On the morning of the following day, the city's residents woke up to the same cursed scenario once again… more of them had disappeared. Some began to fear that there might be a hidden demon among them, while others believed that those in charge of the city had started getting rid of them because they were a burden.
But amid the chaos the city awoke to, and atop a wooden platform in the center of the city, a girl with white skin appeared, her features calm in a way that aroused suspicion, as if she knew that any excess emotion would be a final betrayal of herself. Her eyes were more open than they should be—not frightened, but drained, carrying full awareness of what was happening without attempting to escape it. There were no tears, only a faint shine suggesting they had come but were not allowed to fall. Her eyebrows appeared relaxed, but between them was a subtle tension indicating silent resistance—not against others, but against collapse.
Then she said:
"You all know that the current administration seeks to develop the city, and that is evident through the exploratory expeditions. But you, those who remain, must also play an important role in this phase. Therefore, everyone will be assigned tasks starting from now—from children to the elderly, women or men, everyone must fulfill their role. Only the sick will be exempt."
The faces of everyone in the crowd froze when they looked at her, due to her manner of speaking and her different expression. A single idea entered their minds:
"They are not only ignoring the disappearance of some of us, they are also assigning us tasks—clearly, they want to use us and then get rid of us."
…
Silence spread across the place for a moment, until a man from the crowd mustered his courage and shouted:
"Are you mocking us—"
His voice stopped mid-sentence. He swallowed with difficulty, his eyes darting away and then returning, like someone testing courage he did not fully possess. Fear was visible on his face—in the tightness of his jaw, in the slight tremor at the corner of his mouth—but his tongue moved despite it. He lifted his head slightly, not with confidence, but with delayed resolve, and said what he knew might get him killed:
"People are disappearing, and you haven't made a single statement about what's happening."
Elsa looked at him with a smile to soften the atmosphere:
"The disappearance of some people is not related to humans or demons, but rather the result of the emergence of a Rift in the structure of reality itself—a weak point in the causal sequence that caused events to slip from their natural course. Those who were affected were not erased; they simply fell out of normal momentary synchronization, placing them outside direct temporal measurement. What you are witnessing now is merely a secondary effect of the Rift, the result of a temporary disturbance in the causal threads of reality, and they will be gradually reintegrated once the system begins recalibrating itself, much like cells reorganize after a minor injury. The process is extremely delicate, but natural, and predictable within the laws of reality itself, even if it appears mysterious or frightening to those observing from afar. The reason we did not tell you earlier is to avoid frightening you with the possibility of demon attacks emerging from the Rift. But I still ask you not to be afraid—the man has not left the city, and he and the others will protect us."
Fragmented whispers spread through the crowd, inconsistent words, before a voice from the front rows rose—unsteady, but clinging to a single thought:
"So… the ones who disappeared didn't die?"
A brief silence followed, then the same voice continued, addressing others more than Elsa:
"So… they will come back?"
People exchanged glances. Some nodded unconsciously, while others clung to the word like a lifeline. A woman pulled her cloak tighter and whispered:
"She said they will be reintegrated… so they will return."
Another man said quietly:
"Even if we don't understand how… what matters is that they will return."
There was no full conviction, only fragile relief, as if fear had finally found a sentence to hold onto. The noise softened—not because they believed, but because the idea of return was enough for now.
Elsa raised her hand again, not to silence the crowd this time, but to redirect their attention:
"The city cannot continue relying on limited teams or specific names. What the previous group accomplished was not the end of the road—it was its beginning."
She looked at the faces before her and added:
"Therefore, what we will do now is not an emergency measure, but a necessary step to develop the city and ensure its continuity. Each of you has a role that cannot be replaced—not because we need greater numbers, but because a society can only be built by those who live within it."
Some heads moved slowly, so she continued:
"Work will be distributed based on what the previous teams left behind in terms of plans, locations, and unfinished tasks. Those who know the routes will organize movement. Those who know construction will stabilize what others started. Those who know storage, accounting, or documentation will be responsible for ensuring no one's effort is wasted."
There was no urgency in her voice, only calculated certainty:
"What we are doing now is shifting the city from dependence on a few to dependence on everyone. This is not exploitation—it is an acknowledgment that its survival is no longer possible without you."
Then she concluded, not with a promise, but with a wrapped truth:
"Cities do not collapse when faces disappear—they collapse when those who remain stop moving. And what will be asked of you is nothing more than to be part of a city that has decided to continue."
The crowd stood in silence, their eyes still fixed on Elsa, but no longer surrounded by the same suspicion as before. Something in her words, in her steadiness, in the way she did not offer promises or simplified explanations, made each of them set their doubts aside. She was not addressing them only with words, but with eyes carrying an unbreakable certainty, and a tone that created an inner sense that their participation was unquestionably important.
Some nodded unconsciously. Others lifted their eyes from the ground as if they had suddenly discovered the meaning of their existence—a vague sense of value and impact. No one thought of the difficult questions. There was no longer a search for the reason behind the disappearances, nor absolute fear. Everything settled on a single feeling: that they were now part of something greater, that her words alone had made the unknown danger seem resistible, and that the city's continuation needed them here.
In an almost imperceptible way, this change spread to every corner of the crowd—every face, every movement, every breath carried an implicit agreement:
The idea is acceptable. We are with it.
It was not fully conscious conviction, but it was enough to anchor their psychological reality in that place—on the platform, under her gaze, at the very moment she appeared, each of them became a participant in her world, without argument, without hesitation, without fear controlling the mind.
After several hours, and once all roles had been assigned, Elsa stood on the platform. Her shoulder was slightly tense, her hands clasped in front of her body like a delicate barrier trying to protect her from herself. Her lips were tight, her gaze drifting for a moment before returning to face the crowd, carrying within it a mix of fatigue and suppressed exhaustion. Every tilt of her head, every slight bend of her shoulder, indicated an internal fracture—an attempt to display stability while every part of her rejected this forced role, struggling against the duty imposed on her.
Inside, she felt a sharp tearing; every word she spoke was a calculated deception against her own will, every show of authority and recognition a mask hiding what she believed to be wrong. Her heart pressed heavily, her awareness screaming that they believed her, that she was pressuring them mercilessly, while she wanted to step away from this role, to allow them doubt or even genuine fear.
Naive noticed that Elsa had reached her limit in betraying herself, so he approached her with calm steps, his voice low but clear:
"Thank you, Elsa… this wouldn't have been possible without you."
Elsa lifted her head, her eyes tired, and said nothing, feeling the weight of everything she had done.
Naive smiled slightly, in a warm tone carrying genuine gratitude, and added as if whispering only to make her feel a little better:
"You really have an excellent memory. You managed to remember everything I trained you on in half a day—from how to explain the Rift to how to shift topics. Everything was truly perfect."
Elsa did not move her lips. She merely gave a faint look, feeling like nothing more than a tool, while the sense of responsibility weighed heavily on her.
Naive then continued calmly, lowering his voice further after realizing his words had no effect on her state of mind:
"Please don't overthink it… you might fall into deep stages of impossibility."
Elsa slowly lifted her shoulder and released a faint whisper, as if the words were nearly choking in her throat:
"I'll try… just…"
She paused, her eyes drifting away from the crowd as if searching for a small space to breathe, while her tense body revealed the full weight of what she had done.