The next morning, as the first light of dawn stretches across the sky, I wake up to a soft ping, followed by a hologram notification floating before me. The AI doctor reminds me of my therapy session later in the day. I sigh, rubbing my eyes. Another reminder, another day, another therapy session. I’ve been avoiding it, but it’s a part of my routine now. A part of my life.

I sit up, my room as messy as usual—papers scattered, my tablet left on the table with a webpage still open, and clothes piled up in a corner. It’s like I’ve created a chaotic cocoon around me, a place where I can just retreat from the world. I look around at the disarray, my brain foggy from sleep, and the thought of therapy makes me groan inwardly.

I get up, absentmindedly adjusting my shirt, and head out of my room. The sun is barely rising, and the early morning air has a crisp chill to it. I step out into the quiet streets, still relatively empty, save for a few early risers going about their routines. The smell of fresh coffee from the local café wafts through the air, mingling with the distant hum of hovering cars and the occasional drone buzzing by overhead.

I’m walking to the therapy center, but my feet seem to be moving in a different direction. Maybe it’s the monotony of everything—therapy, life, school, my parents' concerned glances that feel like a constant weight on me. Maybe it’s the fact that yesterday’s events still hang in the back of my mind. The footprint. The lightning. The old man. What the hell was all that?

As I continue down the street, my thoughts spin out of control. Should I actually go to therapy today? Maybe I’ll skip it—just this once. After all, what’s the point? The world’s moving in a direction I can’t control, and I can’t seem to find my place in it. Not with my family’s pity, not with my lack of purpose, but....what will my father do to me when he will find out?

I mean what more can be done to me now? Let's dump it!

I shake my head. The therapy session is the least of my worries. I glance at the shiny, sleek gadgets everyone around me is engrossed in. They’re all staring at screens—some chatting with AI assistants, others playing games, and a few checking the latest news updates. It’s as though everyone’s plugged into the system, and it’s all so normal for them. But I can't help but feel alien in all of it. So I keep walking.

While walking, I witness something...

There’s a man sitting on a bench near the park. He’s holding a book. A real, physical book. It’s so out of place here in a world where even libraries are digitized, where anything you want can be downloaded in an instant.

What kind of weirdo is this? I start walking toward him, unable to help myself. It’s absurd, really. A man reading a book? He’s like some relic of the past, sitting there like nothing’s changed.

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As I get closer, my eyes widen in recognition.

It’s him. The old man from yesterday.

I stop in my tracks, blinking in disbelief. It’s really him. What the hell is he doing here? Why is he reading a book in the middle of a park?

I take a step closer, my curiosity getting the better of me, and then, almost without thinking, I blurt out, “Aren’t you the senile geezer who was spouting nonsense yesterday? What the hell are you even doing here, and what’s up with that old-looking, rusty book?”

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even seem to care. His eyes remain fixed on the pages of the book, his brow furrowed in concentration. He’s unfazed by my sarcastic remark, which makes me even more annoyed, for some reason.

Finally, he looks up at me, eyes glimmering in the soft morning light, and he chuckles lightly. "It’s a good book," he says, almost absentmindedly. "You should try reading one someday." He closes the book, places it on his lap, and just stares at me for a moment.

I cross my arms, tapping my foot impatiently. "A book? Really? In this day and age? You’re either really out of touch with reality, or you’re just some freak playing dress-up. What is this, some kind of... time travel cosplay?"

He laughs again, that same serene chuckle that seems to unsettle me. "I suppose I’m more of a relic of the past than anything else, but there’s more to this world than you realize."

I roll my eyes, unimpressed. "Yeah, right. And I’m supposed to be impressed by your mystical babble. You really do know how to make an impression, don’t you?"

Without missing a beat, he sets the book aside and rises from the bench, taking a step toward me. "I know you have questions, and I’m certain you’re dying to ask them. Come. Walk with me. I have answers, though they may not be what you expect."

I narrow my eyes at him, instinctively taking a step back. What kind of strange offer is this? I hesitate for a moment, my mind racing. But the curiosity gnaws at me, pulling me toward him like an invisible force. Maybe I’ll just see where this goes. At least I’ll get some answers, even if they’re nonsense.

I take a deep breath and follow him, wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into.

As we walk through the park, I keep my distance slightly, unsure of what to make of this. My doubts creep in, though. What if he’s some kind of trickster? What if he’s luring me into some weird situation? I glance around, half-expecting someone to jump out from behind a tree and grab me.

It’s only when the old man suddenly speaks again that I snap out of my thoughts.

“Do you know about the moon?” he asks, his voice calm and steady.

I blink, thrown off by the randomness of his question. The moon? What the hell does that have to do with anything?

I glance up at the sky, trying to piece together some kind of meaning, but I come up empty. "I think it was something that floated above in the sky. I... I don’t really know the details."

He nods, as if he expected that answer, but then he continues. “Yes, it was something that floated in the sky. It was the Earth’s only natural satellite. It had its own gravitational pull, and it controlled the tides of the oceans. Some say it was even connected to our emotions. A rock, yet somehow, it had an undeniable effect on everything around it.”

I’m surprised by how much he knows. It’s not like this information is hidden—it’s all in the records, accessible with a simple query. But there’s something about his tone, the way he talks like he actually remembers it as if it’s more than just data.

I nod, unsure of what to say. The whole conversation feels so out of place. Nothing seems to fit. But then again, what’s been fitting lately?

“So, what happened to it?” I finally ask, my voice softening. “What happened to the moon?”

The old man’s eyes grow distant. His smile fades, replaced by a grave expression.

“It was destroyed.”