Chapter 8
The White Nightmare
[DATA: 11. CYCLE 10. YEAR 40 INDUSTRIAL]
[LOCATION: THE ALPS OF VICA — SECTOR 369]
[TIME: 16:20 LOCAL]
[STATUS: ARRIVAL AT RENDEZVOUS — OPERATION “EXILE”]
Though it was the dawn of the 10th cycle, the sun over Blin scorched more fiercely than ever, fueling the city with a feverish momentum. Preparations for the Games had become the gravity around which every soul orbited, even with a week remaining before the start. Yet, amidst this artificial vitality, the central figure was absent. Halter had been gone for three days.
?In Vica, the sun was but a distant memory. Here, the sky was dominated by leaden clouds and snowstorms that had seized the peaks, transmuting them into invisible white walls. The road was a relentless struggle between heavy tires and the frost that sought to entomb every path.
?Inside the armored vehicle, Halter was submerged in another world. Leaning against the frigid glass with eyes half-closed, he no longer saw the treacherous road. He saw the light.
[FLASHBACK: 30 YEARS AGO]
[LOCATION: “ALTAS” LABORATORY — VICA]
A warm voice, laced with a laughter that knew no war, called to him from the distance of years.
“What are you doing, boy?”
?A young Halter struggled toward a man, dragging a metal sheet across a laboratory radiating with the heat of the forge.
“I’m helping you!” the boy said, his voice straining to sound grown.
?The man laughed—a sound that bore witness to a pure, untainted love.
“Ha, ha... but we don’t need that part. And how did you lift it? It weighs twice as much as you!”
?The boy dropped the metal, which struck the floor with a dull thud, and stood on his tiptoes by the workbench, observing the blueprints with shimmering eyes.
“I fill with energy when we make something new, something unique.”
?The man placed a hand atop his head, stroking his disheveled hair with a tenderness that time would later erode.
“How I wish all people were like you, little one.”
?The boy picked up a small piece of metal, intricately carved like a flower petal.
“Do you think we could make a metal flower? Like the Nax that grow on the alpine peaks?”
?“What for?” the man asked with curiosity.
“I want to give it to my mother. She adores those flowers.”
?The man lifted him into his arms and set him on his lap, whispering with a voice that promised the world.
“Of course, boy... of course. We shall build whatever you desire.”
?
A violent jolt of the vehicle wrenched Halter back to reality. The vision of the warm laboratory vanished, replaced by the cold, gray interior of the armored transport. He rubbed his eyes with all his might, as if trying to scrub away the tears that dared not fall.
?“Altas...” he whispered, so low that only he could hear.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
?The driver’s voice came from the front seat, clipped and military.
“Chancellor, we have arrived at the requested coordinates.”
[DATA: 11. CYCLE 10]
?[LOCATION: THE STONE BARN — VICA HILLS]
?[TIME: 17:00 LOCAL]
?[STATUS: CONFRONTATION WITH THE PAST]
Halter opened the vehicle door slowly. Without turning toward the driver, he commanded in a voice that could freeze the snow itself:
“Wait for me here. I will not be long.”
?The moment his boot struck the virgin snow, he felt its piercing, glacial bite. He straightened his frame and drew a deep breath; the air was pure, a stark contrast to the smog-choked atmosphere of Blin. For a fleeting instant, it felt as though he were breathing freely for the first time in years. With steady strides, he headed toward an ancient path that coiled toward the summit.
?It wasn’t long before he stood before a stone barn, its steel gate bearing the jagged scars of time. From that hill, the village below appeared small and inconsequential, but Halter did not turn his head. He had not come for the vista.
?He reached the old structure and shoved the door with force. The metallic screech of rusted hinges grated against the mountain’s silence—a sound that made the flesh crawl. As he entered, a hoarse, desiccated voice, nearly extinguished, greeted him from the depths of the room:
“Close the door behind you.”
?In a corner, beneath the flickering light of a candle, sat a man in his eighties with hair as white as the peaks. His hands trembled as he assembled various metal components.
?“You still possess that old energy for creation,” Halter said, stepping over the notes and sketches that had now become part of the floor’s dust.
?“While you,” Altas replied without lifting his head, “have transmuted that energy into annihilation.”
?Altas removed his old, cracked spectacles.
?“If you call the flowering of an era ‘annihilation,’ then so be it,” Halter retorted with disdain. “But I did not come here for an old man’s sermon. Why did you summon me?”
?Altas dropped his tools onto the workbench. The clatter of metal echoed throughout the barn like a gunshot. He rose with effort and turned toward the Chancellor.
?“You have grown arrogant, boy,” Altas said, his voice devoid of even a shred of fear. “It shows you have taken after your father.”
?Halter froze. His pupils dilated, and he felt his heart rate strike his chest like a forge hammer. He strode forward until he stood face-to-face with the old man. Two frigid gazes locked in the dim light.
?“If you summoned me to insult me, you are wasting time. That man has never been a part of my world.”
?“If you call reality an insult, then you are lying to yourself,” Altas said, turning toward an ancient wooden shelf. “Look at this. What is it?”
?In his weathered hands, Altas held several metal petals. They were rusted, yet their form was flawless—almost organic.
?“Scraps of metal consumed by time,” Halter said, though his eyes could not tear themselves away from the lifeless flower.
?“And I,” Altas whispered, “see the gift of a young boy—one that was never given to his mother.”
Halter fell silent, clenching his hands behind his back until his knuckles turned white. Altas cast aside the rusted petals with a motion that carried the weight of an entire lifetime. He turned toward a crate shrouded in the dust of oblivion.
?“I did not summon you to show you these; they belong to a man who no longer exists,” he said, placing his hands upon the lid. “I summoned you for this.”
?“A dusty crate?” Halter asked, his voice edged with impatience.
?“Not the crate, but what lies within. The Pure Sphere, my magnum opus.”
?As Altas prized open the lid, a blinding, pristine white light erupted, flooding every corner of the barn and piercing through the wall crevices like the blade of a sword. It was a metallic sphere interlaced with crystalline segments—engineering that seemed to hail from another epoch. Altas swiftly draped an old rag over it so the light would not catch the wrong eyes.
?Suddenly, a dry, savage cough racked the old man. He collapsed onto the frigid floor, gripping the crate for support. Droplets of blood spattered the old porcelain and the dust. Halter remained motionless, like a black statue, observing his mentor’s fall without offering a hand. Altas rose with agonizing effort, wiping his bloodied lips.
?“The cancer is grinding me from within,” he spoke with labored breath. “This is my final creation, boy. A sphere engineered with three layers that absorb heat and transmute it into pure energy. An equation that never fails.”
?“Why give it to me?” Halter asked, watching from a distance.
?Altas extended the sphere toward the Chancellor.
?“Because if you do not take it, they will. They branded me a madman because they feared the light I could create... but here it is. Take it. Call it a legacy.”
?Halter approached slowly and took the sphere gently. For a moment, its weight seemed to pull him toward the earth—not from physical mass, but from the gravity of responsibility.
?“I know that little boy will make the right choice,” Altas whispered across the distance, his eyes searching for a flicker of humanity in the Chancellor’s gaze.
?Halter turned and began to tread over the ancient notes, heading toward the exit. His hand gripped the sphere as if it were the most precious object in the universe.
?“I shall wait for you again, boy!” Altas called out from the darkness of the barn.
?Halter turned his head for a single second—a fleeting, indefinable glance—and stepped out into the white storm. From afar, his black silhouette resembled a lone wolf retreating into the horizon, until the snow and the darkness swallowed him whole, erasing him from the sight of the dying man.
[SUBJECT A VITALS: STABLE / HEMORRHAGE RISK: 85%]
