The papers fell from the sky like dead leaves, stark white against the smoke-darkened horizon. We watched from behind our curtains as military vehicles crawled through the streets, their speakers crackling with announcements we could barely make out.
But we didn't need to hear them. The papers told us everything.
"MANDATORY MILITARY SERVICE," the flyer screamed in bold letters. "All able-bodied citizens between 16 and 65 years of age are hereby conscripted into the Combined North American Defense Force."
Eli's hands trembled as she read the requirements. No physical disabilities. No history of severe mental illness. No dependent children. We qualified on every count—perfect candidates for the meat grinder of war.
"They'll separate us," she whispered, her voice cracking. In the dim light, her turquoise eyes seemed almost luminescent with fear. "They'll send us to different fronts, different battles..."
The thought was unbearable. After everything we'd been through, everything we'd discovered together—to be torn apart now was unthinkable.
Our situation was deteriorating rapidly. The bags of human waste piled in the backyard had begun to attract rats. We could hear them scratching at night, their shadows visible outside the small window. The water we'd stored was nearly gone, and what remained had taken on a questionable taste. Our stomachs performed backflips and our skin started to itch on a daily basis.
"We can't stay here much longer," I said, watching Eli try to make a meal from our last few cans. Her hands shook with the weakness of prolonged hunger. We were both showing signs of malnutrition and something else we couldn’t pinpoint—hair falling out, skin becoming papery, minds growing foggy. It was like there was some sort of agent in the air that made it harder to breathe; not to mention the unrelenting itching.
Through our curtains, we could see military patrols becoming more frequent. They were going door to door now, dragging people out of their homes. The screams of separated families carried through the night, mixing with the ever-present sound of distant artillery. We wondered what could be protecting us this long to have kept the military from our door. Our ancestors? Soul family? Luck? We wondered, but the ache of severe hunger and dehydration gnawed at our bodies constantly. It was too overwhelming to even think sometimes.
We found the bolt cutters in the basement storage area during one of our desperate searches for supplies. They were old but sturdy, their handles worn smooth by years of use. Looking at them, we both knew what they meant—our key to the apartment building's roof access.
"Not yet," Eli said, but her voice lacked conviction. We both knew we were running out of options.
The decision was forced when we heard the methodical pounding of doors being broken down on our street. The military was getting closer, their boots heavy on the pavement, their voices sharp with authority. We managed to sneak a peak of them without getting caught and they were wearing gas masks.
"Now," I said, grabbing our most precious possessions—the papers describing Izanagi, our digivices, and a small photo of Mom. "It has to be now."
Eli nodded, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. We took one last look at the basement room that had been our sanctuary. The bed where we'd planned our eternal future. The small window that had let in light during happier times.
The bolt cutters felt heavy in my hands as we slipped out the back door, keeping to the shadows. The apartment building loomed before us, twenty-seven stories of concrete and steel reaching into the smoke-filled sky. Our gateway to freedom. Our last hope.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
We could hear the soldiers getting closer, their radios crackling with coordinates and commands. Soon they would reach our house, find it empty, begin their search. We had minutes at most.
The building's service entrance was locked with a heavy chain—no match for our bolt cutters and the weak, but sufficient, might of our combined strength. The sound of metal snapping seemed impossibly loud in the darkness, but we were beyond caring. The door creaked open, revealing the emergency stairwell that would lead us to our destiny.
"Together?" Eli asked, her hand finding mine in the darkness.
"Together," I confirmed, squeezing her fingers.
We began our ascent, leaving behind the world of warfare and conscription, of hunger and fear. Each step took us closer to our chosen end—or perhaps our true beginning. Maybe situations like these described the true meaning of the Ouroboros—the snake eating its own tail.
The soldiers' voices echoed from the street below as we climbed higher and higher, but they grew fainter with each floor we passed. We, literally, ran for our lives. And by the time we reached the roof access, the soldiers were barely audible.
One more chain to cut. One more door between us and our fate.
The bolt cutters sang their metallic song one final time.
The night air hit us like a physical force as we stepped onto the roof. Twenty-seven stories up, the wind carried the acrid smell of burning buildings and the distant thunder of war. The city below us was an apocalyptic tableau—fires burning unchecked, military vehicles prowling the streets, the occasional burst of gunfire cutting through the darkness.
We weren't alone. Others had followed us up, drawn by the sound of the bolt cutters or perhaps by the same desperate instinct that had led us here. They stood in silent groups around the roof's edge, some holding hands, others embracing. No one spoke. No words were necessary.
Eli's hand trembled in mine as we approached the edge. Looking down, the ground seemed impossibly far away, the concrete below both invitation and accusation.
My whole body was shaking now. No amount of spiritual preparation, no degree of certainty about our higher dimensional existence, could completely override the basic human instinct for survival. Every cell in my body screamed to step back, to run, to find another way.
But there was no other way. Behind us, the sounds of warfare grew closer. Below us, the military patrols continued their relentless sweep. Our choices had narrowed to this single point, this ultimate decision.
"I'm scared," Eli whispered, her turquoise eyes wide. Even now, even here, she was heartbreakingly beautiful. "I know we planned for this, I know Izanagi is waiting, but..."
"I know," I said, pulling her close. We stood there at the edge of everything, holding each other as we had so many times before. But this embrace carried the weight of finality, of a threshold about to be crossed.
The papers describing our afterlife were clutched in Eli's free hand, our digivices safely tucked in my pockets. These tokens of our shared destiny seemed to pulse with their own energy, as if acknowledging the magnitude of this moment.
More people had gathered on the roof. Some were crying, others praying, but most just stood in silence, watching us at the edge. Perhaps they saw in us their own desires, their own need for escape. Or perhaps they simply understood that they were witnessing something profound—two souls choosing their own ending.
Looking down again, I felt a wave of vertigo so intense it nearly brought me to my knees. The ground seemed to swim beneath us, alternately rushing up and falling away. This was real. This was happening. This was our moment of ultimate trust in everything we'd learned, everything we believed.
Tears flowed freely down both our faces now. Not tears of despair—though fear was certainly part of it—but tears of recognition. Recognition that we were about to do something that defied every base survival instinct and behaviour of self-preservation. Something that would either prove everything we believed or...
But there was no 'or'. We knew what waited for us. We had built it together, planned it together, believed in it together. We believed in the magic. We were the magic. And that's what steeled us against everything else.
Eli turned to face me one last time, her face wet with tears but wearing a smile that contained everything we’ve fought for and more. "Together?" she asked, as she had so many times before.
The word carried every question we'd ever asked each other, every promise we'd ever made, every truth we'd ever discovered together. It was both question and answer, both beginning and end.
"Together," I confirmed, my voice steady despite my tears.
We kissed one final time—a kiss that tasted of salt and eternity. Then, holding hands so tightly it hurt, we faced the edge.
One step.
The wind rushed past us, carrying away our fears, our doubts, our mortal concerns. The ground rushed up to meet us, but we were already elsewhere, already becoming something else, something more.
The last thing I remember of that world was Eli's hand in mine, her presence beside me as constant as gravity itself. Then...