Dull thumps and the croak of decaying steel followed with each step they took. A catwalk this long violated both every safety rule Frost knew on Earth, as well as physics. Unless this was made from an exotic metal, it should not be able to hold itself without any supporting structures.

Never in its skeletal state. The hand railings were cut with ridged marks, like something had bitten into them. Running one’s hand along it would result in a bloody mess.

Deviating too far to the left or right meant to plummet or to be impaled by what remained of the safety rails. It seemingly rocked to an invisible wind. Looking up or down revealed nothing but an endless abyss.

There was no telling where they were, aside from within the Pillar. Or the ruins more accurately. The Pillar was built over the ruins as far as they could tell. But Frost also considered the idea that maybe it was the Pillar itself that caused this place to fall into ruin. Like a seed and its sprout – the Ruin was the seed, and the Pillar was the sprout.

Thinking metaphorically helped create an image for him. It was all speculation, but Frost could not believe that these ruins collapsed through natural means. Besides, the Pillar reminded him of the Nexus.

Very faint strands of pale, luminous metal ran along the walls in the distance, appearing like illusionary threads.

Whenever he blinked, they’d change position. The Archivist tried searching for something, anything just to be helpful. She stuck close to Frost, apologizing every so often whenever she misplaced a step, tripped, or had her dress caught onto the jagged rails.

“O-Oh no!” She whimpered, her notebook flying from her hands.

Frost clutched onto it before it could plunge into the nothingness underneath.

“Got it! You… Need to be careful.” Frost sighed in relief, realizing that this notebook wasn’t the Archivist. “And please stop apologizing. How about I carry you?”

“I don’t want to be a burden. Being here, in this world reminded me of how much I bothered you. I feel uneasy.” She admitted, curling a small hand by her chest.

Frost lightly tapped her head with the notebook, causing her to clasp her head.

“I don’t think the past me would have been so close to you if they were bothered at all by you. C’mon. Keep your head up high. No one’s here to hurt or judge you.” Frost said, firmly taking her hand as they ventured deeper along the catwalk. “Besides. I have the impression that you were hard worker. Likely under appreciated. I can see myself wanting to help someone catalogue our world. Our stars. Things we’ll never be able to see or experience anymore.”

The Archivist’s grip tightened as she fondly stared at Frost’s hand, then, she turned to the empty shell of this subterranean world. Frost could no longer see the world through his one thousand invisible eyes. He had forgotten how limiting it was having binocular vision. But in a way, he could not see the darkness because of this.

But when he looked off to the side, the path disappeared, and the door looming on the other end was invisible. It all depended on one’s perspective.

Frost never used to delve in metaphorical thoughts, or allegories of things that inherently had no meaning. After living in Elysia, he had learned to put meaning in nonsensical things, because coincidences could not exist when fate itself could be manipulated like a machine.

Philosophy wasn’t his strong suit, but there was something to be said about his thoughts. He just couldn’t put it into words as eloquently as others could and called it a ‘flaw of perspective’. Because those who looked in the dark couldn’t see the end, and only focused on this darkness. And those who looked to the end couldn’t see the dark.

Maybe, it more accurately described…

“A means to an end.” Frost uttered to himself from out of the blue.

“Hmm?”

“When I set this city alight, do you think I ever thought about the people that’d get caught in the crossfire?” Frost became sentimental all of a sudden. Thinking about the ‘means to an end’ now in a clear state of mind caused him to realize how many he had… discarded in S4 on his rampage against the Hearts and Scarlet Logic.

It was a deep wound for him. But Frost was headstrong. As much as he admitted his wrongs, a part of him sincerely believed that there was no other way. As a healer, he could not even get close to people to help them because of the flames he unwillingly carried.

Frost reflected deeply. It was a rare trait seldomly found in Elysia. This world as well. As he thought of the ways to make amends, they passed by the middle point and the Archivist spoke words of encouragement.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“You did. I know you did. You, more than anyone, wanted our home to be brighter. For people to stop crying. For people to stop being like me. It… was only because of you that I was able to pick up the pen and book. I was grateful. People around you were too! I know it!”

“I figured as much. But hearing it from you cements it. I don’t think would have ignited the city for no good reason… Haaaaaaah. No point in getting down over something I can barely remember.” Frost ended up sighing so deeply that the Archivist’s eyes widened worriedly.

He then chuckled, then broke into a small laugh.

“I still consider this me as a separate entity from the me in Elysia.”

“You’re still the same good person I knew. It’s just weird to see that face smile so often. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like –!”

“Ahaha. It’s fine. How about rather than clinging onto the old me, we start to get our present selves to know each other better?” Frost suggested, causing the Archivist to slowly lower her gaze.

“… I don’t know… how I’m supposed to do that.”

“For starters – let’s ask each other some questions. Like what’s your favorite food?”

“Anything but skewers.” She said unexpectedly as they approached the rusted metal door at the end.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I don’t know why, but skewers… make my stomach churn. It’s awful.”

* * *

The two shared this moment together. They spoke awkwardly at first like long lost friends, but Frost would always take the lead. The Archivist was an introvert. Someone that had difficulty in communicating with others, but whenever he harped on a topic she adored, she spoke with vigour that would make one wonder if she really was introverted in the first place.

Past those doors were empty hallways, illuminated by dim strips of light. Electrical wires were present, as well as thick, insulated cabling. Electricity seemed to be the main power source down here, as opposed to the liquids across the city.

It was enough to prove that this place was at least ancient. How ancient exactly was unknown, but the deeper they ventured into these lost halls, the more Frost was reminded of a much larger ImpulseWorks site from the layout alone.

There were too many similarities of this world and Elysia, to the point where he had to wonder if they were in fact the same. The Archivist entertained the idea, but they needed absolute proof first.

Suddenly, the Archivist asked him something.

“How do you feel about this?”

“You mean my body?” Frost wondered, patting himself down. “It’s weird. Uncomfortable now that I think about it. Like… er… it feels ‘normal’, but not in a good way. I kind of started to enjoy being a girl. Since it’s the me that I am.” Frost struggled to put things coherently, a testament of how jarring things were for him.

“T-that’s a good thing, isn’t it? What about everything else?”

“About how I feel about this world, you mean?”

“Yeah. Our home.”

Frost pondered for a short while before he answered.

“Sort of relieved.” His answer was unexpected, and it caused an imaginary question mark to pop above the Archivist’s head.

“How come?” She asked as they approached a giant reception room, held up by broken pillars and littered with ruined furnishings. A circular counter sat in the center, where bones were piled up.

Judging from the black marks along the floor and ceiling, those people were burned like a human bonfire. The lobby branched off to multiple sections, each labelled with a letter then a number on signs that struggled to hang onto the ceiling.

This place would have been G if it was a hospital or followed any conventional naming schemes back on earth. G for ground floor. Instead, it began at A. Approaching one of the buzzing, blinking boards that were scattered around the lobby revealed a dusty cross section of this place.

Frost answered the Archivist as he dusted it off, revealing each layer of this place.

“It’s relieving because I don’t remember any of this. Being stuck in a world like this would’ve driven me mad. Er… I want to laugh, but it already had thrown me too far over the edge. Somehow, this place doesn’t seem so bad compared to the outside world. It’s quiet.”

“… like a person’s ‘shell’ in a way, don’t you think? That big room with nothing inside of it?”

“How’d you come up with that conclusion?” Frost wondered as the Archivist stuck her face close to also get a better look at the map. She, in a way, had a bad sense of personal space, which only added to her character.

“Birds. Eggs. Wings. Feathers. Trees. Branches. Fruits – There’s so many connotations following these themes everywhere you look. Mostly with the birds.” She said, drawing a small bird surrounded by an egg into the dust.

“Do you think a bird’s egg is their world?” Frost asked.

“That’s all they know until they’re born into it, right? Nature… is sadly inherently violent.”

“Does it have to be?”

“Reproduction in the wild is extremely violent compared to what we do to each other… U-Um. I mean what civilized species – O-or humanoid – er…” The Archivist flushed red, causing Frost to gently smile.

“Civilization roots out violence, and it can perpetuate it. But I think it’s more about our sense of morality that makes us significantly different from wildlife. We have wants and needs. We have a choice whether we want to play the evolutionary game of survival, or kick back and live life how we wish.” Frost said, harping on his wisdom from Earth. “That, along with sapience. We can communicate through language. Break that down and we revert to other methods. In my old world, those methods were often cruel.”

“… language has its limitations. The Blessing of the Nexus helps try to amend it.” The Archivist agreed, having seen and lived a life where language was non-existent. If one was weak, then they had no right to speak or act. “Violence has no limitations. And that’s the sad thing. Because of that, violence is universally understood.”

“We have the capacity to get past that. But when the world itself is full of bloodshed, then it’s hard. That’s why I want to make things better. I’m in a position to as well, but I also know that my image of a paradise might be the hell for another.” Frost admitted as he finally uncovered the last layer. “Z, zero. It has sub floors from 7 to 1, with a bottom labeled as 0.”

“… why did you tell me this all of a sudden?” The Archivist curiously wondered as Frost dusted his hands to the side.

“I guess I wanted people to hear me openly admit that I won’t be able to do it alone. Especially from a certain someone who thinks they’re helpless~” Frost grinned, causing the Archivist to clutch her notebook as her face unexpectedly lit with a beautiful smile.