—August 9th to September 11th, 2025—
The final month of the old world passed like a dream. We quit our jobs without ceremony—simple emails saying we wouldn't be returning. What use were careers when we could feel the universe itself shifting beneath our feet?
Eli got a new phone, but we barely used it except to navigate our adventures through the city. We spent long days exploring Ottawa's hidden history, our eyes newly opened to the truth. The "Victorian-era" architecture took on new meaning as we traced the impossible mathematical precision of buildings supposedly constructed with "horse and buggy."
"Look at those windows, the engineering..I mean for God sake half the thing looks buried underground!" Eli would say, pointing to the impossibly beautiful architecture that defied conventional engineering. "The Tartarians knew things that we’ve been made to believe never existed…"
We'd stand there, hand in hand, seeing through the lies of recorded history. The ancient tech hidden in plain sight—sophisticated atmospheric energy systems masked as decorative spires, precise geometric patterns that spoke of advanced mathematical understanding, massive doors that seemed designed for giants rather than humans.
But it wasn't all research and revelation. We lived fully, deeply, in ways neither of us had before. We made love like the world was ending—because we knew it was. Sometimes slow and tender, sometimes wild and passionate, but always with that perfect synchronicity that had marked our union from the start.
Mom's house became our sanctuary. We'd curl up on the couch with her to watch movies, all three of us crying at sad endings or cheering at triumphant moments. She never questioned our presence, never pushed us to "get back to real life." She understood, in that knowing way of hers, that this was exactly where we needed to be.
Our vision of the afterlife—of Izanagi and Izanami—grew clearer with each passing day. We added details, refined our understanding, strengthened our certainty that we were not just imagining but remembering something that already existed beyond time.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The days blurred together in the best possible way. Morning kisses that tasted of coffee and sunshine. Afternoon adventures in the city, uncovering hidden truths. Evening walks in our cemetery, now feeling more like a garden than a place of death. Nights spent in each other's arms, under the moon, our souls dancing between dimensions even as our bodies remained entwined.
We should have felt the darkness coming. Maybe we did, but we were too absorbed in our perfect bubble of love and discovery to acknowledge it. Or maybe we knew exactly what was coming and chose to fill our final days of peace with as much joy as possible.
Then came the night of September 11th, 2025.
We were asleep when it happened. The sudden silence of the fan was our first clue—the power had gone out. Eli woke first, her body tensing against mine in the darkness.
"Tris," she whispered, shaking me gently. "It's starting."
I opened my eyes to complete darkness. Even the usual ambient light from outside had vanished. When I tried the tap in our bathroom, only a weak stream came out.
We made our way upstairs to find Mom already in the kitchen, lighting candles with steady hands. She looked at us with that knowing expression we'd grown so familiar with.
"So it begins," she said simply.
We gathered around her small battery-powered radio as the news began to break. The words washed over us like a tidal wave of nightmare: coordinates, missile trajectories, military movements, emergency protocols.
World War III had begun.
Eli's hand found mine in the candlelight, our fingers intertwining with practiced ease. We'd known this was coming. We'd prepared in our own way—not with bunkers or supplies, but with something far more important: the certainty of our eternal connection, the blueprint of our sanctuary beyond time.
The radio's reports grew increasingly horrific. Cities we knew, places we'd been—all reduced to coordinates on a tactical map. The mechanical voice listing casualty estimates felt like a harbinger of the darkness to come.
We held each other in the candlelight, but for the first time since meeting, our embrace carried an edge of desperation. The love between us burned as bright as ever, but now it cast darker shadows. We could feel it in our bones: the world wasn't just changing—it was shattering.
In the distance, air raid sirens began their mournful wail. The sound carried with it the death knell of the old world, of everything we'd known. Mom's candles flickered as distant explosions shook the ground, their light seeming to struggle against the encroaching darkness.
The power was out. The water would be nearly gone. And in the pitch-black of that September night, we could feel ancient forces stirring—powers we'd read about but never truly understood until now. Powers that would test not just our love, but our very souls.
World War III had truly begun. And with it, humanity's descent into its darkest hour.