She wakes. Floating in the air. Not just her, the bed, the equipment. Like gravity has let up on the planet. Out the window, the world blurs together. Colors wipe through each other like a mad painter out of control. The river is fractured, black void between the cracks where matter should be, fragments floating through the atmosphere. Decay.

The world really is ending.

It's hard to comprehend. Maybe next year. Maybe it's next month that her body tears apart or melts by the whims of the pillars. Maybe the month after that, all life ceases to exist, and the universe fizzles out like a bad signal—concentrate.

Fatalism is the enemy. Especially since you're on a mission.

A mission to undo the apocalypse.

The Captain takes a seat at the helm (not that the ship is big enough to be separated into different areas). Flicks a switch. Engine roars to life. Tablet hooked to the ship lights up, a visual of nearby stars and landmarks mapped out. Along with a new set of coordinates. Leading to Earth.

The Prophet came through. She's ecstatic. The ship rises, the world gets dark. Then she's speeding through the galaxy, to the place her father was born.

He was an engineer. Designed the SVPH-I himself. Documented everything he could throughout the apocalypse. Did everything he could to stop it. His crew had arrived at the halls in a last ditch effort to hijack it. No logs after that event, for obvious reasons.

It was stupid of them to go in there. There was no chance of any of them making it out. The gods. The pillars. Every being vying for the apocalypse. Those were the forces against him. He did it anyway.

This is where she succeeds him. She decided, long ago. Be smarter. Strategic. Smarter is how she survived long enough to come in contact with the Prophet.

And she's closing in.

----------------------------------------

It's snowing on Earth.

Little pellets. About 30 cm of it stacked on the ground. Not soft like blankets or mist, soft in a different way. Cold. Less so than black space, but still uncomfortable. The suit and helmet helps.

The Captain turns around to face the Prophet's residence. Hopes she doesn't mind the ship positioned right above it. Crash landing. Embarrassing, even if the tall, dull metal tower looked fine.

The phone in her pocket pings once.

> Hold on, there was a really loud sound just now.

>

> mightve been me

>

> Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

>

> What?

A figure rushes out of the entrance. It's got to be the prophet. Bundled up in a thick, heavy looking coat. Long black hair is tied back in a braid. Red scarf around their neck covers their mouth. It's surreal, to be standing before someone, and the Captain can't help but stare.

The Prophet: a "pre-apocalyptic law major" who can "mind-meld with the most incompetent pillar on the block". Not entirely sure what that means, but the Prophet knows things humans normally can't. In classic prophet fashion, she can be insufferably cryptic. Says it's not her fault. "You can blame the second pillar for that."

She tugs her scarf down. "Captain!" Her voice is warm, like an actress. "Is that you?"

"The Prophet."

"Sera." The Prophet grins. The Captain remembers the name perfectly—this prophet, on the other hand, has admitted to not being very good at remembering things, that's why she carries her tablet everywhere with her. Like the Captain's father did.

And there's a tablet tucked under the Prophet's arm now. "Nice helmet," she says, "So, uh, what did you to do the..."

She follows her gaze up to the top of the tower. The more the Captain looks at it, the better it looks, settled snug up there...

That is definitely a concerned expression on the Prophet's face.

Eventually, she says, "Follow me, I'll take you to my little safe haven."

She holds her hand out and looks expectant. The Captain's hesitant to take her hand out in the cold, but this is the first time someone's held their hand out to her. And it's probably warm.

The Prophet smiles when she takes it. The two of them follow a faint set of footsteps. They're quiet. In movies, this is around the time someone starts to make conversation.

And the Prophet doesn't disappoint. "So you really lived on your own this whole time?" she asks.

Shrug. "First time on Earth."

"Yeah. That's crazy to me. How old are you?"

(The sky is big and blue, not smoky or blood red.) The year is 2038. That makes her: "15."

"Wow. Post-apocalypse baby," she mutters.

Technically born before the apocalypse, but no point correcting her. The Captain looks around and asks, "Why go to this safe haven place?" when we could be going straight to the second pillar.

"There's someone we have to see before we go."

The mind boggles. Another person, maybe even human. How many people does this one person know, she wonders.

Holding her hand like this, walking alongside her through snow and grass. It feels familiar. Like something she used to do with someone heavier. Or stronger.

It should frustrate her. There are some memories she can't reach, too old and faded to recall. She's grown used to it. Like dreams that dissipate the moment she stops holding on, these memories only serve as a fleeting feeling. A brief longing. A sweet nothing that gives her no insight on the present or the future.

In contrast. Meeting with the Prophet is proving very insightful. Point: found out that there are more than two humans in existence. People that didn't try to tear the world apart.

The Prophet stops me before a wooden hut. Knocks twice. "It's me!"

Click. Creak. The door cracks open. Behind the frame is a man that looks about a decade older than the prophet, the skin around his eyes creased in what looks like suspicion. "And our visitor," he says slowly, eyeing the helmet, "This that spaceboy you been talking to? Or some alien?"

"Nice to meet you," the Captain says honestly. This is someone she recognizes from one of her father's files. Someone, then, worth trusting.

"She's the one who'll accompany me to the second pillar," the Prophet says.

"Small girl." He sets forward a long, heavy gaze. She's momentarily reminded of the large, deep eyes of vantabeasts, the way they observe their prey.

"Fifteen years old, Gold." She rolls her eyes. "Care to remind me how old you were when you joined that crew of yours?"

He glares at her before turning back to the Captain. "Take that thing off when you're inside."