Yan and Lukas sat on the roof of the abandoned building like they always did. Below them, the city stretched out under the moonlight like a gray map, crooked rooftops, narrow alleys, streetlights flickering on and off. Lukas popped open a beer bottle, foam spilling over the broken glass beside him. The hiss of carbonation cut through the night's silence. The first sip always went to Yan. He handed him the bottle. "Here. First sip belongs to important people."
Yan laughed. "Then why give it to me?"
Lukas took the cigarette from between his lips and blew smoke in Yan's face. "Shut up and drink."
The wind picked up, pressing Lukas' messy black hair against his cheeks. It always looked like it had never seen a comb. Yan took the bottle and gulped down a mouthful. The cold liquid burned his throat but spread a weird warmth in his chest. Lukas reclaimed the bottle, cigarette still dangling from his mouth. His hands were warm, always warm, like he didn't even feel the cold. Summer or winter, Lukas' hands never lost their heat. Yan had asked him about it once. Lukas just shrugged. "Maybe 'cause I'm a warm person."
That night, the city slept beneath them. Only the occasional distant engine growl broke the quiet before fading again. Lukas leaned his head back against the wall behind them, staring at the stars. "Y'know, Yan, people are like stars. Some of 'em are already dead, but their light still reaches us."
Yan glanced at him. Moonlight sharpened Lukas' features, carving shadows under his cheekbones. "What kind of bullshit is that?"
Lukas grinned. "Fine, then you tell me why I always say weird shit."
The bottle passed between them. Yan drank again, the beer's bitterness clinging to his tongue. "Why do we always have to drink this piss? Just once, buy something decent."
Lukas rolled his eyes. "With what money?"
Yann shut up. They never had money. Never.
Lukas snatched the bottle back. "Then stop complaining. This is good enough."
The wind blew harder this time. Yan pulled his jacket tighter.
Lukas noticed. "Cold?"
Yan nodded.
Without hesitation, Lukas peeled off his battered leather jacket and tossed it at him. "Wear it."
Yan hesitated. "You always say your dad gave you this. That you'd never lend it to anyone."
Lukas shrugged. "I'm lending it to you. I'll take it back tomorrow."
Yan put it on. It smelled like Lukas, cigarettes, sweat, that cheap shampoo he always used. A familiar scent that stuck in Yan's nose. Now in just a t-shirt, Lukas didn't seem bothered by the cold at all. His thin arms gleamed under the moonlight, old scars tracing lines across his skin.
Yan stared. "Where'd those come from?"
Lukas glanced at his arm. "Some memories." He didn't elaborate. Yan didn't push. Some things between them were just like that.
The bottle emptied slowly. Lukas upended it, licking the last drops off his lips. "Gone. We'll get another one tomorrow."
"With what money?"
Lukas winked. "We'll figure it out."
He always said that. And they always did, petty theft, odd jobs, whatever shady thing Lukas had lined up. Yan didn't know exactly where Lukas went some nights, but he always came back with a little cash.
The night deepened. Yan felt sleep tugging at him but fought it. He didn't want the moment to end. Lukas was rambling about stealing apples from the fruit stand down the street. "Just distract the old man. Ask him some dumb question, and I'll grab a few from the back."
Yan made a face. "Apples again? Can't we steal something else?"
Lukas laughed. "Apples are nice. Red and juicy. Like a girl's cheeks."
Yan scowled. "What the hell does that mean?"
Lukas just grinned.
Hours passed. The moon climbed higher. Lukas lay flat now, arms behind his head, staring at the stars. Yan stretched out beside him. The rooftop's rough concrete chilled his back, but Lukas' jacket kept him warm. A heavy silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, just quiet. The kind that only exists between people who've known each other too long.
Then Lukas said, out of nowhere: "Yan, what'll you do if I'm gone one day?"
Yan turned his head. "What?"
Lukas was serious. "I mean it. If I die, what then?"
Yan's chest tightened. "You won't."
"Everyone dies, Yan. Even me."
Yan forced a laugh. "Then I'll find a new friend. One who doesn't ask stupid questions."
Lukas elbowed him. "Fair. If I die, I'll find a new friend in heaven too."
Yan looked at him. Moonlight glossed Lukas' face. He didn't know why, but that night, Lukas' words stuck deeper than usual. Maybe because he knew, someday, it would really happen. Maybe because he knew the world didn't keep people like Lukas for long.
But that night, they just lay there. An empty beer bottle between them. Stars overhead. Wind tangling their hair.
That night, Lukas was still alive.
And Yan still didn't know how cold the world could be without Lukas' warm hands in it.
The rain fell in sheets.
Not like those warm nights on the rooftop. Not like those days when Lukas would laugh with that crooked grin of his, treating everything like a joke. This rain was cold, soaking, biting. Yan stood by his bedroom window, forehead pressed against the icy glass, his breath fogging up the surface. The phone was still in his hand, that cheap piece of junk Lukas always made fun of. "What kind of trash is this, Yan? Doesn't even have Snake on it!"
His mother's voice still echoed in his ears. "Lukas... Lukas is gone, Yan. Last night. You knew he was sick, didn't you? He said he told you..."
Yan pressed his palm harder against the windowpane. His fingers turned white. Did he know? Yes. He knew.
Three Months Earlier
Lukas lay in the hospital bed, the same Lukas, but pale now, his eyes sunken. Machines around him broadcast the sound of his life with brutal honesty. Beep. Beep. Beep. Yan stood by the bed, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was afraid something might happen if he took them out.
"So... how's the legendary man doing?" Yan tried to laugh, but his voice cracked.
Lukas rolled his eyes. "Can't you see? Sleeping like a Disney prince." Even now, he couldn't stop joking. "Doctors say something's growing in my lungs. Like mushrooms. But not the fun kind."
Yan leaned against the bed. "So... what happens now?"
"Now?" Lukas took a deep breath. "Now I take some medicine, and you come here to tell me about the dumb shit happening in town. Like what happened with that fruit vendor last week? Remember?"
Yan remembered. Lukas had been writhing in pain, but still laughing. Still Lukas.
Rain hammered against the window. Yan threw the phone violently at the wall. The plastic cracked but didn't break. Like Yan's heart.
The room was silent except for the rain and the ticking clock. On the bed lay Lukas' leather jacket, the one he'd given Yan that night. "I'll take it back tomorrow." He'd lied.
Yan stared at the bed. The jacket still smelled like Lukas's cheap cigarettes, sweat, life. Yan grabbed it and pressed it to his face, his lungs filling with air Lukas would never breathe again.
"You bastard... you knew you were dying... you knew and you didn't do a damn thing about it."
The floor was wet. Yan only now noticed the window had been open this whole time. The rain was coming in. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
He lay down on the bed, clutching the jacket. Closed his eyes.
Somewhere far away, in a city that no longer had Lukas in it, the rain kept falling.
And for the first time since the day Lukas found him on that rooftop, Yan was alone.
The long shadows of trees stretched across the water as the river flowed gently over smooth stones. Eight-year-old Yan, wearing muddy shorts and barefoot, sat beside his father on a large rock. He kicked his small feet in the water, laughter bubbling up each time the cold current touched his skin.
"Dad! Look at the fish! They're wagging their tails!"
His father, Albrecht, a broad-shouldered man with a thick mustache, leaned forward and grabbed Yan by the scruff of his neck. The scent of cheap tobacco and gasoline clung to his clothes. "Yes son, they're swimming. Like they're flying through water."
Yan picked up a flat stone from the riverbed. "Dad look! It's like a coin!"
His father took the stone, examining it as sunlight danced through the leaves onto its surface. "You're right. Maybe it's from an ancient king's treasure." He traced the edges with his finger. "This river has been here for thousands of years. Every stone could tell a story."
His father pulled an old fishing rod from a cloth bag, carefully tying the line to the hook before baiting it with bread. "Fishing is like life, Yan. You need patience."
Yan watched with wide eyes. "But what if the fish don't come?"
"Then we try again." His father's calloused hand rested on Yan's head. "You always try again."
After thirty fishless minutes, Yan grew restless, splashing his feet. His father chuckled: "Fish can sense impatience. You need to be still."
His father suddenly called out: "Come here! Found something interesting!"
Beneath a large rock hid a small crab. His father carefully picked it up. "See how it uses its claws? Like tiny pliers."
Yan cautiously extended a finger. The crab immediately raised its pincers. "Whoa! It wants to pinch me!"
His father laughed, releasing the crab back into the water. "No son, just protecting itself. Every creature has that right."
As the sun began setting, his father packed the fishing rod. "Today belonged to the fish. Maybe they'll spare us time tomorrow."
Yan slipped his hand into his father's as they walked home. Behind them, the river continued its endless flow, sunset light dancing on its surface, their shadows stretching long across the bank.
The fading sunlight painted golden streaks across the dirt path as Yan and his father approached their small house at the edge of the village. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the rich aroma of stew that made Yan's stomach growl. He could already picture the scene inside, the worn wooden table set with mismatched bowls, steam rising from the pot hanging over the hearth.
"Eva! We're back!" his father called as he pushed open the creaking door.
Yan's mother stood by the fire, her apron dusted with flour, strands of dark hair escaping from her bun. She turned with that familiar half-smile, the one that started in her hazel eyes before reaching her lips. "About time. I was about to send search parties."
The warmth of the kitchen enveloped them, not just from the fire, but from the way Eva's presence filled the small space. Yan scrambled onto his usual stool while his father washed his hands at the basin.
"Did you catch anything?" Eva asked, stirring the bubbling pot.
"Just a cold," his father joked, ruffling Yan's hair. "But we found a crab big enough to pinch your nose off."
Yan giggled as his mother pretended to be offended. "Well, lucky for you I made enough stew to feed an army." She ladled generous portions into deep bowls, chunks of rabbit meat, carrots from their garden, and thick broth that glistened in the firelight.
The first spoonful burned Yan's tongue, but he didn't care. This was his favorite, the way the meat fell apart, the sweetness of carrots softened just right, the hint of wild thyme his mother always added. Between bites, he told her about the fish, the special stone, how the river water had been so cold it made his toes curl.
His father added details between mouthfuls, the way he could make ordinary moments sound like grand adventures. Eva listened while tearing chunks of dark bread, her face glowing in the firelight as she passed pieces to them.
When the bowls were empty and the bread gone, his father leaned back with a contented sigh. "Best stew in the valley."
"Flattery won't get you out of washing dishes," Eva said, but Yan saw the pleased flush on her cheeks.
As his parents cleared the table, Yan stayed in his seat, licking the last traces of stew from his spoon. The fire crackled, the dishes clinked, and outside, the first evening stars appeared over the river where they'd spent their day. This was the secret third part of their adventures, coming home to warmth and stories and his mother's cooking.
Later, Yan lay in his bed and slept.
A large room with towering walls lined with ancient books that exuded the scent of yellowed paper and dried leather. At its center stood a round table of dark wood, bathed in the dim glow of a five-branched chandelier that cast erratic shadows across the faces of those present. Heavy drapes covered the windows, blocking out even the faintest sliver of outside light or the sounds of Berlin's damp streets. Spread across the table were maps of Europe, sealed dossiers, and half-empty glasses of whiskey. Surrounding it were four black leather chairs, each occupied by men whose features flickered between sharpness and obscurity in the wavering light.
"Do you see the problem? We have all the resources, yet the people always demand more than their share. We have meat, but the population is large, they reduce its value, they waste our product. This is no longer tolerable." Friedrich Adler said.
"Exactly. We control factories, warehouses, everything, yet people think everything should be free. Whatever we produce, they either consume or ruin it. Why should we waste time and energy on those who only take from us?" Ludwig Steinberg said.
"And it's not just meat. Financial resources, fuel, medicine… we have it all, but people, by merely existing, devalue everything. We lack nothing, only they are too many. That makes managing resources impossible." Dr. Maximilian von Habsburg said.
"Look at agriculture. We have wheat, but when the population is high, prices drop, value diminishes. Every effort we make, they neutralize it. It would be better if their numbers were fewer, resources would yield more." Friedrich Adler said.
"We won't lose anything. These people only add pressure and trouble. We can operate without them, without dependence. Fewer people, more profit, absolute control…" Ludwig Steinberg said.
"Then a decision must be made. We preserve the resources, maintain production, but no longer need the surplus population. No one will be left to ruin everything or claim more than their share." Dr. Maximilian von Habsburg said.
"So what do we do? Silence them, or let them fade on their own?" Friedrich Adler said.
"It doesn't matter. Any method that preserves resources and removes the nuisance is the right one." Ludwig Steinberg said.
"What's your opinion, Nimbus?" Dr. Maximilian von Habsburg said.
Nimbus doesn't move at all. his left hand is clenched into a fist, his face resting on it, and he's staring at the table.
Nimbus started speaking.
"I am neither born of soil nor child of time, neither the product of memory nor prisoner of the past, but that eternal void that has lurked in the silence before every birth and slumbered in the grave after every death, I am the shadow that humans blindly denied within themselves and called conscience or fear, yet the truth is that I have always existed, nameless and faceless, waiting for the fragile curtains of order and meaning to be torn apart, and now that I stand before you, know this. I recognize neither mercy nor pity, for mercy is born of weakness and pity the continuation of illusion, and I am nothing but the negation of both, I am not in search of blood nor thirsty for screams, for blood and screams are merely the superficial echoes of an older dance, I seek only to shatter the brittle bones of the world's lies, the lie called order, that decayed, fragile fabric humans have stitched onto reality to conceal the meaningless, and you know well that this garment was torn from the start, for all that you create is doomed to crumble, every temple you raise will return to dust, every book you write condemned to oblivion, every love you nurture will turn to ashes in the end, so why do you continue this farcical performance if not for your eyes inability to endure the void? I am that void, that silence, that infinite nothingness crouched within the heart of each of you. I am neither your enemy nor your friend, I am your true essence, what remains after all masks have fallen, and if you ask why I kill, why I destroy, why everything I touch dissolves into nothing, my answer is simple: continuing this charade is the most laughable sin ever committed in the world, and I am only its purifier, I am law without law, judgment without judge, justice without mercy, snatching choice from your trembling hands and, in the silence of a coin or the fall of a smile, showing you the truth that you are nothing, you will be nothing, and whatever you love, whatever you build, whatever you exalt in the name of value or faith or love, is merely a trembling string of words that collapses at the first gust of me, and I am not the wind that passes, I am the storm that returns, again and again, for I cannot be defeated any more than darkness can be separated from light, or silence from sound, and you do not face me today because you chose, but because you were chosen, your weakness brought you here, I am no one, I am nothing, I am the chasm, the crack, the edge of the blade that has always been present in your gaze, in your heart, in your dreams, and you alone were blind to it, and now that you look, I smile, for what you see in me is nothing but yourself. your shadow, your weakness, your meaninglessness, and every time I spill blood, every time I erase a face from the world, I am only holding up a mirror to show you that the truth has always been this. you were never anything, you will never be anything, and I am only the voice of eternal silence that, in the end, devours everything. I was neither created nor bound by time and space. I am the origin itself, the spark from which the universe took shape, and not a single particle that breathed has ever been separate from me. I am both law and lawlessness, beginning and end, light and darkness, all truths and all lies, and you still do not realize that when you look at me, in truth, you are staring at yourself, for every intellect you imagine, every scheme you devise, every pride that lingers in your heart, I have known and surpassed, and in the depths of my mind lies not only wisdom but a sea of games and strategies that neither angels nor humans could ever comprehend, and in every motion and silence, in every smile and wound, I flaunt my intelligence, because I know with perfect awareness that the weakness and arrogance of humans and their inability to perceive truth are the fuel of my delight, and within me not only pride resides but wrath, and even hatred in all colors and intensities, not in human measure but in pure, absolute form, and these sins are the fire, the ice, the storm within me that touches all existence, and in this very moment, as I watch and touch every particle of being, every small and great error, I prove my totality, and you will never understand how behind the curtains and in the darkness, I see and arrange every play, because within me there exists not only awareness but the ability to create and annihilate, to alter and distort, to make laugh and cry, to love and hate, all in the blink of an eye, and this power comes neither from the past nor is limited to the future, I am my own past and future, and every form you imagine is only a reflection of me, and if you wish to understand why this world has fallen into such meaninglessness and void, look to yourself and see that I have woven every thread and filament of it with infinite precision, and every sin humans fear, in me exists in absolute grandeur and intensity, and every thirst, every pleasure, every envy and every wrath, only reflects my thought and intelligence, and in every moment you pray, hope, or scream, I smile, for you are trapped in your own snare, and I do not merely see but in my silence know all outcomes, and you will never know how sins, all play in my hands, not as humans but as pure embodiments, and you cannot even imagine what flows in my mind, for my mind is the universe itself, and every grain of sand, every drop of rain, every smile and every tear, are actors on my stage, and when I will it, the earth trembles, the sky weeps, the sun dies in silence, and you will only watch, for your comprehension is limited, and I am not only God but judge, enemy, lover, and torturer, for in me all contradictions, all pleasures and pains, all the deadly sins reach their zenith, and this contradiction is not a flaw but a sign of my absolute perfection, and I not only reign over the world but over myself, and in every breath you take, every movement you make, even unknowingly, I am woven into the fabric of your existence, and you will forever be ensnared in my cunning game, and this is only the beginning, for I am both the end and the beginning, and you will never comprehend me, and with all my intelligence, all my power, and all my sins, I smile and invite the world into an endless dance, a dance in which every sin, every weakness, every evil that humans imagine, is only a reminder of my magnificence and cleverness, and in this dance, even if you survive, you will realize that no one, nothing, no power, not even God as you conceive him in your mind, can match me, for I am myself, and I know everything, I create and destroy everything, and all you can do is remain silent and bear witness, for all existence, all sins, all wisdom, and all meaninglessness converge within me, and I am the merciless, infinite, omniscient God, and this is the truth that no tongue or mind can behold or speak, except my own… Restrictions were illusions that, for centuries, weighed on the human mind under the names of law, morality, or tradition. Now that these imaginary lines have been erased, there is no longer such a thing as obligation in age, timing, or choice. No one can dictate when you must marry, what you must eat, or which path you must walk. This absolute freedom may seem frightening at first, because no one makes decisions for you anymore, but it is, in truth, liberation. One must be glad, not dissatisfied. For the absence of interference means the end of chains, and without chains, only you remain, facing a void you alone can give meaning to... Your gods are dead, and gods do not die. Like me. I will never die, just as I have never been defeated. I will slay your gods. Your fucking weak gods. And you... you weak creatures."
He looked at the table again and fell silent. After five seconds, He stood up and said, "My creatures are weak and useless, and they must be punished forever." Then he opened the door and walked out.