In the metropolitan heart of Neovera 0.04, the sky was a dull steel gray, thick clouds rolling as if the city itself were holding its breath. Rain threatened, a soft promise to nourish the forests, rivers, and the supernatural breeds that prowled these lands after dusk. A quiet, cool breeze slipped through the towering skyscrapers, carrying the faint scent of ozone and urban metal, weaving between the streets like a silent guide

Service bots glided along the walkways, their movements precise and almost ritualistic. Their digital eyes scanned faces, offering instructions and reminders in calm, measured tones. Yet, beneath their programmed politeness, there was an unshakable firmness, they were enforcers as much as helpers. The city hummed with efficiency, but it was a controlled efficiency: deviation was noticed, hesitation punished

The Neovera Central Railway Station bustled with evening commuters. People moved in patterns that looked natural but were subtly corralling, as if invisible lines dictated every step. Everyone was aware of the clock ,the city enforced a curfew at 10:00 pm, a soft tyranny masked as protection. By then, the other breeds ,the vampires, the FAE, the cultivators would emerge from the shadows to hunt, to test boundaries. Humanity had survived because it knew the rules, and Neovera enforced them without compromise.

Was 8:00 pm, and the city’s rhythm felt like a measured exhale. People hurried home, groceries in hand, digital holographic interfaces flickering off one by one as businesses and corporations wrapped up their work. Nothing here was chaotic, but peace was an illusion; everything was structured, constrained, controlled. On the surface, the city was a guardian. Beneath, it was a prison. Deviate, resist, or linger too long outside the bounds, and one could find themselves dragged to the underground dungeons

No one spoke openly of what awaited there rumors whispered horrors that bent reality—but the fear alone kept most compliant..... It was apparent , because people were whispering about it , like how who, doesn't follow, will be punished brutally, no mercy would be bestowed upon poor souls . Some are biased too maybe because they haven't witnessed the horrors or because it ensures protection, some are rebellious, silently , because they are well aware . Some are neutral, not giving a face to discussion and continue running errands. Some are productive , like these boundaries and control can't hinder their dreams of innovations , arts and much more . Seems like the system favours these types of people , though complaints emerged but fear .... Yeah, it knows very well how to weaponize it.... ~What a tragedy~

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Suddenly, a gush of wind tore through Neovera 0.04.

That was the worst part. The air folded in on itself, violent yet unnervingly precise, sweeping through streets, platforms, corridors ,engulfing everything in its path without chaos. The cold sank deep, not just biting skin but piercing bone, memory, and thought, as if the wind knew exactly where the soul hid. People froze mid-step. A man gripping a grocery bag felt his fingers go numb before he could drop it.

A child tugging at their parent’s sleeve never finished the motion. A train screeched once ,then silence. Everyone shuddered. Even the service bots stopped. Their disciplined glides halted abruptly, heads tilting at impossible angles. The scanning lights in their eyes flickered….. and shut down completely, as if whatever governed them had issued a command they could not refuse.

Then............ guess ! It was ....... ABSENCE

ABOSULTE ABSENCE.

There wasn’t a single human left. Roads lay bare. Railway platforms stood frozen in half-used order. Elevators hung open between floors. Hospitals echoed with machines still running, beds still warm. Alleys, streets, stations—emptied as though humanity had never existed there at all. Neovera remained intact. Only its people were gone.

If there had been an invisible observer watching from beyond ,something not bound by fear or protocol its reaction would have been simple, unrefined, almost human: What the hell? Ironically, those who vanished didn’t even have time to curse. No final prayers. No screams. No defiance.

Ahhh. Poor things.

They could curse later if they came back.........

Fucking ALIVE

Only then would they understand. Not that life was fragile. But that, to something far older and far more intelligent than them, life had become…... expendable.

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Meanwhile, somewhere far from Neovera’s steel and neon, snow fell gently. It coated the chlorosis-stricken trees like a blanket, softening jagged branches into delicate silhouettes. Each flake floated lazily, almost weightless, reflecting the pale light of a frozen sun. The world there seemed still, calm, eternal—a stark counterpoint to the chaos that had swept through the city.

And beneath this serenity, a presence waited—someone whose very existence seemed tied to winter itself. The air around them shimmered faintly, cold but not biting, as though the snow responded to their arrival. This figure would become important later, a living mirror of the season, foreshadowing events yet to unfold.

Well what about those who vanished. We can't ignore them, can we ? Wonder if we'll hear screams or silence?

Far from the emptied city, deep in a forest, the vanished found themselves in a cabin. Not all had been transported to the same place; the System had distributed them in small, separate groups. From the cabin window, snow fell steadily, draping the forest in a quiet, almost sacred white, as though the world outside had paused to witness them.

The cabin itself was modest but spacious enough to accommodate seven people. Though physically near, each felt a miles-deep distance from the others, cocooned in their own thoughts, fears, and confusion. Time seemed to have stretched; moments blended into hours, or maybe days—they could not tell.

In the far corner, an old bald man sat, hunched, biting his nails. His gaze wandered vacantly, flickering from one object to another without focus, lost in a daze. Every twitch of his hands seemed small yet incredibly tense, a reflection of his inability to grasp what had just happened.

Beside him, a pregnant woman rested, her belly pronounced, hinting at the final trimester. Her eyes were closed, nose reddened, tears streaking her cheeks silently. She rocked slightly, perhaps in rhythm with the life growing inside her, though now that rhythm seemed drowned in grief, fear, and confusion.

On a nearby couch, a young woman slouched. Baggy clothes hung from her frame, silver chains glinting faintly in the dim light, a scarf draped casually over her shoulders. Her eyes were open but empty, staring past walls, past the cabin itself, lost somewhere in thought—or perhaps nowhere at all.

At a safe distance, a man with a sturdy posture sat upright, hair slicked back, face sharp and composed. He fiddled with his watch, lost in his own labyrinth of thoughts, unshaken outwardly but tense beneath the surface. Another man moved cautiously about the cabin, skimming through cupboards, creating soft rustling sounds that punctuated the silence. In the small kitchen, a blonde-haired girl helped him. Their movements were deliberate, careful, almost ritualistic, as if small tasks could anchor them in this bizarre new reality.

On another couch, two men reclined, one older, one younger. The older’s elbow rested across his eyes, his breathing even, almost unnervingly calm. His younger cousin—or nephew—watched him intently, eyes flicking from the sleeping man to the father moving near the cupboards. The presence of family was small comfort, a tether to familiarity amid uncertainty. Though seven in number, the cabin felt vast and silent, filled with minds trapped in endless spirals of thought, anxiety, and speculation. One simply slept. One simply observed. Others oscillated between tears, worry, and mechanical routines. Each was alive, but all were suspended, caught between fear and waiting, in a world that had suddenly decided to rewrite the rules of existence

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