/LEVEL 6

/the end

The trill of birdsong wove through the air and drew her gently from sleep. The earthy scent of greenery and the warm aroma of coffee teased her senses awake. Len blinked her eyes open. Her vision blurred and disoriented, the room unfamiliar yet soothing.

It took her a moment to process her surroundings. Translucent sheets hung from above, swaying slightly in the breeze that whispered through the space. Fresh plants and flowers filled every corner, greens and colours framing the room like a living garden.

Through the gauzy veil, she caught a shadow, a figure moving beyond the sheer drapes. She pulled it aside and saw him.

Paris sat in a chair with a tablet in his hands. His hair fell forward, obscuring most of his face.

"Already awake?" he asked without looking up.

Len leaned against the bedframe, rubbing her temples as the room seemed to sway around her. "How long did I sleep?" she murmured, her voice hoarse and heavy with lingering exhaustion.

"A while," Paris replied simply, "You slept for eight years and lost all the fun."

She pushed herself up a little more, the translucent sheets tangling around her legs, but as soon as she tried to fully sit, a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her hand shot out, gripping the edge of the bed for support, the cool touch of the wooden frame grounding her.

Paris moved swiftly, grasped the translucent curtains surrounding the bed, and yanked them apart, flooding the space with warm, dappled sunlight.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He turned back to her, extending a steady hand. “Your legs must feel wobbly,” he said, his voice lighter than usual, almost teasing.

Len stared at him, blinking against the sudden brightness. Her hand hovered before it met his, and as he helped her to her feet, something stopped her in her tracks. She froze, her gaze locking onto his face.

For the first time, his lips curved upward in a gentle, almost unguarded smile.

Her breath caught. “You’re smiling?” she asked, incredulous.

Paris’s eyes flicked away for a moment, the smile lingering but tempered now with a faint hint of self-consciousness. “I hope I am. Should I not be?” he jested.

Len pushed herself up from the mattress, her legs unsteady but finding strength with his steady grip. He guided her to the window, his hand lingering just enough to ensure she wouldn’t falter.

As the curtains fully parted, her breath caught at the sight before her. A brilliant pink sky stretched endlessly. Nature and architecture intertwined seamlessly—lush greenery climbed the sides of towering buildings, and hybrid vehicles glided through the air like silent metal birds.

Her fingers gripped the windowsill as she took it all in. “He did it?”

Paris’s gaze followed hers, his expression softening as he watched the scene. “It seems he did,” he said, his voice low, tinged with something she couldn’t quite place—pride or maybe relief.

Paris’s smile faded slightly as he watched Len’s expression shift, her curiosity rising to the surface. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “What changed?” she asked. “Where is he? I have to talk to Jude and tell him—”

Before she could finish, Paris stepped closer, his arms encircling her gently but firmly, pulling her into his chest. “Jude is gone.”

Len froze, her breath hitching. She tried to pull back, her wide eyes searching his face for answers. “What do you mean? I don’t understand. Where is he?”

Paris’s hold on her tightened his warmth, a silent effort to steady her. “His wife didn’t make it,” he said softly. “Neither did their baby.”

Her lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, trembling. “But how? What—” she stammered, her thoughts unravelling as disbelief turned to grief. “I… I don’t… I did everything right! He should be here with us”

"Why did he choose hell instead of peace? I don't know." Paris rested his chin gently atop her head. “But everything is in balance now,” he said. “As it should be, my love.”

She shook her head against him, unable to accept the simplicity of his words. “Where is he?”

“Disconnected.”

/The End