughts and the expression of emotions shift."

I reached the top of the mountain. My mind knew it then; I knew what it was. It was silence.

I felt free in the silence of the mountains. My breath felt heavy, and my body grew hot. I felt whole at the summit, so I let the past flow into the wind. I saw the sun dawn behind me, and I held that moment of wonder. To be cursed is to wonder, I thought; yet to wonder in this movement is a way of life.

I looked down, a long way toward home.

Easy is the choice in life when the answer is carved into the soul for eternity in silence. I was the judge here as I sat down and saw my own way: a straight path down, covered in snow, leading to a sheer cliff. From there lay the way out of the valley—a forest trail and a straight road cutting through the trees on both sides ahead.

I strapped my feet into the snowboard and stood up. Looking at the view ahead, I felt a forgotten feeling.

Thrill!

The thrill of the way down made my heart beat out of my chest. I felt no meaningless suffering. With no remorse, no sympathy, and no heartache—with no fear or gratitude—there was only the form of pure, raw excitement."

"And down I went, straight into a rush that was truly captivating. I felt the wind biting at my face; the snow was shrouded in fog, making it impossible to see what lay ahead. As fast as I was descending, the devil may care about the ice ridges shattering behind me, for the snow began to turn hard and solid as I reached the edge.

Here, I took a leap of faith. I steadied my stance for a 180-degree turn toward the left edge of the cliff, which curved down in a sharp C-shape. I went straight over. I jumped from the cliff at full speed, grabbing both the front and back of my board with my hands, spinning another 180 toward the south.

Down I went, following the curve of the C-shaped edge. I held both hands out, sticking a solid landing at the perimeter. But the surface was turning to shaded ice, and attempting a carved slide was a waste of momentum; I simply went straight down, fast.

As I began to lose my balance, I snapped right, then left, then right again, carving toward a plain snow slope. Feeling my balance slip once more, I dropped both hands to the ground to break the momentum of the crash. I let my body fall face-down into the snow while the terrain still sloped away from the cliff. My legs started sliding, so I rolled onto my back and lay there straight, staring back at the cliff I had left behind."

"I thought: if the question was my answer, then this movement is what I cursed wonder with—for it is hard to wonder in today's reality.

It took me just minutes. And I do wonder: what was it that I thought?

So I stood up, took off the board, and secured it behind my almost empty bag. I started walking toward the forest, where the path led to the road, as the sky and clouds above were turning orange.

I walked wondering, looking up, feeling an almost neurotic high. As the ground in the forest leveled out, the snow became clear. I took off my jacket and put it in my bag. I gathered some dry wood, lit a fire, and heated the clean ice I found.

I smoked cigarettes as I waited. Once the water boiled, I poured some whisky, looking back at the mountain as if I were drunk on the view. Then, I put the fire out with the remaining water and snow from the slopes behind, and started packing my bag again.

I began walking toward the road that was just fifteen minutes ahead. Slowly, gradually, the heat started to reach me as I moved through the pine woods."

After some time I saw the road. As I came to the road on my front, I saw a white owl standing in the middle of the road, looking towards the left side. As I was still smoking, I looked towards my right.

From there, moments later, came a silver F-150 truck. It was going towards the city from the town at quite a speed. As this road goes from town to city, only the winter supply trucks and buses between them tend to often pass by in this area. But this was supposed to be pretty secluded, and it was way too fast for a supply truck, I thought.

It was like some weird kind of destiny was on my side. As I thought that, I felt chilling goosebumps; I guessed it might have been the cold—I was drunk—but reasoning said something else.

As I was supposed to walk towards the city to my left, where there is a bus stop near the resort ahead, I looked at the source, drunk and smoking.

The truck got near and stopped at full speed. I saw the person behind the wheel, and it was she.

She stopped right in front of me, and the owl did not move as she seemed to notice me standing there. Then she put her window down; I heard the music playing, it was a nice song I liked.

'What a weird day,' she asked. 'Want a lift for ahead?'

I looked at her; she was a young woman and had green eyes. Her hair was silver, and she wore traditional late 60s country clothes. She had a pure white face, just like the snow, that suited well with her hair in comparison. She had a kind and empathetic happy face as a silver soul song was playing.

I felt weird again this time; it was a sudden change in emotions. As before, I did not think it through. She looked at me, turned her volume down, and asked me if I was heading towards the city.

I told her I was going to the bus stand near the resort ahead.

'I am heading towards the hospital in the city.'

As I was drunk, for some reason I continued the conversation and asked if she was in a hurry.

'Well, my daughter had a child with some high school kid while she was in college, and they were about to have the baby.'

I thought it was a pretty wild story considering it was the other way around, and she seemed happy while talking.

'Where is the hospital in the city?' 'It's near the station.' 'I am heading towards there too.' 'Well, I can give you a ride if that's okay with you.'

I felt the soothing wind blow and looked up at the orange cloudy sky that was pure purple, turning dark as it was, and the pine woods covering both sides of the road. It just looked way too good.

'Sure, if that's alright with you,' I said.

'Sounds like you are a quite lucky fellow to me.'

As I felt shivers, I said, 'Yeah.'

As we both stood silent in the wind as it echoed through the forest, the silence was soothing.

'Nice, right?'

She had her eyes closed while looking at the owl in that silence.

'Yes.'

Then she looked at me and said her name was Freya. I told her I was Silas.

'So you went skiing?' 'No, I am just a photo-enthusiastic person here for insta reels.' 'Ohhh, to be young and full of determination.' 'Yes.'

I was a bit embarrassed; maybe I was too drunk.

'It's getting late; we better hurry,' she said. And I said, 'Ok.'

I told her I would be okay in the back. She asked whether I was sure. I nodded as I took my last puff of the cigarette. I put out my cigarette and thought: The weather is nice today, as silence echoed in my mind in appreciation of the stillness of this place.

The song changed—to Take Care.

As I put my bag inside, I got in the back of the truck. As I sat looking at the valleys of the mountain covered in snow, the white owl too flew away. The wind started blowing slowly. It was chilly. I knew now winter was about to come.

I spread my hand at the side of the truck, and away I went with her."

..

She never did honk at the owl but waited for it to fly away on its own. Guess it was really some crazy coincidence, I thought. The view captivated me with awe; nature soothed me, and her songs made me serene, so away I went from the shrine of nature.

The city was not far by car as night was falling, and the city lights were beautifully illuminating along the way. I saw the board for the station ahead; we were already near it. She stopped at the entrance, and as I stepped out of the truck, I thanked her for the inconvenience. I asked if she would be there on time; she said it was fine, there was still time. She told me the hospital was just around the corner, and for some reason I said it was nice to know you. She said it was her pleasure.

I thought she was full of stories as I watched her go. Guess I will be home sooner than I thought. There was still time; basically, I was supposed to be on tomorrow's train. So I asked the counter for available tickets and got one, and it was about to depart, so I just went to my cabin and just slept.

When I woke up, we were almost there. After reaching the destination, I went near the bus stop and got the bus to the airport while I was waiting for departure. At the counter of a bar, for some reason, the news playing behind my back was about the mountain I was on yesterday having a natural glacier disaster. Well, who knows—there was no single mountain, but a valley of it.

might not even be the route I went through to feel lucky; it's something I would not know about

I went back to the country. It was night when I reached my destination, and The Night We Met was playing in my ear leads. By the time I stepped outside the airport, it had shifted to When the Night is Over. It was still a long way home, but I was well ahead of schedule. The nostalgia of the road stirred a sense of homesickness in me, yet the travel made me want to walk further still.

I set off walking, gazing at the stars. I did not like this place; its historic hysteria had left the people with deep-rooted inconveniences. Yet, I was no longer bothered by it as I once was. The night was quiet. The sky was starry. I walked the path in silence.

Later, as the song Long Lost came to an end, I took my ear leads off. The music continued to resound in my mind in that stillness of the night. In that quiet, silent stillness where a song echoes while wearing ear leads, there lay the same quiet reality that remains once they are gone—a silence without assumption, where only the voices of imagination echo into the distance.

As I was crossing at the traffic light, in the very middle of it, my whole surrounding became comfortably silent. For some reason, I felt comfortably cold. My body was light, my mind serene. Knowing nothing, I walked on, until—just as I crossed the crosswalk—I heard a single water drop in that stillness. It felt like the entire world was completely empty. Everything began to slow down as I turned to look behind me.

I heard a loud explosion coming from ahead. And saw a GTO coming at crazy speed from my left. It was coming from the wrong direction.

And as it got closer, it drifted right before the crossing area and stopped.

I looked ahead and saw my body lying there.

Before I could clearly think about my body lying there, I heard a loud speed‑brake noise from my right side. It was an oil tanker hitting the brakes. It stopped before the crossing area. And there came the loud noise of sirens from the south side, direction of the explosion.

Cars full of people armed with guns,

shooting behind toward the cop cars chasing them,

as soon as the oil tanker stopped,

there they went toward the north side, guns blazing.

While they went their way, so did the cops behind them too.

As I walked toward my lying body, to my surprise, I was not carrying a bag on my back, but wearing the same clothes. I had my cigarettes and lighter with me, for some reason.

What a disbelief it was to see my own body lying in the middle of the crossing, while looking at it as a person.

From inside the GTO, a person stepped out—she went straight to where my body was lying. It was a young girl. She had a beautiful face that complemented her long black hair, but right now, she looked terrified.

I assumed this was life after death.

"I looked toward the source of my curiosity. I took a slow breath and sighed."

There I saw Freya wearing white gown illuminating halo behind her; the surrounding I saw was not what there was supposed to be. But of forest with garden full of flowers never seen.

What a magnificent view; "divine" was the only word, though what I felt at that moment was truly indescribable. As she walked towards me, the garden expanded. The sky shifted with every step she took, and the world behind me disappeared.

By the time she reached me, the whole world had changed. I was standing in a garden filled with flowers never before seen, surrounded by a beautiful forest. The sky was as clear as day. In the distance, I saw snowy mountains shrouded in fog.

"It's good to see you again," she said.

"Well, same here." I asked about her daughter, and if she had made it in time.

"There’s still time."

I realized I was probably a fool to ask that, even now. "Are you the same person I met before?"

"Yes," she replied. As she spoke, her gown and halo vanished. Her clothes shifted back into what she was wearing when we first met. The halo was gone, and her hair turned from white to silver.

"So you are the same person," I said. I’d thought I was hallucinating.

"I guess you didn’t forget me," she said.

I looked at her. "It's hard to forget someone like you."

The surroundings shifted back to normal. In silence, we both watched the girl who was calling for an ambulance.

"Did you save them?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, her eyes following the oil tanker driver as he ran away, terrified.

"It would have been one hell of a show for me if you hadn't, right?"

"For your eyes only," she said.

I looked down at my body. "Will I make it back home?"

"Well," she replied, "your body will make it."

"Well, that’s a relief."

She looked at me. "So, what did you think happened?"

I took a breath, exhaled, and said, "Why don't we see what happens?" I honestly didn't know what I was supposed to do now.

We both looked on from the sidelines. I lit a cigarette and spoke

"The truth is an ugly reality," I said. "Created in favor of fools, designed to make people pity them for their own greedy wickedness. They spread that sickness beyond their own community, deluding the world with their 'truth' until it becomes the foundation of history. What is there left to follow? It’s just a sickness derived from ugliness, backed by words like 'righteousness.'"

"For it is, and was, their reality to create and spread animosity for every question of their beliefs," I said. "To turn those beliefs into commandments, letting them continue for generations—spreading like a sickness behind a false facade of pity. They do it just to carve a road to 'salvation' at the end of all things. As a society, it’s hard to even fathom what is real."

I took a drag from my cigarette and let the smoke drift. "To live by your own convictions, just to find a place beneath the same sky... to try and enjoy the prosperity of life in a reality like that? Well, it made me end up here."

I looked away from the crash, exhaling slowly. "So my guess would be to just let it be; it's not even worth guessing what happened."

She said, "You’re right. And that’s not my problem—what these people do." "But they tried to drag something they should not have," I said. "So the result they got… was inevitable, right?" "Yes."

"So, the girl… is she the one?" I asked. "Well," she said, "that girl’s name is Elisa. She has a single mother, Elisha, who was one of the founding members of a famous luxury brand. She sold all her stakes and opened a new branch in this area. She had a vision for a new dawn that brought her here."

We stood at the side of the road, watching the girl call for help—her cries terrified, unanswered

Freya spoke, her voice steady. "But she did not understand that empathy is a sickness. In this crazy world, it eats its owner slowly, but eventually, it consumes them entirely. She didn’t want a luxury brand driven by a corporate perspective; she wanted it to prosper through their own culture, so their perspective could finally be spoken about. It was an outlook designed for normal people.

"It was the right direction. They were ready for it. But as you said: truth is an ugly reality created in favor of fools, who have created circumstances for them to be pitied for their own wickedness."

"Such were the circumstances," Freya said.

"The approval for the branch was granted by the person who suggested the idea. He ensured it aligned with her vision to secure her consent. Positioning the branch in this location was a calculation made for specific individuals.

They intended to acquire a brand of that reputation.

That was the only reason for the suggestion. A name with her history would never have occupied this space otherwise."

"Those people went to extreme measures, considering the extreme situation the branch posed for them. They instigated a rumor, spreading the belief that the brand was merely propaganda ill-suited for the people. That was the story they told.

"Yet, the branch opened and operated anyway—but under the clear management of their own people. The luxury goods were generated for them. The company was designed to accommodate their prosperity. Even the management was handed over to their own kind."

"The woman Elisha trusted to oversee the operations was bought by the man trying to acquire the brand. Elisha’s vision was to staff the branch with people from poor backgrounds; she transformed them until they were perfectly suited to represent a luxury brand. She was spreading a new vision.

"Within months, those employees were dabbling in luxury. The company’s influence was undeniable, but it brought a social hierarchy with it—a rigid standard of 'up' and 'down.' The influential thrived on reality, while the others lived in assumption. They created an environment designed only to self-suffice their own standards.

"Freya’s expression shifted, not into sadness, but a sharp, clinical revulsion. She said it was so ugly it made her sick beyond puking."

So, what happened?" I asked.

I already knew the answer. To assume in a situation like this is both meaningless and dangerous for the self. Freya remained silent. I looked at the troubled girl waiting for the ambulance and the police. I took out another cigarette, lit it, and took a breath, looking from her to the empty sky.

I know assumption is a poison, I thought. I know why I never assume the circumstances of a natural situation. One cannot understand reality through assumption for the simple reason that it is reality. Assumption is merely a definition without reality—a lens that fails the moment it is looked through.

It defines the observer more than the truth

Assumption is born of agitation; no reality can be seen clearly through it, for there will always be the trembling of fear in such a grand perception. While one can try to define the world through self-perception, the explanation of such an assumption is only a justification for one's own acknowledgement. It is a hollow act.

"Such actions only cloud the mind. There is no meaningful resolution to be found there. Even with silence and patience—even with morality, conviction, and the steady accumulation of determination—it remains as it was. To move with that assumption is still to move with a meaningless presumption."

"To waste one’s patience on it is to invite the suffering of a known tragedy. To define through assumption is an act of arrogance. Driven by emotional disturbance, it ignores the path taken carefully through silence and consideration—a path built on morality, conviction, and the steady accumulation of that conviction for determination.

"One can only hope to never assume such an assumption,"

The mind tends to force one to look at those assumptions in the silence, where only the voices of imagination echo.

to try never to assume things, or to guess about them.

Or to even hold a thought or an assumption about such a predicament.

To live with clarity and silence; with the patience, morality, and conviction gathered into a determination never to assume such a thought. For assumption is a poison.

To simply be where one is—with the clarity of that place, an appreciation for the silence, and the patience, morality, and conviction to stand firm—that is the true appreciation of the blessing that life is.

"...while smoking, looking up at the sky. As I knew: no destination is worth walking toward the path that is built on a forced perception, or blinded by the assumption of a presumption, I thought."

"But I knew no way now," I said to Freya, who was silent. "For I was dead to know the reason."

I looked at the girl. The woman her mother trusted to oversee the operations had been bought by the man trying to acquire the brand. She had sold herself to be a pawn in the hands of those hunting the branch—a branch originally meant to be driven in a different direction from the original brand, as you said.

"Such was the agreement between the founding members," I continued. "Non-intervention, once her stakes were bought out. So, here lies the elephant in the room."

"After buying the brand, their only intent was to merge it—it was the only reason they moved. They came from backgrounds built on wealth and connections, prospering in circles that gave them power over mass influence. To see them in a shark tank full of fish, one can grasp the absurdity they posed.

They are beyond untouchable, as they are beyond wealthy.

For what they were seeking were standards that neither wealth nor their influence brought, but the circle that flourished in her previous company.

"They still managed and controlled the influence, but they wanted to be driven in a different direction—toward a place defined by standards far from where they had prospered for generations. They wanted to be there.

"But such a place was out of reach within their means, protected by a threshold their wealth could not cross. It remained inaccessible until they found the exceptional opportunity to cut into that layer cake."

"This was where the problems born of their influence would finally crumble. They sought to gradually disappear from the very cycle they forced others into. Their interest was not public knowledge; they simply gave their silent approval to the rumors that had already started in their favor. To the world, their children were merely friends.

"But here, things turned. It was the twist they needed, the push toward their fulfillment. The woman put in charge was one of those privileged children, prospering in the hierarchy that was built within that company. She found a man who moved among the party crowds—someone shrewd enough to recognize an opportunity when he saw it."

"The plan was set. She presented him with an opportunity through a facade of love, placing it within his reach. The emerging hierarchy was constructed in his favor while the girl’s mother was occupied with giving opportunities to the masses.

"I said in the silence that echoed as we both looked at the girl waiting for the ambulance and the police.

The few who reached high positions through shrewdness were the influential ones with ambitions—those who were bought ethically."

"As the one who was shown the opportunity, he grew greedier with every chance he took; with more connections came more greed. It was enough to drive a man mad, until he stumbled into the kind of influence and power that money only buys for the rich.

So the plan went: to force the sale of the company, they needed a situation that would drive them out of the country, so they could then use that crisis as a reason to take control of the company."

This was the real reason they needed him. Behind the facade of fake love and the opportunity they had dangled before him, they had created a path for him to act on a plan of his own—to offer a 'solution' they already desired. Outside, the world was fracturing; disobedience to authority was rising, fueled by an unfair reality.

"To gain control, they had sold out a few of their own rats to corner a cat. They were the very rats who fueled the disobedience they had created.

They believed the cats would act on that fuel, but they did not—for the cats knew such rats.

"They knew. For he knew such cats—those who roamed free with an appreciation for life.

For rats were those who made the perspective of cats a living hell.

Their belief prospered.

Animosity outside grew, for it was a game they were familiar with.

But the cats did not care."

"The ones who did care were those driven by madness—the pure insurgents, the radicalists.

They were the ones they flourished, using and controlling them as tools.

The kids they controlled here were not something they had sought; instead, he had found them, or perhaps someone had shown them to him."

"I lit another cigarette and said, 'Somebody armed them.'

The person who sold her the idea and the location for the company was a major politician. I knew this through the conveniences of life—the kind that sometimes simply cannot be controlled.

I suspect there was someone inside in disguise running the show, someone actually working for that politician. I said he might have shown that fool the way.

So went the deal. So went the connections.

"It was simply war for them; they were radicalist insurgent driven by an unyielding ideology. Their reality grew uglier, and so did the danger for the child of the man trying to buy the company—especially when he began playing his father’s game."

"The kid drove straight toward the orders he was given, doing exactly what they needed. But here, his friendship blossomed. He thought he was using a pawn by controlling the woman in charge, but that man made him a suggestion instead. He drove him toward the ugly reality of the ideology those radicalist insurgents operated on.

I took a calm breath and sighed into the silence, watching the cigarette I was smoking disappear into nothing. I hadn’t even finished it; the ember hadn't burned its way through. Yet, the moment my need for it passed, it simply ceased to be.

Freya spoke, her voice a low hum in the stillness. She told me the son had sent a video to Elisa as the invasion began—footage of men armed with weapons swarming the building. He played the part of the ignorant friend, "warning" her of a situation he had helped craft.

"Elisa drove toward the company in fear," Freya said, "acting on the very assumption they had planted."

"Because of this situation," Freya continued, "she will still call her mother now, desperate to know if she is safe. They had both given up hope. But the calls won't reach. The phone is sitting in an empty office, inside a building that has already turned to ash."

"While she still can't ignore the current situation," Freya said.

As we both knew, the call was not getting through—it had been a dead line from the very beginning.

"Freya said Elisha was not even there; all she needed was time until she could respond.

When it all began, she was called by the kid’s father—the man who wanted to buy the company—before the whole situation was even supposed to happen. When the situation escalated exactly as it was meant to, the media immediately began to outline the narrative, feeding the public an assumption that the rats were the sole cause. Shrouded in that manufactured atmosphere, every violent action was seen as justified.

The one truly responsible for the whole thing was the wife of the man who wanted the company, while the husband was the one who saw it all through. He was blinded by the pleasure he sought in controlling elisha.

"Such was the twisted connection between the leader responsible and the mother of that boy. For she, too, was driven by the dark pleasure that such chaos brought—the pure destruction of an enemy."

Such was the mentality. But things would have been more in her favor if we had not met," said Freya.

She said that if I had not met her, the truck would have suffered a brake failure, and the car would have crashed. The incoming oil tankers would have lost balance and exploded from the impact. Elisa would have survived, but the running vehicles would have been blocked because of it.

She pointed toward the south side and said the road would have been blocked by fire and the fuel tanker's explosion. There would have been a full-blown war between the authorities and the instigators, while reinforcements kept coming from both sides.

"Now, with the situation as it stands, only a few of those insurgents will survive. Those who do will fall under the thumb of authority. The politician will wait for that woman to accomplish everything, keeping her in debt to the leader of the instigators—he will know the moment she ever tries to kill him.

As she said this, she started walking. The surrounding forest shifted, and in the next movement, we were standing inside the company building. I looked at the man she pointed to.

They will still buy her founding member seat and secure a position on the inner board of the company. It will be a facade of reality: in the public eye, they will appear to be 'helping' in the wake of terror to see Elisha’s vision through, disregarding the violence while claiming that such terror was of no use for the development of the company vision it represented.

He is the one who will see everything through. Since he was the one who called Elisha, while his son waited for Elisa near the company, it all went as planned.

"Freya said the woman Elisha trusted to oversee the company's operations told her that her daughter was already in their possession. She directed Elisha to meet him in his office immediately, with the cold warning that if she failed to appear, the girl would be harmed.

She heeded the warning and headed straight there.

As soon as Elisha left the office, the plan shifted into its final phase. His son, who was waiting near the building with a friend for the arrival of the radicalist insurgents, watched as the fixed timeline began. When the vehicles arrived, he recorded the entire scene—capturing the violence to serve as his 'warning'—and sent the video to Elisa.

It was then that Elisa began calling, desperate and terrified, while unable to reach the mother who was already walking into the trap.

"For Elisha had known for the last few days. She understood why they had never once approached her about buying the company, despite all the rumors of their interest—rumors they themselves had planted through the people surrounding her.

She arrived at his office as we watched. On the screens, the news was already broadcasting the footage of her company in flames. She looked terrified. For the first time, he officially proposed the deal to buy the brand, using the image of her burning legacy to make her understand the situation without saying a single word.

As soon as Elisha stood up, she had finished signing the papers—documents that had been fully prepared to see the entire transaction through to the end. Before she could step out of the room, he said, 'Tell your daughter I said hello.'

She stood there for a moment in resignation, knowing better than to ask questions, then left the room in silence."

As soon as her mother left the building, we followed.

I asked what happened to the people who were still inside the building.

'They all should be alive,' Freya said

In the next movement, we were at the site where the fire still raged. Firefighters were working to beat back the flames while crowds gathered behind the barricades and the media swarmed to question the witnesses. The police had the entire area cordoned off.

I looked at the wreckage and asked her what had happened here.

"They wanted to control the narrative," Freya said. "The radicals showcased their firepower before entering the building, ensuring everything went exactly as it was supposed to. The security team managed the evacuation because the insurgents were too heavily armed and there were too many of them to resist.

She explained that the very girl who had informed Elisha of the 'possession' was the one who led the entire evacuation. They all escaped through the back gate of the building while the chaos unfolded in the front.

"For now," Freya added, "they will get exactly what they want

woman—the wife of the man responsible and the mother of that boy—would slowly but eventually get what she wanted as she would have.

As before if I did not met u.

Slowly and gradually, the company motto would have changed to align with Elisha’s former company until they merged, based on the belief in a shared public value toward continuing the legacy they both held in common

after becoming more integrated with the inner circle and cutting ties with her background on a positive note of power and brand development, she would be painted in a positive light.

Yet, she would be tortured by her association with the radicalist insurgent responsible for the explosion and terror.

He—the leader of radical insurgent would have become far too powerful over the dark side of society.

But now leader of radicalist insurgent will threaten her once this whole situation concludes.

As the poltician planned for only this situation ,

the insider working for the politician will arrange for her to meet him. There, he will bring her under his total control," Freya said.

The politician’s primary objective was the public support he would gain through that women ,

alongside a discreet channel for transporting illegal goods and foreign aid into warring states. He required a major company as a disguise to facilitate these dealings with global political connections who are, themselves, among his buyers. The loyalist placed inside the company was there simply to ensure these transactions moved smoothly under his jurisdiction.

"The weapons were provided to them by these people —the same ones who control the narrative at their own convenience,"

she continued as we began walking back toward where my body lay.

The radicalist leader will take the fall quietly.

his reward will be the safety and luxury provided to him in exchange for his silence.

As for the woman, she will know better than to ask questions. The public explanations provided by the politician’s circle will be sufficient to bury the truth.

The narrative remains:

Elisha will never again appear in public,

while those responsible declare themselves her saviors.

They will transform the company into a luxury brand mirroring her previous one until they merge.

leaving the woman in control of the brand while the politician remains the master of their mass influence.

"I looked at the road ahead as the mother of Elisa passed us, driving toward the last place she believed her daughter might be.

Her car slowed and stopped when she saw the ambulance ahead and the vehicle idling nearby. She stepped out, tears already in her eyes, moving frantically toward the flashing lights to see who was inside. When she reached the ambulance, she saw Elisa—safe, talking to the people, explaining what had happened.

'Elisa,' she whispered.

When Elisa looked back, her mother threw her arms around her and just cried. Elisa wept with her. As I turned away from the sight, I asked, 'Now, what will happen?'

Freya walked beside me. 'Well, they will return home. She will reunite with the former partners who had asked to accompany her—the ones she initially refused because of the risk. She still has people in her life who will follow her, regardless of the circumstances.'

Elisha’s vision would continue: giving people the opportunity to represent their culture with a clear perspective, one that usually gets lost in the convenience of the facade that people use tradition for. She sought an appreciation for what is truly to be valued, without the restraint of public norms that dictate usefulness. She fought the forced perception that takes shape through those norms—the perceptions that people and circumstances use to define others."

As we both disappeared into the night, the next minute we appeared in a remote forest, in an unknown place that looked like a temple. We walked in silence as the wind echoed; the forest sky was illuminating, and a single star shone brightly as I looked above.

Freya told me to take off my shirt and sit down. I obeyed, sitting on the stairs nearby while she took her place on the steps above me. In one hand, she held something that looked like a pen; above her other hand, a sphere of pure, see-through red water floated in the air.

She said nothing. The forest surrounding the temple was perfectly silent.

I said, "When I was alive, there was an assumption—a category meant for a dead man still breathing. They defined me through forced perception, a description born of their own emotional seething.

I knew the name of that cold categorization: The Dead Man. One who died but lived in the appreciation of silence, while they used their labels for hollow validation. To them, I was a figure of madness and hysteria, a man with a smile they could only see as a sickness, seen through the lens of their own social criteria.

We walked in the silence as the wind began to echo through the forest. I laughed and I said, 'That appreciation of silence was the blessing of life.

In all their presumptions, they try to define what is undefined for them. Their reality is not mine; it is a convenience, a gratification for the suffering they stem.

For silence is undefined by their hollow voices. No matter my solitude, their definitions still drifted—voices of imagination seeking a common gratification, a meaningless suffering where nothing is lifted."

laughed in the stillness for the emotion I felt—the appreciation of a path built on morality and conviction, a steady accumulation of determination. I defined it while living, and it felt good. I would never have defined my happiness by their terms, for their 'happiness' is lost in their fascination with the degeneration that their own minds confirm.

I laughed because I knew the meaninglessness of their words. For I was never there.

It was the forced perception in their minds that defined me, a justification for something I never was. Reality is the definition of what you have already done; theirs is a futility that plays at a game.

What is good? What is bad? What is evil or right? When the perception is built on a hollow foundation, feeding on agitation and the shadows of fear, using consideration as a form of manipulation.

In the silence of solitude, the voices grow thin. I knew it then, and I know it now. As we both walked in silence, I laughed.

And said, 'It was a blessing.'"

In that final silence, I felt my body disappearing into nothingness, the end drawing near. The silence grew heavy, and my mind relaxed into it. I felt the sensation of that nothingness where silence resounded in my mind; I felt calm.

"Shin," Freya said, her voice a soft smile. "When you see Svanhildr, tell her that someday I will return home."

As I heard her voice, a cold but relaxing sensation washed over me. I did not understand her words, for I knew only that this was the end, and I felt rejuvenated by it. My whole body began to turn into nothing as the wind blew—a feeling so soothing that my consciousness simply disappeared with it.