Why should I bother? he thought, eyes forward as the storm approached. The storm was a beautiful tragedy. Multiple twisters touched down on the desolate land. The sun was setting on the horizon, causing the dirt and sand to fill the twisters with a reddish coloring that almost looked like fire. 

He stood atop a small cliffside, around 100 feet drop if he fell. It wouldn’t have caused much damage if he jumped. Maybe if I jump when the storm arrives and headfirst, it might be able to end me in one quick strike. The ground around him was sun-dried and cracked. His stomach made a noise, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a long time. 

Yes, this will be a good way to go. Maybe this will please them. The sun fell slowly beyond the horizon, darkness slowly swallowing the land. For a moment, though, it reflected something far off. A golden flash blinded him in the dim light for just a moment, and for an even shorter moment, the outline of a large building, unaffected by the twisters and the great winds of this dying land. How did I not see it before the storm? 

Curiosity overcame him, and he decided to investigate. First, he had to find shelter from the storm. Many were built in the last days of this world. Though he wasn’t here when it ended, his arrival is something new to this seemingly dead world. He had seen these storms and knew roughly how long it should take. It didn’t take long to find a shelter. 

The shelter felt like entering a crypt and smelled more like a morgue. The rancid smell of death filled his nostrils. He started breathing through his mouth. Whoever was here must have starved to death. It was dark, the darkness that made your eyes play tricks on you. He tapped his exposed wrist in a particular pattern, and the top of his forearm shone brightly. 

Squinting at the bright light, he made a fist, knuckles facing him, and pointed his brightened forearm away from him. Then, he began descending into the crypt-like shelter. He stepped slowly down the wooden stairs; it seemed to go down a long way. 

He was in no rush to get down there. He had plenty of time before the storm would let up. Based on the scent, he was confident he knew what he would find. The shelter had a dirt floor and four concrete walls. It seems a family lived there until they ran out of food.

Two of the corpses were adults; the other was that of a child. He shone his light around the small room. It had plumbing, with a single toilet and sink, both out in the open. He walked over and, feeling curious, tried to flush the toilet using the lever on the side. The bowl was dry, and no water flowed in at his jiggling of the lever. 

He had trouble estimating how long they had been dead; their bodies had decayed. There were no maggots or flies in the crypt that he could see. He didn’t bother searching for food or anything of use; he learned months ago that nothing remained. 

They had a bookshelf; many of its books had decayed, indicating they may have been here far longer than he realized. Two books had remained firm. The first he grabbed was the large book. The pages were thin and felt fragile upon touch, and he couldn’t read the language it was written in. Perhaps if I were still on the net, but well, that line of thought doesn’t help.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed something strange. One of the bodies hadn’t decayed at all. It was a man who appeared to be in his late 40s. His beard was longer than any he had seen before. It was dark in color with grey speckled throughout. He nudged the body, trying to awaken the man. His hand dropped a small chain necklace with a lowercase t. Curious, He grabbed it and wrapped the chain around his hand, eyeing the t. His pockets did not function, so he couldn’t store them there. He checked for a pulse, and the body was cold. He frowned and opened the other book.

The other book, he could understand, having stored the local language in his memory. Upon reading the first page, he decided it was a personal journal. As he started putting it back on the shelf, he froze momentarily, a thought popping into his head. They die a second time if you don’t remember who they are, and this death is final. Let them live one last time. 

His shoulders slumped, his head drooped, and he audibly exhaled. Then, chastising himself, he opened the journal and began reading. He quickly skimmed through the pages from front to back, flipping them with his fingers and stopping on the final entry. He noticed it was dated on the top corner, opposite the binding on each page. It was Earth Standard, but they didn’t put a year in, so it is uncertain when it was written. 

This marks the first day. My family and I were unable to escape to the parish. However, this hole I was led to should provide safety. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirt: now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

April 16th

Many early pages spoke of their struggles living there and their inability to leave. The person writing this seemed to believe that the building above collapsed into itself and closed off the entrance. 

The man paused his readings and looked up the stairs, realizing for the first time that this wasn’t simply a storm shelter, and this place had been from before the beginning of the end. It is impressive that any of this is still around. He took a deep breath and continued reading the journal, noting that all the pages had the same last line: Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

It has been several weeks, and I have eaten scarcely and allowed my wife and daughter to eat what little there is. Is this the end of times? Or is it simply the end of this time and world? Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirt: now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen 

July 3rd

We have run out of food. We will be joining Him soon. My beloved wife has already joined Him. My sweet daughter is looking ill. I feel as strong as ever. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirt: now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen

July 28th

God has granted me a miracle, and through His Grace, I could perform the miracle of making food. Glory to him! My body is yours, oh God, and my soul belongs to you. I have not needed to eat more than one time a week to feel fully fed! Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirt: now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen

August 1st

This will be my final entry. My sweet child has passed from this world. She is now resting in His embrace and no longer in pain. My prayers have been answered, and I shall soon join them. My life has been in His service, and I will die in His service. I tried to leave again, but the doors to leave will not budge. I am sad not to see the light of God’s creation one last time in this body. I am, however, excited to be embraced by the One who died for me, the unworthy sinner. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirt: now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen

September 1st

That was the last page; there were no names. They likely died of starvation. Why is the body not decayed like the rest? What does he mean he created food? 

He frowned and shook his head. At least now I can let the storm take me after seeing that strange building and have no guilt about this man and his family. They gave themselves a final death by not remembering who they were. He tapped on the side of his head, took a deep breath, and momentarily closed his eyes. He opened his eyes, shocked by how much time had passed. Then, he tapped it again. 

On his way out, he noticed more: intricate carvings on the wooden stairs and the fact that they were still sturdy. If his guess were correct, these stairs would have been hundreds of years old.  

Upon leaving the shelter, he climbed back where he initially saw the building. He saw it off in the distance; it was dark like all at night but seemed to reflect the stars in a way he’d never seen another building do before. He began his journey, which he estimated would take him a few days to walk. The ground was dry and cracked. He wasn’t sure water existed on the planet anymore. He was infused with a trial run of CRA-9, so food and water weren’t necessities for him any longer. 

He still felt hungry and thirsty, but only for a time. The journey was longer than he had anticipated, and his mind wandered. He began to consider how he had ended up on this planet in the first place. The sun rose in the west and set in the east. Backward from what Earth was accustomed to, but he had seen all kinds. Ironically, never Earth, though. It's odd how we always compare other places to Earth; most of us have never been there.

Escaping reavers ended him here. He wasn’t sure if the swift but painful death from the reavers would have been preferred to this he walked now. Of course, he wasn’t sure he could be killed any longer. The CRA-9 was supposed to heal all wounds rapidly without medical attention. He was in a cycle of hunger pains again with dehydration but could easily ignore it. His body was nearly as augmented as organic, so he didn’t need much food since taking this new serum. 

When he arrived at the building, it was grand and majestic. He wanted to enjoy it. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Buildings weren’t built like this anymore; they were bare when constructed, and with AR, you could make them what you wanted. He wasn’t on the net, so he stared dumbly, knowing this to be an actual building. 

It stood tall and proud, a barrier to the winds, a guardian of the land, a relic of a forgotten age and possibly forgotten people. He circled the building, taking it in, and a quick scan showed it to be around 419 feet tall, 220 feet wide, and 417 feet long. 

It appeared as if multiple buildings were attached to it, making it one massively beautiful structure. Each section had its domed roof, a total of 8 or maybe 9. It was hard to tell, as he couldn’t get an angle that would allow him to see enough of the top. 

Each domed peak of each roof seemed to be affixed with what appeared to be a lowercase t. He looked down at the necklace he still had wrapped around his hand, and it looked like a miniature version of those t’s at the tops. There were arches with pillars on all sides; each entrance had seven pillars with arched doorways. The back area was not an entrance but a full balcony with pillars and arches. 

It was approaching nightfall when he finished this self-appointed task of checking every building detail. It was a white marble on the outside, though the pillars were more gray than white, and each domed portion of the roof was golden but not likely composed of gold. He decided to wait until morning to view the rest. You can only experience art for the first time once; any time after that, while still beautiful, it isn’t experienced the same. 

He had no idea what to expect when he entered, but he had hope for the first time since he crashed into this apocalyptic death planet. No, before then, even before the company was the last time you had hope or excitement for anything. You can’t lie to yourself. 

He tried not to dwell on the time before. It didn’t matter anyway. The time to come is the only thing left. He started pacing, and in his self-recrimination, he didn’t even notice the winds beginning to pick up and a storm forming. 

A gust of wind suddenly and forcefully knocked him down. He looked up, finally noticing the storm upon him. His eyes widened, and as he stood up again, he was blown down. He continued in this manner, making no progress toward the door. When a damning thought occurred to him, is this what I deserve? A fleeting moment of purpose came back to me for the first time in several centuries, just to be taken.

He lay on the ground, accepting the pummeling the wind gave him. Then, he stood up with a sudden and unexpected force of will. He began ambling towards the front doors of the building. The wind hitting him almost seemed to be screaming at him, trying to knock him down. Cuts began to open, one hand up to protect his eyes as best he could, the one bearing the necklace. The other rested across his chest to keep his loose-fitting clothes from beating him more than the wind was.

The building wasn’t far, but somehow, this walk seemed hours, losing sight of it in the fight against the wind, which seemed bent upon his destruction, against his entry to this building. 

“YOU CAN HAVE ME WHEN I SEE WHAT IS INSIDE!” He bellowed in rage as if the wind could hear his defiant shouts, as if the wind cared enough to give him this. 

Then, everything went still. He stopped, stunned that it worked, and took a few deep breaths, allowing the wounds on his arms and face to heal. Then, he looked up, hoping to see the clear night sky, realizing with sudden horror that he was in the center of a fully formed twister.

He ran, putting everything he could into running before the winds began in full again. He wasn’t fast enough. They immediately started hitting him. He was so close that the pillars were mere yards away. He pressed on. With each step, the wind hit him harder and harder, knocking him left, right, and left again. He continued onward. 

He was nearly there, within arm's reach of a pillar, when he lost his footing. He realized with shock that it wasn’t just his footing he lost; he lost the ground. The twister had picked up enough force to grab him from the ground. He cried out, spinning every way, not hitting anything but being hit by the wind. 

The wind howled triumphantly at his screams of dismay. "So, I die, hopeless in the end, unfulfilled." He closed his eyes and accepted his fate; the wind hesitated momentarily. He dropped several feet toward the ground, and once more, up and down, he noticed something as he spun through the air: one of the t-shaped objects at the top of the buildings. 

He reached out and grabbed it, and while it looked small, it was incredibly sturdy. He clung to it, burying his arm in the crux and having faith it would see him through this treacherous storm. The storm seemed to batter him down for a time, and he continued to hold to this t. Cuts opened on his body and immediately stung, becoming full of dirt and sand in the wind. 

Yet he held, and the winds eventually died. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the storm had passed or had disappeared entirely. His final wounds sealed, and he noticed that he was at the t on top of the highest of the domed roofs. 

The sun was up now. It was a sight to be up this high, but nothing was around. He couldn’t even make out the hole he had hid in days before. Then he looked down. I think I could survive this fall, but I don’t want to find out. A gentle wind seemed to blow, one that he thought was encouraging the idea. So, with no other prodding, he began his descent.

He tried to control his fall, sliding down the side of the dome roof. He sped up as he slid, clawing the sides to slow the descent. He stopped abruptly, both feet hitting the ledge surrounding this dome. Unfortunately, his knees buckled, and he fell head-first off the building.

He screamed as he fell, watching the ground approaching at a frightening speed. Is this how it ends? Survive the storm to die plummeting headfirst from over 400 feet up. He got hit by two strong gusts of wind, spinning his body, so he landed feet first. 

He broke every bone from his feet to his hips. It took an agonizingly long time to heal from it. He was worried the wild winds would attack him again. Foolish thought wind doesn’t have a mind of its own. He even began to laugh out loud about the idea, and more importantly, he survived the fall of 419 feet. He laughed again; fall felt like a 421-foot building. 

Wiping tears at his bad joke, he finally stood up. He had stiffness in his right hip and figured it would go away. He finally walked to the arches and touched one of the connecting pillars. He continued in and instantly noticed it was a quiet place. This wasn’t an ominous quiet; it was a peaceful quiet that didn’t want to be disturbed but was willing to make an exception. He felt calm radiate within him, a peace he had never felt in his life, then pulled the door open and limped in. 

None of the interior lighting worked, but light seemed to shine in this place anyway. Seeing was not tricky, and he did not need to squint to make out the majesty of this structure. It was a hallway on both sides and pillars connected by archways on each level it went up. The corridor led deeper into the building, and the roof had a dome shape, as he had seen from outside. 

It led to a larger area; the roof here was domed and ornamented by what appeared to be a mosaic. The archway leading into it, the mosaic depicted twelve people split evenly. The heads were pointed toward the center of the archway. Each of them appeared to be a person but also not. Nothing about them looked different from any person he had seen. They were done in a way that didn’t look like a normal person, leaving him unsettled, an almost otherworldly presence. He nearly laughed at the notion since he wasn’t from this planet but instead allowed a smirk on his face. Continuing not to disturb the peace in this place. 

Each figure had a blue background, and some words he didn’t understand were written beside them. All of them seemed to have a similar pose. A few differences included some holding onto the t, almost like he had. On either side of the twelve people was an ornately and beautifully made pattern, perhaps flowers, but they mirrored each other across the archway. 

The domed roof was a truly majestic piece of art. This was a half dome, and central to it was a person in a red robe with a shawl, perhaps a woman, over the top of their head. Cradling an infant, the infant lay on some slab, perhaps of stone, with what seemed to be an entrance to a cave behind. What appeared to be a horse and a cow behind them, overlooking the infant. 

A point from the top of the half dome seemed to point toward the child, a symbol akin to a star drawn in a circle between the child and the top. The infant had a circle behind its head, displaying something he once again couldn’t identify. It was letters, but he was uncertain what they meant. 

Above the cave entrance and to the left were what appeared to be men with wings sprouting from their backs, staring down upon the child as if in gratitude for the child's birth. Beside them were three men on horses, perhaps, and it seemed one was proffering a gift to the child. 

Below them were another three men. The middle seemed to be wearing a fur cloak, and to his left was a man with a walking stick. Both seemed to be trying to counsel the third man, who appeared thoughtful upon a rock. Sheep and a single horse were grazing. 

Above the cave entrance and to the right, another winged man was gesturing in a manner that appeared to be to get others to bear witness to this infant. A man and woman, perhaps married, looked upon the child in wonder, the man wearing a fur cloak and the woman a brown dress. A man, perhaps a minstrel, played what appeared to be a flute nearby, maybe a boy, and looked at the infant. 

Below them, a woman poured water into a container. Off to the right, it appeared the infant was being prepared for his first bath. A woman was holding him, perhaps his mother again. He knew, through no apparent signs told him, that this infant was a boy. He could be wrong, but somehow, he knew it was a boy. 

He stood in wonderment, staring in disbelief at the beauty before him. He began to weep, unsure if the tears were tears of joy or sorrow. He let them streak down his face and did not bother wiping them. He didn’t know how much time had passed before him, but he rose when he finished, and his last tear had dried upon his cheek. 

With a limp, he continued to view the majestic creation he had stumbled upon. However, nothing struck him nearly as magnificently as that first depiction. It was a strange occurrence, but somehow, he always knew, with no clear indication, who the infant was and his mother. 

From the depiction, he could tell this child was the focal point; he grew, he lived his life for a time, and then he was killed. He was familiar with the style of killing, known as crucifixion, and he had stumbled upon a few empires that used the method to deal with the most heinous of crimes. He wondered what the crime this man committed was. 

Though he died, it seemed death wasn’t enough to stop him. He continued to work after dying. He then ascended, perhaps. The iconography, somehow, he knew that was the proper term for it, depicted a hero who died for the world. He was born to and consigned to death, like all people, but his task was greater even than that. It was, unfortunately, not an adequate way to tell the story. He needed and wanted the details. He needed to understand further. He decided, then and there, to pursue this group and learn the story the