The last steps were behind me. I now stood directly on the wide main terrace leading to the city. And what I saw made me stop in my tracks.
The city – which seemed once utopian, beautiful, a marvel of architecture and technology – now lay in a state I could only describe as an abandoned battlefield.
Sand everywhere. It had blown through the streets, piled up in corners, clung to facades, and crept through open doors.
The buildings themselves… many were still standing, but many bore scars. Deep cracks ran through their smooth surfaces. Windows were shattered. Entire facades were missing.
In some places, black scorch marks were visible – circular, scattered wildly. Explosions?
After a few minutes, my breathing began to steady. My heart still pounded, but no longer in panic. With trembling fingers, I wiped my face, took a deep breath – and forced myself to stand up. I turned to the bench again. The two skeletons still lay exactly as before. Unchanged. Silent. I stepped closer, letting my gaze sweep over them. The smaller skeleton – the child – had its head resting on the adult's shoulder. Perhaps the father. Or the mother. I didn't know. It was no longer recognizable. But what I did recognize was the expression of this scene. They hadn't fought. They had stayed. And my gaze wandered further. I saw the other skeletons. Scattered everywhere – in the sand, on stairs, against walls. Many of them weren't just lying there – they had fallen. Collapsed. The position of their limbs, the direction of their bodies… They had run. Fled. From something. Something they couldn't escape. And again, I turned my gaze back to the two on the bench. They hadn't run. They had sat down. They had waited. They had accepted their fate. This thought weighed heavily on my chest. Not out of fear. But out of… grief. I just stood there. Silent. And let this place affect me.
I finally detached myself from the bench and slowly walked on. The sand crunched under my shoes. My gaze swept – searching, observing, unsure. I wanted to understand. So I looked closer at the other skeletons. First the human ones. Many of them lay irregularly, chaotically, as if they had fallen while running. Their clothes – what little remained – were consumed by sand and time. Then I came across the first non-human ones. Aliens. Most of them appeared surprisingly humanoid. Two legs, two arms. Some hands had only three fingers, others six. The same with the feet – sometimes three, sometimes four toes. Some skulls resembled human ones, while others were flatter, longer, or possessed additional bone ridges and openings whose function I could only guess at. And then – I saw them. The large ones. Few, but impressive. Over two meters long. Massive. Their bones seemed almost too heavy for their own physique, as if they had worn armor under their skin. And yet: they too were dead. But what puzzled me most was a completely different type of corpse. Humanoid bodies – but no bones. Or if so, then metal bones. Some consisted only partially of metallic elements – joints, ribs, forearms. A mixture of machine and flesh that had long since perished. But others… Others were completely mechanical. Humanoid forms made of precisely crafted components. Joints, fingers, facial contours – all metallic, but human-like.
The only thing they lacked was, Skin.
I couldn't say if it had once been organic – or synthetic. Perhaps a mixture. Perhaps something else entirely. But whatever they once were – they didn't seem like machines. They had been people. Or something that considered itself human. And now… they were just shells.
I walked on. The streets lay deserted before me, and yet in everything there was a silent story slumbering beneath the sand. The buildings grew taller the deeper I ventured into the city. Utopian forms, shimmering material that dully gleamed in the sun – once, this place had been full of splendor. Now the structures seemed like skeletons themselves, like abandoned shells of a civilization that had outgrown itself. In some places, partially collapsed towers jutted into the sky at crooked angles, as if still rebelling against decay. Others were completely intact – just empty. Too empty. I walked past shop windows. Behind them: abandoned technology. Flickering light strips, though no one was left. Hologram panels showed still images, frozen advertisements, interrupted messages. On one screen: a man, perhaps a news anchor, whose lips no longer moved. His eyes looked at me as if he knew I was the last one still watching. I walked on. Past bus stops, across wide bridges, past floating transport capsules hanging half in the air – frozen in the middle of a movement that was never completed. The march was long. The sun now stood almost directly above the city. No shadow fell over me – except the shadow of memory, which slowly settled over my heart. Everywhere was the question: What happened here? And: Why am I here of all places? I had no answers. Only my steps. And the wind, which blew through the dead alleys like a forgotten breath.
A faint, dull thud suddenly broke the silence. I stopped. Then – a second one. Heavier. Closer. And a third. A deep rumble, not from the sky, but seeming to tremble from the earth itself. Those wear Thunders. The wind picked up. First a gentle whisper, then stronger, faster, angrier. Fine sand hissed past me, whipping against my legs, then my face. I threw up my arms, turned sideways, and looked towards the horizon. There it was. A wall. Not of stone. Not of metal. Of sand. A sandstorm. It was massive. A yellowish-brown wall, hundreds of meters high, rolled through the city like a wave – devouring everything in its path. I froze for only a moment. Then I started moving. I ran. The silence was over – now it was only about survival. I tried doors. One after another. Locked. Barred. Unresponsive. I found some kind of underpass – perhaps an old subway entrance. But a thick grate blocked the way. No passage. The storm was coming closer. I could hear it now. A deep growl. Not wind – a roar. My legs began to tremble. I gasped. Sweat mixed with sand on my skin. Another door. Still closed. Another. Dead. Another… And then – a hiss. Pfffft. A door slid open sideways. Automatically. I didn't hesitate for a second. I stormed inside, almost pushed back by the air pressure, pressed myself with all my might against the inner frame – and found a locking mechanism. I hammered my fist on it. The door closed – slowly, reluctantly. Shhhhk. And then: darkness.
Only my own breath. And the howling rage of the storm now beating against the walls outside. I was in. I had made it. As soon as the door closed behind me, I slumped to the floor. I slid down against the wall, my back gliding along the cold inner surface until I finally sat down. My knees drawn up, my arms resting heavily on my thighs.
I exhaled the words more than spoke them. „Vielllll zu knapp...“
//Wayyy…too close…//
My pulse still thundered in my ears, accompanied by the distant fury of the sandstorm outside. I just sat there. And breathed. For a few minutes, I said nothing. Did nothing. I just listened to my own heartbeat. Then I slowly began to dust the sand off my clothes. It was everywhere. In my shoes. In my pockets. Under my collar. In my hair. My hands trembled slightly as I tried to wipe away the coarsest grains. It was pointless to get rid of it completely – but it still felt good to do something. Something that wasn't just about survival. Just for a moment.
The wind outside still roared, but in here it was quiet. Muffled. Almost… peaceful. I had shaken off the worst of the sand, my breathing was regular again, my body still exhausted – but at least no longer panicked.
And then it came. A thought. One I didn't want to think. „Hmm… dass ich bis jetzt nicht hun…—“ GRRRROOOOOOOWWWWWLLL.
//Hmm… that I haven't been hun—//
My stomach interrupted me with a sound somewhere between an animal and a chainsaw. It almost vibrated through my entire body.
I remained frozen, staring into space. „…Jinxed."
I sighed, rolled my eyes.„Ganz toll.“
//Great.//
I had conjured it. Of course. I slowly stood up. My legs felt heavy, my back ached slightly from sitting on the hard floor.
„Okay…enough break time."
//Okay...genug Pause//
I looked around – really looked around. And that's when I noticed. This place wasn't a small shelter. Not a technical room, not a storage room. It was… large. Much larger. The ceiling stretched high above me, held by columnar supports. Far away, I saw collapsed escalators, shattered glass fronts, signs in a foreign script hanging from the ceiling. Shelves. Stalls. Flickering illuminated billboards, some flickering, some completely extinguished. I wasn't in a shelter. I was in an abandoned superstore. Or a mall.
„Na super“
//Oh great//
I muttered, with a hint of hope. „Wenn hier irgendwo noch etwas Essbares rumliegt...“
//If there's anything edible left here…//
I began to move cautiously through the dusty twilight. And then I saw it – a vending machine. Tall, slender, recessed into a wall. It looked like a futuristic snack dispenser. A screen, a dispensing chute, several glowing symbols next to it. I stepped closer and looked at the display. Several foods were depicted – or what I thought were foods. Packaging? Energy bars? Perhaps something warm? But the script below… Unintelligible.
No letters that I knew. „Natürlich“
//Of course//
I muttered dryly. „Warum sollte etwas hier einfach sein…“
//Why would anything here be easy…//
I tentatively tapped one of the symbols. It lit up briefly – then… nothing. No reaction. I tried another. And another. Stillness.
„Tja… wäre ja zu schön gewesen.“
//Well…that would have been too good.//
I still stared at the display. The shapes. The patterns. Something about it seemed… familiar. I frowned, stepped closer.
„Moment mal…“
//Wait a minute…//
I leaned forward. Looked more closely. „Ist das nicht…Kanji?“
//Isn't that…Kanji?//
My heart gave a little jump. That couldn't be. Or could it? I recognized some of the characters. Not many – but enough to venture the guess. Japanese? „Japanisch...!?“
I repeated incredulously. „Was zur Hölle...?“
//What the hell…?//
I had learned Japanese for a while. Not perfectly, rather rusty. But a few characters – I still knew them. And then I remembered. My translator! I instinctively reached into my pocket, pulled out my smartphone. Quickly out of supersaver mode. The translation app. Please, please… I opened it. A brief moment of waiting. Then – relief. Japanese was downloaded. Offline.
„YES!"
As if I had just outsmarted reality. I activated the camera mode of the translator app and carefully aimed the phone at the vending machines display. A tremor ran through my hand – from anticipation. And indeed: the first characters were overlaid live.
A word appeared. //Chips//
I stared at it. „CHIPS!? HIER!? HAH!“
//CHIPS!? HERE!? HAH!//
I started to laugh. First quietly, then louder. It wasn't healthy, controlled humor – it was the madness of a desperate person who had found a bag of chips in the middle of a post-apocalyptic alien mall.
„Keine Lebewesen, keine Hilfe – aber CHIPS gibt es noch!“
//No living beings, no help – but there are still CHIPS!//
More words appeared as I scanned the display.
„Nudeln. Energieriegel. Zitronenwasser. Tofu-Teriyaki-Snack? Irgendwas mit Algenextrakt…“
//Noodles. Energy bar. Lemon water. Tofu Teriyaki snack? Something with algae extract…//
I shook my head, grinning. „Klingt…essbar.“
//Sounds…edible//
Then a thought occurred to me. I took a step back, crossed my arms.
„Moment mal… Ist das Zeug da drinnen überhaupt noch gut?"
//Wait a minute… Is that stuff still good in there?//
I chuckled. „Nur ein Weg, das rauszufinden.“
//Only one way to find out//
I tapped the button next to Chips. Then on Confirm. A moment of silence. Then the screen flickered – and a new message appeared.
//Cost: 200 Credits//
I stared at it. For a few seconds, I said nothing.
Then: „Ist das dein Ernst…?“
//Are you serious…?//
My voice trembled. „DEIN SCHEIß ERNST!?“
//ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!?//
The scream thundered out of me like an explosion. It echoed through the hall, vibrated in the glass remnants and shelves, bounced off walls like the outburst of a desperate god. And then I completely lost my patience. I kicked. Hard. Directly against the vending machine.
„ICH. WERDE. NICHT. WEGEN. SCHEIß. 200. CREDITS. VERHUNGERN!!!“
//I. WILL. NOT. STARVE. FOR. SOME. FUCKING. 200. CREDITS!!!//
With every word another kick. With every kick a crunch. A wobble. A plea. Eventually – a soft clack. Then a hum. And suddenly: Clack – clack – clack – rrrrtschh! The dispensing chute opened. And began to spit. Packages. Snacks. Bottles. Bags. Bars. Cans. An avalanche of food and drink poured into the collection area. I stared at it.
Then I grinned. „Na also. Geht doch. Ich wollte doch nur fragen…“
//There you go. It works. I just wanted to ask…//
I stood in front of the vending machine, surrounded by scattered snacks, packaged food, drink bottles, colorful bags with characters I still couldn't read – but which at least looked consumable. I sank to the floor, gathering some of the bags around me as if setting up camp. For a moment, it almost felt like a picnic. In an abandoned, dusty, dead mall. I took my time. I examined each package closely. Turned it in my hands. No expiration date I could read. I tried several products. Nothing. They probably had long since developed something here that exceeded our understanding of shelf life. Perhaps synthetic preservation. Perhaps nano-bacteria – who knew?
I looked at one of these packages and shrugged. >„Erstmal kein Kopf drum machen. Wenn’s mich umhaut, dann wenigstens mit vollem Magen.“
//I shouldn’t worry about it for now. If it kills me, at least it'll be on a full stomach//
I tore open a bag – chips. Or something similar. Thin, crispy, salty, but with a strangely sweet aftertaste. Somehow… good. I chewed slowly, savoring each bite like a king at a banquet. My stomach rumbled contentedly.
I said between bites. „Es gibt noch Wunder in dieser toten Welt.“
//There are still miracles in this dead world//
And I continued eating. Without thinking. Without doubting. Simply because I needed it.
About thirty minutes later, I got up again. My stomach was full, my head a little clearer, and the storm outside seemed to have died down – or at least moved on. Time to move on. I grabbed one of the empty backpacks I had found next to a former sales stand – futuristic in design, light, but sturdy. I stuffed as much provisions as I could carry without overloading myself. For now, I wouldn't starve. I roamed through the mall, now with a different perspective. It was huge. Two, perhaps three floors. The shops were diverse. Some resembled clothing stores – empty mannequins stood there, some with clothes that had held up surprisingly well despite the time. Other shops looked like electronics stores – devices, tablets, bizarre apparatuses with glowing cores that could no longer be activated. In between were cafes, small areas where sand had crept in. A children's play area that seemed frozen in time – with gliders that would never move again. Then I stopped. In front of a wide, semi-open entrance. Dark, quiet, almost majestic. Above the entrance a large sign – naturally in a faded language – but below it, a small addition in an old language, also Japanese.
I held my smartphone up to it: //Information Archive//
A library. I stepped closer. „Okay…vielleicht kann ich hier endlich herausfinden, wo ich eigentlich gelandet bin“
//Okay…maybe I can finally find out where I actually landed//
I muttered. Maybe there were clues here. Historical data. Maps. Technology that still worked. Maybe even… answers. I cautiously stepped through the library's entrance area. The light was diffused – a mixture of dimly glowing artificial ceiling lights and isolated sunbeams filtering through narrow window openings. The dust danced in it like tiny particles from a long-forgotten time. The shelves stretched into the depth, some still neatly filled, others half-collapsed or empty. The room was silent. It breathed… history. I placed my backpack next to a table near the entrance. The surface was covered with a thick layer of dust, as if no one had touched it for centuries. At that moment, a book fell from the edge of the table. A dull plop, followed by the soft rustle on the floor. I bent down and picked it up. The cover was brittle, marked by time and dryness. Dust billowed from the crevices. I carefully blew over it. A single, light breath – and my entire field of vision exploded in a cloud of dust. I staggered a step back, waved my hands, coughed uncontrollably.
„Oh wow… so alt!? Hust...hust!“
//Oh wow… so old!? Cough...cough!//
My voice sounded muffled, as if the dust itself was trying to stop me from touching the knowledge of this place. I had to laugh. Gasping. Dust-choked. „Was auch immer da drinne steht – das hat lange auf jemanden gewartet.“
//Whatever is written in there – it has been waiting for someone for a long time.//
I sat down in the chair at the table, the book in my hands. The mixture of artificial light and sunbeams cast strange shadows on the pages. The moment felt meaningful. As if I had found a relic. Something that was ready to speak. If only I understood its language. I wiped the last of the dust from my eyes and finally looked properly at the book's cover.
And there it was. Kanji. Again. „Schon wieder japanisch...“
//Japanese again…//
I muttered, no longer even surprised. A strange feeling spread within me – a mix of familiarity, confusion, and growing curiosity. Then a thought shot through my head. The entrance! I stood up, carefully left the book on the table, and walked back to the door I had entered through. I stepped futher into the mall – the wind had died down, the mall lay still in the light of the setting sun. My gaze wandered upwards. There it was. The large sign above the entrance. I had only glanced at it before, but now – with an open mind – I saw it clearly. Two languages. The bottom line in Kanji.
And directly above it…English://INFORMATION ARCHIVE//
I stepped closer. I turned around, looked at other signs in the vicinity.
A shop: 「服とスタイル」
– below it: //FASHION & STYLE//
A small snack bar: 「食事区画」
– below it: //FOOD ZONE//
I whispered. „Aber wie…?“
//But how…?//
I suddenly felt as if I had landed in the middle of a gigantic, multilingual spaceport – only no one was left here. I turned around again, straight back to the table. The book was waiting. And now I was ready to listen. I sat down, pulled out my smartphone again, and opened the camera translation.
I whispered. „Na gut, zeigen wir mal, was du zu erzählen hast...“
//Alright, let's see what you have to say…//
I leaned back over the book. The screen of my smartphone glowed faintly, the camera active, ready to decipher the incomprehensible. But my mind was long past the technology.
I mumbled. „Warum… sind hier Erdsprachen? Japanisch…Englisch…“
//Why… are there Earth languages here? Japanese… English…//
I thought of the signs. The vending machines. The book. „Bin ich wirklich auf einem fremden Planeten? Oder…?“
//Am I really on an alien planet? Or…?//
I shook my head slightly, dispelling the thought, and refocused on what lay before me. Slowly, on the display of my smartphone, the title of the book began to form.
//The Memoirs of Kirito and Asuna//
My body suddenly went completely still. Only my eyes moved. „Kirito… und Asuna…“
//Kirito… and Asuna…//
The names sounded so familiar. Too familiar. Like ghosts from a deeply buried memory. A faint flicker went through me. I turned to the next page. There was a picture. An old, faded photograph. Two people. A man, a woman. Both stood close together, smiling slightly, their clothes looking modern – yet different. I hesitated. Then I carefully picked up the picture with two fingers. Turned it over. And looked at it. My breath hitched. Something in me recognized them. Not directly – but somehow. I couldn't name it, couldn't grasp it. It wasn't just their faces. It was…a feeling. An echo. A déjà vu too profound to be a coincidence. My hand trembled slightly. The picture slipped from my fingers. Slowly.
It floated through the air and landed flat on the table. I stared at it. „Was soll das...?“
//What is this…?//
My voice was barely audible. „Wie ist das möglich…?“
//How is this possible…?//
I looked up, into the shadows of the library, as if someone there might have the answer for me. But no one was there. Only me. And this book. And a strange feeling that my story… had perhaps already begun. I still stared at the picture. Slowly… the pieces came together. The names. The faces. And suddenly I knew. Kazuto Kirigaya. Asuna Yuuki. Not just anyone. Characters from Sword Art Online. An anime. A manga. A virtual world. Fiction. Pure fiction. And yet this picture lay before me. Printed, aged, yellowed.
In a book called Memoirs.
Not a fan book. Not a novel. Memoirs.
That meant…they had been real. In this world. I gasped for air. My chair tilted slightly backward – I caught myself at the last moment, half stood up, my hands braced on the table.
My heart pounded. I mumbled. „Das kann nicht sein…“
//This can't be…//
I looked at the picture again. The familiarity in it was no longer just nostalgic – it was disturbingly real. „Was ist das hier…?“
//What is this…?//
My mind searched for a foothold – but found only questions.
How could fictional characters appear as real people in a book on an alien world? What if this wasn't just an alien planet…? What if this world was a mixture of everything humanity had ever thought or felt? A new reality, nourished by the fragments of collective humanity? I slowly sat down again. The picture lay before me. Still. Unchanged. And yet unsettling. I sat there. Stared. Minutes passed. Nothing moved. Only my breath – shallow and fast. My gaze remained fixed on the picture, on the faces that couldn't be here. Not here. Not real. Then… I slowly raised my right hand. Slap.
A single, firm slap on my cheek. I whispered. „Wach auf…“
//Wake up…//
I still sat there, but my chest rose and fell faster. Slap. A second one. Harder. „Wach auf…“
//Wake up…//
This time louder. I stood up abruptly, the picture fell from the table again. Slap. Slap. The blows became more violent.
„Wach auf. Wach auf. WACH AUF!“
//Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!//
My voice echoed through the library hall. Like an echo between the shelves. Like a call to myself – or to something that heard me. I stood there, my hands trembling, my face flushed, my forehead sweating. But I was still here. Still awake. Still in this world that wasn't mine – and yet seemed to know me.
I straightened myself up. Tense. Suddenly. „WIE…WIE IST DAS MÖGLICH!?“
//HOW… HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE!?//
My voice thundered between the high shelves, reverberated under the dome of the abandoned library. I began to pace. Slowly. Step by step. Like a predator in a cage. Like someone lost in their own mind.
I mumbled. „Das ergibt keinen Sinn…Nichts davon ergibt irgendeinen verdammten Sinn.“
//This doesn't make sense…None of this makes any damn sense//
I turned, went back to the table, picked up the book, opened it, pulled out the photo – the same picture. Those faces. So familiar. So real. I stared at them as if they were about to smile back.
I asked softly. „Wie…könnt ihr beiden nur real sein…?“
//How…can you two be real…?//
It wasn't an accusation. No anger. Just pure confusion. And then I noticed something. Small. Almost incidental. On their hands – each a simple, silver ring. No jewel. No ornamentation. Just two rings. Two symbols. Connection. I took a step back. Still holding the picture. An old story. A fictional couple. Now before me. Real? Symbolic? Or had I myself just become part of a story I never knew?
I stood there, the picture in my hand, my forehead full of questions – and yet, deep inside: a new spark. No doubt. No fear. Determination. Slowly, I lowered the photo. My gaze lifted. I looked into the dark depths of this library. Shelves upon shelves, full of books, data crystals, displays, symbols of foreign civilizations – and perhaps: answers.
I took a deep breath. „Gut…“
//Good…//
I mumbled. „Wenn das hier ein verdammter Wahnsinn ist, dann will ich wenigstens wissen, wovon ich verrückt werde.“
//If this is damn madness, then at least I want to know what I'm going crazy from//
I took a step forward. Then another. And began to search systematically. Everything I could grasp. Everything I could decipher. I rummaged through the shelves. Opened old archives. Compared characters. Photographed. Translated. Because either I had long since gone mad… Or something incredible had happened. Something that no longer separated reality and fiction. Something that connected everything. I wanted to know. I had to know. And this library was my key.