Alarms blare. The meeting tent fills.
Arthur stands at the center, head bowed.
“It’s been a week.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
He lifts his gaze, sweeping the room.
“How many of you are going to die?”
A beat.
“We don’t have enough food.”
He sits on the edge of a table.
“The hunting parties come back with fewer people—and somehow empty-handed.”
His eyes flick to Mary, then back to the crowd.
“This is it. I’ve done the math.”
His voice tightens.
“If we don’t ration down to a quarter of what we’re eating now…”
Someone in the back mutters. Not words so much, just a scoff.
Arthur swallows.
“None of you are going to make it.”
Silence presses in.
Arthur exhales, shaking his head.
“Get it together everyone.”
He turns and walks away.
“You should just take over as leader,” Sarah’s voice whispers like wind.
“It’s too late,” Arthur replies, sorrow in his voice.
---
Over the next few days, everything unravels.
Arthur shouts orders over the roar of machinery—no one listens.
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Colonists laugh as they steal extra water from the tanks.
Byrand whispers in corners, gesturing toward Arthur. Eyes turn hard.
A fight breaks out over a sack of grain. Others cheer, like it’s sport.
Arthur watches from the edge—shoulders heavy, expression gone cold.
---
In the Void, shallow water ripples beneath pale light.
Arthur paces, jaw clenched. Sarah sits nearby, watching him carefully.
“Can you still turn this around?” she asks softly.
Arthur stares at his hands.
“I tried.”
A breath.
“We’re past that now.”
He throws his head back, shouting into the white.
“All they had to do was listen!”
Sarah rises, her voice breaking.
“I’m sorry I brought us here.”
Arthur stops. His breath stutters.
“It’s not your fault.”
He pulls her close.
“None of it is. Things could’ve gone the other way just as easily.”
She rests her head against his chest.
“So what are you going to do?”
A long silence drags on like forever.
“I’m not going to sit here and watch these people die.”
Another pause.
“I’m leaving in the morning.”
---
Back in the real world, Arthur packs quickly.
Bag open. Canteen filled. Knife secured.
On the table, he leaves the rest of his rations beside a folded note:
> I’m sorry I couldn’t convince you to save yourselves.
> I hope these rations save someone’s life.
> I truly hope you each make it.
“Do you really think this is the best option?” Sarah asks from the Void.
Arthur stops packing.
“No.”
“Then why?” she presses. “We can still help them.”
His voice cracks.
“I can’t. I tried to help"
A breath.
“Because I can’t watch them die. And they won't save themselves.”
Arthur materializes in the Void.
Dim light. Water dark around his boots.
Sarah sits curled on the red couch, a blanket pulled tight around her knees. Music drifts softly—a piece she wrote years ago.
She stands looking him in his eyes then puts her head against his chest. "You" she starts. Then interupts herself. "I love you." The silence says the rest.
“I want to get away from all this death,” Arthur says quietly.
“Try to just be me again.”
A pause.
“Or maybe I’m already gone—and this is what’s left.”
She cups his face.
“You’re not gone, Arthur.”
“The way you care for people—that’s who you are. It’s why I fell in love with you. And why I still am.”
Arthur pulls her close.
“I love you.”
She kisses him gently.
He vanishes.
---
Arthur steps into the night, the door swinging shut behind him.
The colony sleeps.
He moves through the dark to Mary’s autohome.
She startles awake as his hand covers her mouth.
“Shhh.”
He presses a finger to his lips. She nods, eyes wide.
“I’m leaving,” he whispers.
“Going into the wilderness.”
He sets a container of water on her table.
“Hide this. Tell no one. In a week, people will kill for water.”
A beat.
“Even though you have it—pretend you don’t. Get your rations like everyone else.”
“What will you drink?” she asks. “The water here won’t be drinkable for two years.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He smiles. “I’ll be fine.”
Then he’s gone—slipping back into the night.
---
The White Void hides in the memory of an ocean. Sun high, birds in the air. Sarah sits on the edge of a dock, feet in the water, violin resting against her shoulder.
She wears a blue T-shirt that reads:
VIOLINIST — LIKE OTHER MUSICIANS, BUT COOLER!
“I hope she makes it,” Sarah says softly. “I hate losing friends.”
Arthur’s voice drifts through the white.
“Me too.” He pauses, feeling the weight of the words. “Me too.”
---
Arthur walks across the compound toward the gate.
“Jef,” he calls. “Open it. I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” Jef stammers. “Byrand said no one in or out.”
Arthur shrugs.
“I’m taking a walk. I’ll be back.”
A beat.
“If Byrand has something to say, he can say it then.”
Jef hesitates.
“But—Byrand—”
Arthur steps close, voice low and steady.
“Open. The gate.”
Jef swallows, glances toward the command post, then hits the control.
The gate grinds open with a heavy metallic CLANK.
Arthur steps through into the wild.
He pauses at the threshold—cold wind whispering, stars endless above.
He doesn’t look back.
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