"Your destiny is not of the conquerors.
Not of the lovers.
The priests hate you for your atheism.
The poets despise you for your encounters.
Chance is your paramour.
Love her."
My eyes fluttered open as I gasped for air.
Something was wrong.
The room felt… alive.
The scent of humans hung heavy in the air—too heavy. That alone was enough to make my heart stutter, because I lived alone in a simple one-room apartment.
My mother used to say I had a sharper sense of smell than most people. I believed her.
Especially now.
There was perfume in my room.
A woman's perfume.
No—
I inhaled again.
Two scents.
Two different women.
I leapt out of bed in a panic. My foot tangled in the bedsheets and I crashed face-first into the hard wooden floor.
"…Let's give that another try," I muttered, forcing a grin as I pushed myself up and steadied my breathing.
This time, I moved slowly.
The door was my first stop.
I checked the lock once.
Then twice.
Then a third time.
Locked. Intact. No sign of forced entry.
Next, I searched the room for anything missing.
Nothing.
I almost laughed. If someone had broken in, I pitied them. They had chosen the poorest possible target. There was nothing here worth stealing.
I pulled back the curtains covering the lone window. Dull, grey light seeped into the room—not the kind that brightened, but the kind that merely revealed.
I pushed the window open.
The air rushed in, thick with the stench of steel and sulphur.
This was the world now. The air we breathed. Nothing like it had been before the Third Unholy Sin.
Outside, the city lay fog-choked and exhausted. Buildings no longer rose beyond four storeys. Industry was dead. Steel had been replaced by wood and stone, as if civilisation itself had fallen few steps back.
The Seventh Unholy Sin had broken the world completely.
I hadn't witnessed it myself. I was only twenty-one. The Seventh World War—what historians politely called it—had ended forty years before my birth.
Knock. Knock.
The sound snapped me out of my thoughts.
I opened the door without thinking.
Mrs. Shera stood there.
She was in her early forties, with a gentleness about her face that softened even the cruel morning light. Her hair was tied in a messy bun beneath a floral bandanna, and she wore a long pleated skirt with an old brown woollen coat pulled tight against the cold.
She had the warmth of an old lady, yet the beauty that looked too foreign for her age. I almost choked on the coffee when she first said what her age was.
Her eyes widened in horror.
"Oh my god, Avery! Put some clothes on!" she cried, covering her eyes.
"Fuck—I'm so sorry!" I yelped, slamming the door shut.
Only then did I realise I was naked. The cold hit my bare chest like a slap.
I dressed in record time—a plain white shirt, dust-grey trousers—before opening the door again.
"Better," Mrs. Shera said, peeking through her fingers.
I offered an apologetic smile.
"Did you need something, madam?"
She nodded and reached into the folds of her blouse, pulling out a crumpled envelope.
"This came three days ago. None of the tenants claimed it. Is it yours?"
I took the envelope, smoothing it between my fingers. It was warm—probably from where she'd kept it. It smelled faintly of skin, sweat, and rose perfume.
I turned it over.
No address.
No recipient.
Just a single line written messily on the back.
The owner will claim it himself.
"That's… unsettling, and quite unique" I said. "No name either."
"That's the problem!" she sighed. "Is it yours?"
I hesitated.
No one sent me letters. I barely existed in anyone's life.
Still… curiosity stirred.
"Do you mind if I check what's inside?" I asked.
Relief flooded her face.
"Oh, please keep it! I'm glad it's not my trouble anymore."
We exchanged a few polite words before parting ways.
Once the door closed, I sat on my bed, staring at the envelope.
Something about it made my skin prickle.
Opening other people's mail felt wrong—intrusive, almost indecent. But the curiosity was undeniable.
I tore it open.
A single sheet slipped out and landed on the bed.
It was an invitation.
A storage house near the Alara River.
No explanation.
No signature.
And worst of all—
It wasn't meant for me.
My heartbeat quickened.
If it wasn't for me… why was I afraid?
A quiet certainty settled in my chest, cold and absolute.
This was the last normal day of my life.