CHAPTER 1 – PART 0: THE DAY SIX STOPPED BEING HUMAN
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[DATE: YEAR 2058 | EARTH]
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The last time Six saw his mother, she was fixing his coat.
A quiet act. Small. Unimportant. The kind of thing people forget happens. The kind of thing he should have forgotten.
But he never did. She had smiled, tucking the edges together, fingers moving the way they always did—gentle, practiced, full of a warmth that didn't belong in this world.
[Mom:] "You always forget to button up. You'll catch cold."
He hadn't been listening. Hadn't cared. His hands were in his pockets, eyes barely focused. Bored. Distant. Somewhere else. She smoothed out the fabric, brushing invisible dust from his shoulders, the way she always did. A habit. An instinct.
[Mom:] "I'm running to the store. Do you want anything?"
Six shrugged. She smiled again, softer this time. As if she had expected that answer.
[Mom:] "Then I'll just bring something sweet."
She always did. She never forgot.
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[A FEW MINUTES. A SIMPLE ERRAND. A ONE-WAY TRIP.]
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She called out before leaving.
[Mom:] "Be good while I'm gone. I love you."
She had said it so easily. So casually. Like she would always have another chance to say it again. He hadn't responded. Hadn't looked up. She left anyway.
And then—
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[THE CALL CAME AT 6:43 PM.]
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The phone rang. Once. Twice.
His father answered. A pause. A shift in the air. The weight of something unseen pressing into the room.
Then:
"There's been an accident." "Your wife… she didn't make it."
"It was instant. She didn't suffer."
Lies. Nothing in this world was instant. Nothing in this world was painless. If it had been instant, she wouldn't have ended up on the ground. If she hadn't suffered, she wouldn't have died alone.
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[THE PARKING LOT – WHERE EVERYTHING ENDED.]
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Streetlights flickered overhead, too bright against the cold pavement. A car. A wreckage of metal and glass. Blood, not much, but enough. A smear against the concrete, trailing from where she had landed. She wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing. She was gone. The groceries lay beside her. A carton of milk, split open, seeping into the cracks of the asphalt. A bag of flour, torn, spilling white powder around her body, coating her skin like dust settling on something abandoned. His coat felt too heavy. His hands felt too empty.
[Six thinking:] (She'll be cold. She hates the cold.)
He knelt beside her. Carefully, carefully. He removed his coat and draped it over her, smoothing it out, making sure it covered her arms, tucking the edges where they needed to be. She had always done that for him. She had always made sure he was warm. Now, he did the same for her. It changed nothing.
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[THE FUNERAL – WHERE NOTHING FELT REAL.]
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People spoke as if words could fill the void she left behind.
"She was kind." "She loved her family."
"She'll be watching over you."
Lies. The dead didn't watch. They didn't wait. They simply stopped being here. The fire took what remained. Smoke curled into the sky, ashes scattering, disappearing into the wind like they had never existed at all. His father drank. He stood still. The world moved on. But he did not.
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[THE HOUSE BECAME A GRAVE.]
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It wasn't a home anymore. Just a structure.
His father barely spoke. When he did, it was through slurred words, lost somewhere between grief and something darker.
The unopened mail stacked up. The dishes stayed in the sink. The air smelled like stale alcohol and days that blurred together. The gloves she had left by the door remained untouched. Still folded. Still waiting. She had promised she'd be back. She had promised him something sweet.
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[THE CHOICE - BREAK OR BECOME SOMETHING ELSE.]
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Weakness had taken her from him. Not just hers. His. He had been weak. A child. Someone who didn't understand how fragile life was until it had already shattered.
[Six thinking:] (I should have answered her. I should have looked at her. I should have—) It didn't matter. Regret was for people who still had something left to lose. So he made a decision. If the world was a thief, then he would become something it could never steal from. If hesitation had killed her, then he would carve himself into a being that did not recognize the concept. The world was not cruel, not fair, not merciful—it was indifferent. It did not care who suffered. It did not care who begged. It only consumed. So he would never let it take from him again.
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[YEAR 2063 – THE SKY FRACTURED.]
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The prophecy came. The System spoke. The countdown began. The world panicked. People begged for explanations. The governments tried to control the narrative. The rich hoarded resources. None of it mattered. Weakness was weakness, whether it was a dying woman on cold pavement or a civilization being warned of its own inevitable collapse. It was all the same.
[Six thinking:] (They don't understand. They still think they have time.) He didn't.
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[FIVE YEARS UNTIL EVERNIGHT.]
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Five years to prepare. Five years to become something the world could never break, never take from, never leave bleeding on the ground. Others trained to survive. Six trained to make survival irrelevant. He did not fear Evernight. He had already died once. This time—he would be the one who decided who walked away.
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END OF CHAPTER 1 – PART 0. CONTINUE TO PART 1: THE MOMENT SIX STEPPED INTO EVERNIGHT.
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