Nero kept falling.
There was no sky above, no ground below—only the pull of the void. A silent, weightless descent through endless black. It didn't howl. It didn't whisper. It simply consumed. The cold, at first a nuisance, soon began to bite deeper. It curled into his chest, coiled around his spine, and pressed into the marrow of his bones.
He screamed, but no sound echoed. It was devoured instantly—swallowed by the nothingness around him.
He slapped his cheek. Pinched his arm. Dug his nails into the skin—again and again. Anything to wake up. To feel something real. But the pain barely registered. No sting. No warmth. Just the soundless pull of a place that didn't care if he existed.
Still falling.
Still freezing.
His breathing turned shallow, mouth open like he was gasping through fogged glass. Each inhale stung—like dragging frozen needles into his lungs. His fingers were stiff now, the edges of his mind slowing. His eyes… too heavy.
Sleep began to drag him down faster than gravity. Not a peaceful sleep. A final one.
He forced his eyes open. Gritted his teeth. "This… can't be real," he muttered. "I need to wake up…"
But even his voice sounded wrong—dull, distant, like it was being pulled apart.
His vision blurred. He blinked hard, but the void stayed the same. Black. Endless. Pulling.
"Maybe this isn't a dream," he whispered. "Maybe this is the end for me."
His body gave in. His muscles relaxed. His eyes began to close.
And then—
He saw it.
Something was falling too.
It wasn't far. Just below. Or maybe above? It didn't matter. The direction was still down—he could feel it in his gut. But the figure's fall was slower, more controlled. Weightless.
Nero's eyes focused. Slowly. Painfully.
It wasn't a thing.
It was him.
But not like this.
The other him had no cracks. No dark fractures snaking across his skin. No trembling, no pain. It was whole. Unblemished. Drifting like it belonged here.
A mirror of who he might've been.
Nero reached out. Fingers stiff. Desperate.
The figure was asleep.
But it was close now—so close.
Just as his fingers neared—
He woke up.
His eyes snapped open to sunlight pouring into the room. No shadows. No flickering candles. Morning.
He was in bed, tangled in the blanket, body tense. But something was wrong.
He was still cold.
Colder than he'd ever felt in his life.
His skin was pale, trembling. Every breath was a ragged shake. The warmth of the room didn't reach him. It was like the void had followed him back.
He sat up. Tried to move.
The moment stood on the ground—his legs gave out.
With a hard thud, his body hit the wooden floor.
Downstairs, Drone flinched at the sound.
He was already halfway up the stairs when he called out, "Nero!? What was that loud bang? Are you alright!?"
Nero lay flat on the floor, teeth chattering so violently it hurt. He tried to move his lips, but they barely parted.
"Drone…" His lips barely moved. His breath trembled. "H…help…"
His voice didn't carry.
Drone knocked harder. "Nero!? Hey! You good in there!? Say something!"
Still no response.
"I'm coming in!" Drone shouted. "I don't care if you're naked!"
The door slammed open—and Drone's eyes widened.
Nero was curled up on the floor, arms around his chest, convulsing from the cold. Drone rushed to his side, dropping to his knees.
"Nero!? What—"
He grabbed Nero's arm—
And froze.
It was like grabbing a block of ice. Colder than anything natural. His fingers recoiled instinctively, but he forced them back.
"What the hell happened to you…?" Drone whispered. "You're freezing."
He grabbed Nero's hand anyway, despite the stinging pain spreading through his own fingers. "Kid, stay with me! Look at me! Just breathe—I'm here!"
His mind scrambled for an answer. Something. Anything.
He shouted down the hallway, "CH! Get up here! NOW!"
The old goat rushed in, hooves thudding heavy against the wood. But the moment CH entered, he stopped—like he'd walked into something he couldn't name.
His eyes locked on Nero. He flinched. Took a step back.
Like he was seeing something beyond flesh. Like he recognized what Nero really was.
"CH!" Drone snapped. "Go! Get Anika! NOW!"
CH didn't argue. He ran.
Drone looked back at Nero—still holding his hand, still trembling. The air was thick now. Moisture curled around them. Mist clung low to the floor.
Their breaths came out in visible puffs. A thin fog was creeping from his skin now, curling across the floor, licking up the walls. The air turned dense and wet.
Nero groaned, his voice raw, "Y-you're… f-freezing…"
He tried to pull his hand away, but Drone gripped tighter.
"I'm not letting go," Drone said.
Nero shook his head weakly. "I… d-don't want… to hurt… y-you…"
Drone replied, "What else am I supposed to do, huh?"
Tears slid down Drone's face.
"I don't care," he whispered.
But Nero summoned the last of his strength and yanked his hand free.
Drone gasped—but let him go.
Anika and Thom arrived. They slowed as they reached the room, stopping at the doorway.
Both froze at the sight—Nero curled into himself, body steaming with unnatural cold. Drone sat beside him, hands red and shaking, tears on his cheeks.
"Please," Drone said. "He's suffering. I don't know what to do…"
Anika dropped to her knees and reached out. Her fingers brushed Nero's shoulder—and she recoiled.
"He's colder than ice," she breathed. "How is he even alive?"
Thom said, "We need to warm him. Fire, hot water, anything."
"There's some hot water in the kitchen," Drone said. "But not much."
Thom bolted.
He returned moments later with a kettle.
Anika took it, knelt close to Nero. "Nero? I'm going to pour hot water on you. If it hurts, say something."
"… Okay…" Nero's voice was a breath.
She poured.
The water hissed against his skin, steam rising.
"Do you feel that?" she asked.
"A… little…"
"It's working," Drone said, leaning in.
But the kettle ran dry.
"The water," Anika said. "It's freezing over…"
Puddles on the floor were turning to thin frost.
"We have to get him outside," she said. "We need fire. Outside. Now."
"I'll get the wood," Anika said, standing. "Thom, Elias—carry him."
Thom stepped forward, tried to lift Nero—but recoiled immediately.
"It's worse. I can't touch him like this."
Drone yanked the bedsheet from the mattress. "Then we use this."
They spread it beside Nero.
"Roll onto it," Drone urged. "Just a little."
With gentle pushes, Nero shifted his weight onto the sheet.
"Careful," Thom said. "The sheet won't last if we pull too hard."
They lifted the ends—like a sling, like a hammock—and began to move.
Down the hall.
Down the stairs.
Toward the fire Anika was already sparking to life outside.