After the door vanished infront of him, he was trying to steady his breath.
He stood on a cracked, forgotten street. Jagged lines split through the surface like old scars, and tufts of moss spilled from the breaks. On either side, the road was lined with tall, unkempt grass swaying gently in the wind, as if whispering secrets in a tongue lost to time. The trees nearby were of strange species—twisted trunks with deep blue bark and leaves shaped like narrow blades, rustling faintly with an unfamiliar sound.
Then he turned around.
And his breath caught in his throat.
Suspended in the sky, impossibly close, loomed a massive moon. Its presence dominated the horizon—silent, heavy, watching. Its surface shimmered with colors not meant to coexist: golden veins running through crimson ridges, all drenched under a dominant hue of glowing blue. It wasn't just light—it was motion, alive with undulating waves of color that painted the clouds in haunting patterns. Ethereal hues spilled into the sky like ink dropped in water, bleeding across the heavens in slow, majestic pulses.
He stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, overwhelmed. The sheer beauty of it was paralyzing. Otherworldly. Sacred. A long moment passed before he could tear his gaze away.
His eyes lowered to the city below.
From this distance, it looked like something lifted straight out of a science fiction film—impossibly sleek architecture and towering spires silhouetted against the light of the moon. Metallic domes, sharp-edged towers, suspended bridges between high-rises. The clean lines of a once-proud civilization. But time had done its work.
He began to walk down the old road toward the city, each step echoing faintly in the quiet. The further he went, the more he noticed—abandonment had seeped into everything. Vines snaked around lamp posts, trees had cracked through the sidewalk, and shrubs clawed at walls and fences. The material of the road beneath him was not asphalt or stone, but some glossy, composite alloy—smooth, unyielding, still faintly humming with power.
It wasn't like home.
And that thought cut through him.
Could he ever go back?
The gate was gone. Just vanished.
He clenched his jaw and pushed the thought away.
Soon, the city's outer gate rose before him. It stood open—tall, arching, and lined with sleek panels and dormant machinery. Futuristic, no doubt. But clearly abandoned for a long time. Moss and lichen clung to the surface. Strange protrusions—thin spires, like the rib cage of a massive, long-dead beast—rose from the wall. They might once have formed an electromagnetic barrier or some kind of protective field, but now they stood as nothing more than hollow bones.
He stepped through.
The city swallowed him.
It was a ghost of its former self. Towering buildings loomed on all sides—metal and glass structures weathered by time, many cracked or broken. A few still flickered with low, residual power. Holographic signs sputtered in and out, projecting fragmented logos and phrases. Hover cars—sleek, wheel-less vehicles—stood abandoned in the middle of roads and sidewalks, some half-covered in moss, dust and debris.
The silence was thick.
He could feel the life that once pulsed here. The laughter. The rush of feet. The neon advertisements glowing into the night. But now, the wind was the only thing that moved freely. It carried dust through open doorways and rattled broken panels that dangled from above.
Despite the decay, a single beacon of activity remained. At the top of the tallest tower, a glowing orb pulsed steadily—a calm blue light that throbbed every few seconds. Beneath it, faded words flickered across a holographic sign:
United Federation of Galactica,
That was all. He couldn't tell if that was the city's name, or the name of the organization that once governed it. Just beneath the title, the display still showed time and date—surprisingly accurate.
23/6/3057.
The realisation unsettled him. Somehow, this city still knew the date. Somehow, some part of it was still alive.
He wandered deeper into the streets, soaked to the bone and still aching from his time in the forest realm. But he felt... better. The city gave off a strange melancholy, a sorrowful quiet that reached into him.
It felt like this place had been loved.
Whatever happened, the people didn't just leave—they fled. And quickly. Some shop doors were left hanging open, others broken in. Personal items lay scattered on the ground—glasses, bags, toys. He passed what looked like a park, overgrown and half-swallowed by nature. Even with all the decay, the sorrow was unmistakable.
It hurt.
Eventually, he came upon a massive digital billboard. It stood crooked at the edge of a plaza, frozen in place. Its screens were cracked and flickering, but still legible in some parts.
> ALL CITIZENS EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY.
THE M...MOON HAS...THE PLANET. ACTIVATING—
And then it cut off. Garbled pixels bled down the display. The rest was indecipherable.
He also noticed another date at the bottom left. 1/3/2050. His eyes widened with realisation. More than 100 years passed and some of the technology was still working. It fascinated him. But it gave him an idea of what might have happened on this planet or city. Although most of the words were unreadable.
But the message was clear enough. The moon—the beautiful, radiant moon above—was what drove them away.
He looked up.
There it was, hanging over his head. Silent. Harmless.
So why did his chest feel cold?