Floyd stood before the bridge. “The Bridge.” He stared ahead, motionless, for several minutes. Moments—perhaps hours—flashed through his mind, tracing the path that had brought him here. He reflected on the morning—how many hours ago had it been?—when, out of habit, as he did once or twice every lunar cycle, he set off, leaving Vivien behind. He’d seen it on her face: today, once again, he would have to undertake his explorations alone—those ventures he found so fascinating.


    Alone, he would search for sights, scents, and moments reminiscent of their old Earthly life. Alone, he would wander beneath the surface, through the ghostly underground city bathed in a pale, spectral glow. Floyd knew he would carry this image with him through the forest until he reached the time gate that stretched into this world from the top floor of the tower. Along with it, he carried a faint pang of guilt, a subtle sense of absence, with Lili’s face flickering in his mind.


    These tiny, nagging fragments of emotion didn’t weigh constantly on his chest, but they did, at times, halt his steps. The trees and bushes blurred and faded, replaced by swirling thoughts of his morning tea, stirring at his heart. Moments later, the forest reclaimed its presence, its soft, aromatic essence guiding him forward once more.


    Reaching the gate, he ascended the many levels with practised steps, his breath quickening as he arrived—always at the exact same place. The vast, desolate street stretched out before him. The same view greeted him every time. The same lights, the same silence, the same smells, and the same dust. The same colours. The same feeling.


    The excitement of discovery filled him each time. There was no real purpose, no specific reason for his visits. He sought only to find whatever he happened upon. Every object was precious in its own right, though he never took anything with him. He observed, touched, and absorbed these once-familiar things. Wandering through the lifeless scenery, he relived—more vividly with each visit—the long-lost everyday moments.


    What he found most comforting was the lack of stark contrast between this place and the life he had left behind. Everything felt familiar—only here, the colours were grey, the air still, the life drained away. He had come to understand that nothing could have prevented the catastrophe. Leonard had speculated that it might have been the result of a failed nuclear experiment. Yet, he also recalled that solar activity had peaked in those days. In truth, there was no way to know what had triggered the months-long power outage or why the darkness grew heavier until it finally swallowed the city entirely.


    Perhaps all the causes collided at once.


    Maybe the intense solar flares disrupted a nuclear test. Perhaps the same destructive forces triggered an accident at a particle accelerator. Or maybe, due to the altered magnetic field caused by the solar storms, a nearby volcano—dormant for centuries—had erupted.


    The volcanic eruption and the way it transformed the city into this cavernous void seemed the most plausible theory. Equally evident was that the civilisation that once thrived here was either only partially related—or entirely unrelated—to those still living above ground. It was possible that a few survivors had formed colonies on the surface, but both Floyd and Leonard saw little hope in that idea. They agreed that, after such devastation, the odds of rebuilding life under the known conditions were slim at best.


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    Today, Leonard was nowhere to be found. Floyd felt an even deeper sense of isolation amidst the grey dust of the city. His steps wandered, his thoughts darted between depths and surface, until he found himself standing at the foot of the bridge.


    The bridge he wasn’t supposed to cross.


    Right?


    He kept staring into the distance, searching for the far side—but only dark outlines met his gaze. They didn’t seem much different from what stood behind him now, across the bridge. This similarity only deepened his thoughts. Why, after all, shouldn’t he cross?


    He would.


    He promised himself he’d be extremely cautious, but he would cross and see what lay beyond.


    His first steps were slow and heavy, like a train pulling away from a station, its immense weight dragging forward until momentum carried it along with ease.


    The bridge didn’t appear dustier than the rest of the city—if anything, the light seemed dimmer the further it stretched.


    Scattered debris told of panic during those final moments. Long lines of cars now stood as silent monuments, their twisted forms fused into the bridge like ornaments of a colossal urban sculpture. Their doors gaped open, some torn off entirely, others left hanging. Dust and dim light obscured their colours—some slightly darker, others lighter. They differed only in size and shape.


    From above, the bridge resembled a broken string of pearls, the cars acting as pale beads against the ashen backdrop.


    Beneath it, the dry riverbed hinted at what had once been a broad, flowing river—three, maybe four hundred metres wide. The depth or direction of the channel was impossible to determine now, hidden beneath the shroud of poor light.


    Not a single body.


    Nowhere in the vast, cavernous concrete labyrinth beneath the earth—no remains, no trace of human life.


    Deliberate.


    Far ahead, near the middle of the bridge, a large section was missing entirely. Or rather, it wasn’t where it was supposed to be—it now lay scattered across the riverbed below, like the unassembled pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.


    Floyd was lucky. A cluster of steel cables and pipes along the left edge still formed a precarious crossing. He gripped them tightly, every step deliberate, every movement calculated, as he crossed the thirty-metre gap.


    His eyes gradually adapted further to the darkness below, but colours remained muted—only shifting shades of grey.


    Reaching the far side, the city looked much the same as the one he had left behind—perhaps the buildings were a bit lower, perhaps older. As he crept through the streets, hints of colour returned, faint and flickering under the city’s dim, residual lighting.


    Floyd paused for a moment and took a deep breath, drawing in the living particles of air from beyond the bridge.


    And yet—something felt different.


    He inhaled deeply again, held the breath inside, then exhaled slowly, calming his racing senses.


    The smell.


    It was the smell and the silence that set this side apart.


    The air here was different—not by much, but enough. Something subtle lingered, so faint it would have gone unnoticed without keen attention.


    Even the silence sounded… different.


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