After what felt like an hour of navigating through the rubble, Haruto finally reached the edge of the ruined city. Nightfall was creeping in, casting eerie shadows over the twisted metal and shattered concrete. A chill hung in the air, and he knew he needed to find shelter for the night. He scanned the desolate landscape, searching for anything that might offer warmth or a place to hide.
Then, he spotted a thin plume of smoke rising from a cluster of trees nearby. His heart pounded with a mixture of relief and apprehension—where there was smoke, there was fire, and maybe even people. But would they be friendly? With little choice, Haruto moved toward the smoke, slipping carefully through clusters of trees and tangled underbrush.
Finally, he emerged from the foliage and found himself at the edge of a small encampment. Eight figures sat around a crackling campfire, their faces flickering with shadows in the firelight, almost ghostly. Haruto hesitated, considering whether he should turn back.
"Intruder!" a voice suddenly shouted.
The camp burst into movement, the calm atmosphere turning tense in an instant. The strangers leaped to their feet, drawing weapons that gleamed ominously in the firelight—sleek, deadly-looking tools the likes of which Haruto had never seen.
"W-wait! I'm not here to cause any harm!" Haruto stammered, raising his hands to show he meant no threat.
A voice spoke from the shadows, rough and skeptical. "And why should we believe that?"
Desperation flared in Haruto's chest, and he stumbled over his words, struggling to find something convincing to say. "Because… because I just woke up from a 900-year nap," he blurted, his voice wavering.
For a heartbeat, silence hung in the air—then laughter erupted from around the fire. Six of them laughed, rough and mocking, but two figures remained silent, watching him with unnervingly intense gazes.
"Suppose you're tellin' the truth?" A muscular man finally spoke, his voice as sharp as his stare. He looked to be in his early twenties, with short, spiky green hair and piercing blue eyes that gleamed in the firelight. Next to him stood a woman, her hair a stark white and her eyes a deep, striking crimson that studied Haruto intently.
The green-haired man narrowed his eyes. "How do we know you're not lying?"
Haruto felt their eyes pressing down on him, and his throat tightened. "I-I can't explain it… I don't know what's going on, or even where I am. Just… please, believe me."
The white-haired woman tilted her head, her expression calm but authoritative. "The kid's harmless."
She glanced at the green-haired man, who grunted but gave a reluctant nod. "Alright. Everyone, put your weapons down," he ordered, his eyes never leaving Haruto.
One by one, the others lowered their weapons, but suspicion lingered in their eyes.
The green-haired man stepped forward, folding his arms. "Now listen here. Don't think for a second I believe you. We're taking you to HQ tomorrow, where we'll find out if you're lying or not." He gestured toward himself. "Name's Kiyomi Tsukihara, and this here is Kaito Nozomi."
Haruto opened his mouth to introduce himself, but Kiyomi cut him off. "Save it. There's a spare tent on the far left. Get some rest."
With no other choice, Haruto nodded, heading to the last tent, his mind racing. He lay down, doing his best to calm himself, and before long, exhaustion pulled him into sleep.
---
A low hum stirred Haruto awake. His eyes fluttered open to find himself inside a moving vehicle, which was slowing to a stop.
"Where…where am I?" Haruto murmured, his eyes widening as he caught sight of a massive building looming ahead. It was a towering structure, solid and gleaming, unlike anything he'd expected to see in a world on the brink. For a moment, he couldn't believe that humanity was still capable of building something like this.
Before he could process, someone shoved him forward, and a sharp clap of metal rang out. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in a sterile white room, strapped to a metal chair, with a figure standing before him.
"State your name, boy," the voice commanded, cold and sharp, slicing through the silence.