The Heart of the Universe

The silence weighed on his ears, but in Lololoshka's head there was an unbearable hum. Thoughts, like a swarm of anxious wasps, stung the same sore spot: Alfred. Purification. Could this ring of fate really be broken? He mentally reviewed every argument, every spell, every prayer he could still whisper—but there was no answer.

The sleepy dimension, once so cozy, was now a cage where every sound irritated him. John, whom he'd been dragging out of oblivion for so long, spoke with empty phrases, like a stone wall. The neighbors squabbled among themselves with the ferocity of hungry dogs, Never's constant whining grated on his nerves, and the fanatical glint in Mark's eyes when he spoke of the church was more frightening than any monster.

And the most terrifying thing was that the infected had disappeared. Every single one. This silence was more terrifying than their roar. Something enormous, inexorable, like a tide, was brewing, and Lololoshka felt like a grain of sand before it.

He exhaled, trying to shake the weight off his shoulders, and only then noticed that his feet had taken him to an unfamiliar place. His gaze slid over the sagging shutters, the rusty door hinges, the grass sprouting through the cracks in the paving stones.

"Where am I?" he muttered hoarsely, his voice echoing in the dead silence of the forgotten settlement.