A violin.
I turned my head toward the sound.
I sat still, staring into the fog, my mind unraveling. Nothing made sense. Not the water. Not the sky. Not this place.
'Did I die?'
That thought wouldn't leave me. I drowned. I remember the cold, the weight, the river pulling me under. This must be… what? The afterlife? The underworld?
I never believed in anything before. But now? Now I believe in something.
'I'm still in the river. Maybe I washed up somewhere. Maybe someone's just… playing music nearby. A boatman? A violinist on a dock?'
But no. The sound was getting closer.
The mist shifted.
And then—I saw it.
A small boat slid out of the fog, cutting across the glowing water like a blade through fabric. At the front stood a figure—tall, wrapped from head to toe in gray silk that played the violin with slow, practiced ease.
And as it played… the music didn't just echo—it moved. I could see the notes. Thin silver ribbons of sound rising from the violin and curling upward into the sky, vanishing like smoke.
'I'm dead. A hundred percent dead.'
The boat drifted to a stop in front of me.
"Little one," the being said, voice smooth but hollow "Get on."
I didn't move.
It wasn't human. I knew that immediately. Its body was shaped like a man's, but no part of it felt right. The fabric wrapped it tight, but in places it twitched and pulsed like something alive was squirming underneath.
Its face was completely hidden—except for the eyes.
No. Not eyes.
Two burning orbs sat where its eyes should be. Not glowing. Not reflecting. Burning. Like someone had lit tiny suns and stuffed them inside its skull.
'Don't get in the boat. Don't. Don't.'
I screamed inside my head. But my body didn't listen.
Like a puppet pulled by invisible strings, I stood. My legs moved without asking me. Step by step, I walked into the boat.
My mouth tried to open. I wanted to scream. To tell the thing to get away. To run. Anything.
But my lips stayed shut. Sealed.
"Twenty-two years… eighteen hours… thirty-four minutes… and forty-four seconds."
The voice drifted over the water like smoke.
"Tell me—do you think you lived it to the fullest?"
The violin came to a jarring stop, the sound snapping like a neck. I flinched in my mind. It was as if the final note had turned into a scream.
And for the first time since I'd stepped onto the boat, I felt… something. I could breathe. Just barely.
"...What?" I whispered. My voice was thin, like it had to claw its way out of my throat.
The figure didn't move. Still as stone.
"How much did you love your god?"
Another string snapped.
This time, I felt something shift. My fingers twitched. My eyes blinked. I could move—just a little—but it felt like lifting a mountain.
My heart was pounding. Thoughts tangled and fought for space.
'He's Death. Or something close. He's measuring me. Weighing me.'
'Maybe he decides where I go. Heaven? Hell? Or worse?'
My instinct screamed to lie. To say I loved God. That I prayed. That I was pure.
But I knew he would see through lies like they were glass.
"I didn't believe in God," I said, the words coming with a tremble.
The figure didn't react. Not a flinch.
Then, he softly spoke "I still love you"
His head tilted slightly. One more string broke. Only one remained.
"What was your purpose?"
My mouth opened, but I had no answer. Nothing true. Nothing that mattered.
"I… I don't know"
A long silence followed. The water beneath us remained still. Too still.
Finally, he asked the last question:
"Do you want to live again?"
Everything froze. The violin. The air. The water. Me.
And then, like a dam breaking—
My breath came back. My hands moved. My heart slammed in my chest. Panic hit me like fire. I moved. Not like a puppet—me. My panic. My instinct.
I didn't answer. I didn't think.
I jumped.
Off the boat. Into the water.
The cold grabbed me instantly, pulling me down, dragging me under.
Warm. Then cold.
Bright. Too bright.
I can't breathe—then I do. My chest hurts but it fills, full of something sharp and sweet.
Noise. Loud, strange, all around me.
Hands. Holding me. Big, warm.
I cry. I don't know why. I just cry.
⌗⌗⌗⌗⌗
It's been 5 years. My name now is Sy, named after the founder of the orphanage. I have a brother, Pluto.
Our parents gave us both away for the blood harvest. He had a name, but I didn't. He was their favorite.
Now the time has come for the "Savior Children" to be sacrificed. I remember everything now—from the moment I was born until today. At first, I couldn't speak or see well. Everything was blurry. Sounds were just high and low ringing in my ears.
Over time, I learned to move my body without feeling weak, like I couldn't even hold a spoon. I finally learned to control my tongue and speak normally. I'm free from my baby body. Now I'm five.
I came to the orphanage when I was about one year old. As I grew up, they taught us that we were "chosen" to save humanity from "Death Autumn." They said monsters would appear if the blood gate didn't have support from us.
I only realized the truth later. The caregivers never said outright that we would die. They just said we had a noble goal, that we were the Savior Children.
I mean I didn't really need to think to much to uncover the truth the names kinda told me that already. It's just that I needed to learn the language to understand the caregivers.
At first, I tried to escape, but it was harder than I thought. The orphanage is like a toddler prison. Everything runs on routine from morning to night. There are only six children here, so every time I tried to sneak away, the caregivers caught me and brought me back.
It's the last week before the ritual I need to escape
Now i have a slight plan First the orphanage is like a small factory the are valves and gear mechanism that are let to rust there are two floors the second where we are and the first where caregivers go during the night
yesterday during last dinner i notice a small air vent it was quite small and quite high up I don't know if i could fit but I think it would be possible now I would need a distraction and prepare something to climb up to the went
Today I will try to escape
Morning comes. I barely sleep, but I know what I have to do. My stomach hurts the whole time.
When no one is looking, I take Pluto's rabbit. His little rabbit. The ear is torn, the fur is dirty, but he holds it every night when he sleeps. He loves it. It's like his only friend.
My hands shake. "I'm sorry," I whisper. I hide it under Luke's blanket. Luke won't even know until later.
next the is baby chairs in the corner of the dinning room
The baby chair is heavy, but I drag it across the room. The legs scrape against the floor—loud. Too loud. I freeze every time, thinking the caregivers will notice. But they don't. I push it near the vent. Just right. Just high enough.
All day, I wait.
By lunch, Pluto is already crying."Rabbit? Rabbit? Where are you?" His voice breaks. He looks under the tables, under the beds, even in the kitchen doorway before a caregiver pulls him back."Not there, Pluto," she says. But he keeps crying anyway.
I look away. I can't stand it. He sounds so lost.
Afternoon comes. The other kids are playing. Luke is sitting on the floor, and his hand brushes under his blanket. He pulls out Rabbit. His face goes pale."Wh—what? This isn't mine!"Pluto sees him. His eyes turn red and angry."Give it back! That's mine! You thief!""I didn't take it!" Luke shouts, shaking his head. He looks scared, like he's telling the truth.Pluto shoves him. "Liar!"Luke pushes back. Then it turns into fists, into crying, into screaming.
The caregiver rushes over. "Enough! Stop this!" She pulls them apart, one in each arm. Rabbit falls to the floor. No one picks it up.
This is my chance.
I climb onto the baby chair. My legs tremble so hard the chair wobbles. I reach up, push the vent cover with both hands. It squeaks, metal grinding against metal. My stomach twists, but the fighting drowns it out.
I squeeze inside. The metal is cold, scraping my skin. Dust chokes me. My shirt catches on the edge, tearing. I kick and pull, trying to get further in.
The voices behind me blur together. Crying. Shouting. The caregiver's orders.
I wriggle. My chest is inside. My stomach. Almost all of me. Just my legs still sticking out. I push hard. The chair wobbles and tips. I panic but keep crawling.
Almost there. Almost—
Then I feel it. A hand. Cold and tight on my ankle.
"No!" I scream. I kick, I thrash, my heel slams against metal. Another hand grabs my other foot. I slide backwards, scraping my arms raw against the vent sides.
"Let go!" I cry, my voice breaking.
Then I was yanked out. I hit the chair, crash to the floor. My knees sting, my elbows burn and my head bleeding
The whole room is silent now.
Pluto stares at me. Tears streak his face. Luke too, his lip bleeding from the fight. Both of them just look, confused, like they don't understand what I was doing. Rabbit lies on the ground between them, dirty, forgotten.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my throat tight. "I'm sorry."
The caregiver stands above me. She doesn't shout. She doesn't hit me. She just looks down, her face calm.
My head still hurts. The bandage is too tight. Now I lie in the small bed, the sheets scratchy against my skin. I'm not allowed to get up.
The caregivers look at me more often now. One always stands near the door at night, just watching.
I stare at the ceiling. Pipes run above me, dripping water. I used to count the drips to calm down. Now it just makes me feel sick. I have no plan anymore. No way out.
Then I hear little footsteps. then I see Pluto first, holding Rabbit against his chest like a shield. Luke follows, quiet and unsure.
"Sy," Pluto whispers. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I say, but my voice sounds dry and thin.
"You scared me," He hugs Rabbit tighter. "Why did you go in there? Were you playing hide and seek?"
Luke frowns. "You hit your head bad. You shouldn't do that."
I look at them not sure how to respond.
"I saved Rabbit," Pluto says proudly, showing it to me. "I thought he was gone forever. But Luke said he didn't take it, and I believe him now. We're still friends, all of us."
Luke nods. "Yeah. We're still friends. Right, Sy?"
I swallow hard. "Right…"
Pluto sits on the edge of the bed. "When you're better, we can play tag again. Or I can give you Rabbit to hold. He helps when you're sad." He smiles, with his little smile. "He helps me every night."
Luke looks at me, his eyes wide and soft. "You'll get better soon. The caregivers said you're special. They said we're all special."
"Special…" I whisper.
They both just smile at me, like nothing's wrong.
When they leave, the caregiver comes back in. She sets a bowl of thin soup on my bedside table but says nothing. She just watches me with her pale eyes, as if she knows every thought in my head.
I stare at the soup, my hands trembling.
I have no hope left.
And soon the day comes.