Humanity: The Fall

The first thing I remember is his voice. Not his face, not his name—just his voice. Deep, steady, and heavy with unspoken sadness.

"You'll be safe here," he said. "Promise me you'll take care of her."

I didn't understand what he meant at the time. I was too young, too caught up in holding onto the edges of his coat, afraid to let go. My sister, just a baby then, squirmed in his arms, blissfully unaware of the weight of his words.

He left us at the monastery that morning, disappearing into the fog like a shadow retreating from the light.

I never saw him again.

The nuns were kind in the way rivers are kind: cold but life-giving. They fed us, clothed us, taught us the ways of faith. They spoke of God's love and His wrath in the same breath, as though one could not exist without the other.

Maria and I grew up under their watchful eyes, always careful not to step out of line. Boys and girls were kept apart, for "purity's sake," as they put it. Our time together was limited to fleeting glances during Mass or whispered conversations over the clatter of mealtime.

But we had each other. Even in silence, even in separation, we had each other.

Until we didn't.

I was fifteen when I first learned the truth.

It wasn't told to us gently, like a story before bed. No, the truth was thrust upon us like a blade to the chest. We were gathered in the great hall, the candles casting long, flickering shadows on the walls.

"Humanity has sinned beyond redemption," Father Marcus announced, his voice echoing off the stone. "God has struck down the unworthy, and the gates of Heaven and Hell have been torn open."

He spoke of the massacres. New York. Paris. Shanghai. Cities reduced to ash by angelic flames, their people slaughtered in the name of divine justice.

He spoke of the old man in London, who had dared to defy both Heaven and Hell, closing the gates at the cost of his soul.

And then he spoke of us.

"We are the last hope," he said, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk searching for prey. "The sinless. The pure. Chosen to summon God's soldiers and fight for humanity's survival."

I didn't feel chosen. I felt trapped.

But I obeyed, like we all did. Because what choice did we have?

Now, looking back, I wonder if that moment was the beginning. The beginning of the end, or perhaps just my end.

Because nothing has been the same since.

The scars on my body tell one story, but the weight in my chest tells another.

The whispers in the dark. The dreams I can't escape.

And the voice—the deep, steady voice that isn't mine, but somehow feels like it's always been there.

"I've been waiting," it says, each word like the tolling of a bell. "You're stronger than you know. Stronger than they ever wanted you to be."

I don't know what it means, but I can feel it watching, waiting.

For what, I'm not sure.

But I know one thing:

The end isn't coming.

It's already here.