The next day, when Ethan woke up, he took a moment to mentally prepare himself. Looking at Rosalie's condition, he finally made up his mind. Even though there was no logical reason for him to sacrifice his safety for his friend's well-being, Ethan was still going to risk his life to help her.
Bracing himself for the dangers that lay ahead on his journey, Ethan donned the tattered rags he had for clothes. With a heavy sigh, he opened the wooden door of the underground passage, leaving behind the relative safety of the decayed orphanage to explore the abandoned buildings located a few kilometers away.
The air outside was thick with the smell of ash and decay—a constant reminder of the world's ruin. Ethan adjusted the straps of his worn-out bag, its frayed edges digging deep into his shoulders as he stepped into the barren wasteland.
The sky was a dull gray, with the sun barely visible through the dense haze. The landscape was lifeless, with shadows stretching across the ground like dark stains.
Once, this place had been a thriving town, filled with people and activity. Now, the buildings stood as crumbling ruins, their broken walls and shattered windows serving as grim reminders of all that had been lost.
Ethan had scavenged here for supplies before, but desperation drove him to return, hoping to find something—anything—that could help Rosalie.
The journey was dangerous. The ground was cracked and uneven, scorched by whatever disaster had struck this place. Pools of stagnant water dotted the landscape, their surfaces slick and oily.
Ethan avoided them, knowing they were likely toxic. The only sounds that echoed in such an environment were the occasional rustle of the wind through the dead trees and the distant guttural growls of unseen creatures. Ethan advanced quickly but cautiously, alert to every movement and shadow.
When he finally reached the outskirts of the town, the sight that greeted him was both familiar and unsettling. The buildings there stood like hollow shells, their windows broken and their walls blackened by fire.
Graffiti covered their surfaces—some faded, some fresh—a chaotic mix of warnings, pleas, and symbols Ethan didn't understand. The streets were littered with debris: broken glass, twisted metal, and the remains of vehicles stripped of anything useful.
Ethan carefully approached the first building he had planned to investigate. It was a small shop with a collapsed roof. Its door hung loosely on its hinges, creaking as he pushed it open. Inside, the air was thick with dust and mildew. Shelves lined the walls, their contents long gone or rotted away.
He sifted through the rubble, his hands brushing against broken glass and decaying wood. A few empty cans lay scattered on the floor, their labels faded and unreadable. He pocketed them anyway, knowing they might still be useful.
The next building on his list was a two-story house, its front porch sagging under neglect. Ethan navigated its deteriorating steps carefully, testing each one before placing his full weight on it. When he finally reached the top, he found that the house's door was already open.
As he stepped inside the house, Ethan's boots crunched on the broken glass that filled its floor. Taking a look around, he found that the building's interior was a mess of overturned furniture and shattered belongings. A child's toy lay in the corner, its bright colors now faded and dull. Ethan felt a pang of sadness when he saw it, but he pushed that feeling aside, focusing solely on his task.
As he moved from room to room, searching for anything of value, Ethan's first stop was the house's kitchen, which was nothing less than a disaster, its cabinets hanging open and its shelves lying bare. The only thing remaining there was a rusted knife lying on the kitchen counter, its blade chipped and dull.
Ethan picked it up, testing its weight for a moment before slipping it into his bag. Continuing his exploration of the house, Ethan searched the living room, where he found a pile of old newspapers—their pages brittle and yellowed. He skimmed through the headlines, most of which were about the early days of the Heavenly Gate's emergence.
The articles spoke of panic, confusion, and the rapid collapse of society. Ethan tossed them aside, his jaw tightening as the memories of the atrocities he had committed to survive until now surfaced in his mind.
Moving upstairs in the house, Ethan found that the bedrooms were in a similar state of disarray. Mattresses had been stripped clean of their sheets, and the closets hung open, their contents spilled onto the floor. The only things even remotely useful in the room were a few scraps of ripped fabric that might serve as bandages, but little else.
Having already explored the entire house, Ethan turned to leave the room when suddenly something caught his eye—a small wooden box tucked beneath a bed. He pulled it out, brushing off the dust it had accumulated. Inside it was a collection of photographs, their edges curled and faded. The images showed a family—smiling, happy, oblivious to the horrors that would soon consume their world.
Ethan stared at the photographs for a moment before closing the box and leaving it behind—sentimentality had no place in this ruined world.
---
The next building Ethan had in mind was a warehouse, its metal walls rusted and pockmarked with holes. Inside, the vast space was dark, with its only source of light coming from some cracks in the ceiling.
Ethan's footsteps echoed faintly through the empty space as he scanned for anything useful. After a while, the only things he found were a few empty crates and a broken pallet—nothing of value.
As he turned to leave, a faint sound caught his attention—a soft, rhythmic tapping. Ethan's body froze, his heart pounding. The sound came again, louder this time, and he quickly realized it was coming from the far corner of the warehouse.
After a moment's thought, Ethan decided to approach the sound cautiously, his hand tightly gripping the rusted knife he had found earlier.
The tapping grew louder and more frantic as he neared the source, until suddenly, right in front of him, stood a small, emaciated dog. Its fur was matted, and its eyes filled with fear.
The dog was trapped beneath a pile of debris, its leg pinned by a heavy beam. It whimpered as Ethan approached, its tail thumping weakly against the ground.
Ethan hesitated for a moment, questioning what he should do. He knew he couldn't afford to waste time or resources on the animal, but the sight of the helpless creature stirred something long dormant inside him.
With a deep sigh, Ethan set down his bag and began shifting the debris. After several minutes of straining and pulling, he finally freed the dog.
The creature limped away immediately, glancing back at him warily for only a second before disappearing into the shadows. Ethan watched it go, a mix of relief and guilt settling in his chest.
"...That was a stupid decision," he muttered. "But it felt right."
---
By the time Ethan reached the last building he planned to explore, the sun was already setting and casting long shadows across the entire ruined town, some of them even faintly reflecting on the shattered front window of a former grocery store.
Ethan climbed through the store's broken glass, the shards crunching under his boots. The store's interior was a maze of overturned shelves and scattered debris. He moved quickly yet methodically, checking every aisle and corner.
Most of the shelves were empty, but in the back, he found a few cans of food that had been overlooked. Their labels were faded, but the seals were intact. Ethan's heart leapt with hope as he stuffed them into his bag.
Finishing his search, Ethan prepared to leave when something metallic caught his eye—a glint in the dim light.
He tracked down the object's location by its reflection. Kneeling down, he brushed aside some debris to reveal a small metal box. It was locked, but the rusted latch was weak.
With a few hard tugs, Ethan pried it open. Inside was a collection of small tools—a screwdriver, a pair of pliers, and a roll of wire. They were old and worn but still usable. Ethan smiled faintly as he added them to his bag. They might not save Rosalie, but they were better than nothing.
By the time Ethan left the grocery store, the sky had already darkened, as the Milky Way's stars were obscured by the planet's deathly haze. Ethan made his way back to the orphanage, his bag heavier but his spirits low.
The buildings had yielded little, and the weight of his failures pressed heavily on his shoulders. Yet, as he walked back, Ethan couldn't shake the image of the dog—its eyes filled with fear and desperation.
Its situation was a reminder of the world they lived in—a world where survival was the only goal, and even the smallest act of kindness came at a cost.