CHAPTER 2: Finger in One Sight
Darkness did not fall.
It collapsed.
Noir felt it before he saw it—a sudden hollowing, as if reality had been unplugged for a fraction of a second.
When his eyes opened again, the first sensation that reached him was cold.
Not the cold of air, but the cold of something solid beneath his back. Smooth. Hard. Unforgiving.
He tried to move.
Nothing happened.
No signal reached his fingers. His legs did not exist. Even breathing felt automated, distant, as if something else had taken over the function for him.
Then he understood.
He was lying inside an open coffin.
White cloth lined the interior, folded neatly, carefully—too carefully. Flowers surrounded him, arranged with unnatural symmetry. White lilies. Pale roses. Blooms he didn't recognize.
The smell of incense hung thick in the air.
A room full of people surrounded the coffin.
They sat silently, heads bowed. Some cried quietly, shoulders trembling. Others approached slowly, one by one, holding flowers and placing them beside him.
Beside his body.
They think I'm dead.
The thought arrived without panic. That disturbed him more than the scene itself.
Noir could see everything. Hear everything. Process everything.
But his body remained unresponsive.
He tried to scream.
The command existed in his mind—but it never reached his throat.
Panic attempted to surface, but even that felt delayed, filtered, restrained. His heartbeat sounded distant, artificial, like a playback rather than a real sensation.
Then an elderly man stepped forward.
His presence was wrong.
His eyes were sharp—focused, aware. Not the eyes of someone grieving, but of someone observing.
The man leaned closer and looked directly into Noir's eyes.
Not at the body.
At him.
"Remember who you are," the old man said calmly.
"This is not your place."
"Look at yourself."
"Return to your rightful place."
The words struck not his ears—but something deeper. Something structural.
The room warped subtly. Lines bent. The air thickened.
Pressure built inside Noir's skull.
"I… I—"
Reality fractured.
The Earth drifted silently through space.
Noir saw it clearly—too clearly. Not as a planet, but as an object misplaced.
The stars were misaligned. The sun was wrong—too distant, too dim.
Earth was no longer where it belonged.
People ran across the surface in blind terror. Screams echoed through collapsing cities.
This violates every law of physics, Noir thought.
Earth leaving the solar system was impossible.
Which meant—
This reality is unstable.
The scene glitched.
Noir was back.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating chaos in frozen frames. Thunder followed like a delayed execution.
The sea rose unnaturally high. Waves twisted upward, defying gravity. Wind howled with a voice that sounded almost intentional.
People were lifted into the air and thrown away like discarded data.
Screams overlapped. Voices begged.
"Who will save us?!"
"There's no choice—call the Creator!"
Humans dropped to their knees, shouting prayers into a sky that did not respond.
Then—
Figures appeared.
They stood unmoving amid the storm, unaffected by wind, lightning, or gravity. The chaos bent around them.
Noir watched from a fixed point, unable to move.
"Who are you?!" someone screamed.
"We are—"
The rest vanished into the storm.
Noir understood one thing instantly.
They are not part of this system.
"Noir."
The sound of his name pierced through the noise.
"How do you know my name?" he demanded.
"We have come to take you."
"Take me where?"
"This is not the time for explanations."
Fear finally reached him—not emotional fear, but logical dread.
"Everyone is dying," Noir said sharply. "And you're calling my name like this is a game?"
"Noir."
Something unseen locked around him.
He tried to step back.
The world refused to let him.
"What do you want?"
"You."
"Why?"
"You are the chosen one."
The phrase felt wrong. Outdated. Human.
"What does that even mean?" Noir snapped.
"Noir," one of them said calmly, "nothing here is real."
"Everything you see is an illusion."
The ground tilted.
His thoughts staggered.
"You feel it, don't you?" the voice continued. "Dizziness. Displacement."
"How do you know?"
"Come with us."
Noir clenched his jaw.
"You know what?" he said. "I don't like this game."
"Then the system will proceed without you."
"What—"
The world tore itself apart.
Year 3516. November 12. 8:14 AM.
Noir sat upright in bed, lungs dragging in air.
His heart pounded violently.
"What… was that?"
Dream?
Hallucination?
Or—
🎵 I love you when you call me señorita… 🎵
His phone rang.
Rara.
The timing was exact.
"What does all this mean…?" Noir muttered before answering.
"Hey, where are you?" Rara said.
"I'm at home."
"Didn't we say we'd meet at 8?"
Same words.
Same tone.
Same sequence.
"Give me two minutes," Noir replied. "I'm coming."
He ran.
When he arrived, Rara sat on the same bench.
"Noir, why are you sweating like that? What happened?"
Maybe it was just a dream.
He forced his expression into something human.
"It's nothing. How are you?"
"I'm fine—but you look worried. It's our first date. You should smile."
"Relax. I'm okay."
But inside, his thoughts spiraled.
Same place. Same bench. Same dialogue.
If this wasn't a dream—
Then this world is repeating.
Rara suddenly hugged him.
"Noir, I love you so much," she whispered.
"But forgive me… just for a little while."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll always come back for you," she said softly.
"You're only mine."
Reality broke.
Noir floated in space.
Not falling—accelerating.
Stars stretched into lines. The Milky Way vanished behind him.
Ahead—an enormous black hole.
He felt no fear.
No resistance.
As if the universe had already decided for him.
"This is not your place."
"Look at yourself."
"Return."
Darkness swallowed everything.
Earth drifted beyond the solar system once more.
Noir stood before the figures again.
"This time," one of them said, "we will answer your questions."
Noir inhaled slowly.
"Fine," he said. "I'll go with you."
"One final transition remains."
"You won't hurt me?"
"This is not your place."
"Wait—what does that—"
To be continued...