Time seemed to stand still, and space around us seemed to cease to exist. There were no objects to reflect light, just complete void surrounding us. It was as if the universe had paused, leaving us in an endless expanse of nothingness. I watched everything unfold around me, perceiving all that remained, yet I was powerless, unable to react in any meaningful way. Like the rest of existence, I was moving ever so slightly, but the nothingness was creeping in just a fraction faster. I realized I was falling; it must have consumed the floor, and soon, it would reach me.
Somehow, despite the impending doom, I knew I wasn't the one who drew the shorter end of this situation. My gaze drifted across the void, and there, amidst the nothingness, I saw her. The person on the other side of this void, surrounded by the encroaching emptiness.
Her eyes were still, frozen like everything else, void of hope but full of pain. She knew it was the end, and it was clear she was letting go. What else could one do when half of you is consumed by the void? The pain must have reached her brain, numbing her to everything else. Her expression was a haunting blend of resignation and agony, a silent testament to her suffering.
Then, there it was, the exact moment she left this plane of existence. I could see it so clearly, the moment when the last spark of life flickered out in her eyes, leaving behind only an empty shell. The exact moment where I was completely on my own, the nothingness having claimed another soul.
As the void continued its slow but inevitable advance, I felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness. It was an isolation that went beyond the physical; it was a deep, existential solitude. In that endless expanse of nothingness, I was truly alone. No comfort of companionship, no solace in shared suffering—just the cold, indifferent void.
Ultimately, I knew I would be dying alone. The void was merciless, and as it crept closer, consuming everything in its path, I couldn't help but reflect on the profound isolation of my existence.
.
.
.
My eyes shot open, and the first thing I saw was Ash's gaze locked onto mine. For a fleeting moment, I couldn't tell if she had just opened her eyes too or if I was imagining it. The dream was still vivid in my mind, the image of her consumed by nothingness, her eyes void of hope. Was it out of spite for what she said to me earlier? Why would I envision her death so vividly?
My confusion began to fade as reality seeped back in. I realized I was surrounded by the ship's crew and the rest of our group—Kath, Void, and Ash. They were all cheering and shouting encouragement. I glanced down and saw the table of Quantum Ball before me, the paddles in my hand and the holographic balls suspended in mid-air.
"Come on, Zach! Focus!" someone shouted from the crowd.
I shook off the remnants of the dream, gripping the paddle tighter. The game demanded my attention, but my thoughts kept drifting back to what I'd just experienced. I wasn't sure if it was a premonition, a product of my frustration, or just my mind playing tricks on me. Regardless, I had to push it aside for now. The game was on, and I couldn't afford any distractions.
This was one of the few moments when I felt fueled and determined, a fire ignited inside me, spite and frustration. I kept my burning emotions contained, ensuring that it won't affect my play. I wanted to prove Ash wrong, to show her and everyone else that I was capable of being the centre of attention, that I wasn't as incapable as they seemed to think. I just chose to do things my way.
The game began, and I started hitting the multiple virtual balls toward my opponent, ricocheting them against the table and sometimes against each other. Quantum Ball wasn't new to me. I'd spent countless hours playing against A.I.s when I was still in training to be a Courrier. Though it had been a while since I last played, and I could feel a bit of rust in my movements.
The balls flew across the table, disappearing as they crossed to the other side, only to reappear frozen for a brief moment before they surged toward my opponent. I watched my opponent's movements, calculating the trajectories with practiced ease. The crowd's cheers blurred into the background; my entire focus was on the game.
Then came the critical moment—predicting where the balls would come from. Normally, this was the hardest part, requiring split-second judgment and keen memory. But as the balls vanished, I felt an odd sense of clarity. It was as if I knew exactly where each ball was going to reappear before they even materialized.
With an almost eerie certainty, I positioned myself, my paddle ready. One by one, the balls reappeared, and I struck each with precision, sending them back with force and accuracy. My opponent struggled to keep up, his movements growing more frantic with each return.
It wasn't just skill or practice; something deeper was guiding me.
The game reached a crescendo, and with each successful hit, I could feel the tide turning in my favor. The cheers grew louder, and for once, I was at the center of it all. Every strike, every return was at least another ball to my points.
With intense focus, I tracked the last remaining ball as it reappeared on my side of the table, frozen for a brief moment. I felt the energy of the crowd around me, but their cheers were distant, secondary. My mind was locked on the game. I drew back my paddle, eyes narrowing, and swung with precision.
The ball flew across the table with a sharp, controlled speed. My opponent, who was reputedly the best player among the ship's crew, moved to intercept it. However, he could no longer keep up, and there was a split-second hesitation in his movement, just enough for the ball to slip past his paddle.
The ball hit the back of the table with a satisfying thud, and the game was over. I had won.
The crowd erupted around me, a surge of noise and excitement. They surrounded me, clapping me on the back, cheering my name. For a moment, I felt the rush of victory, the satisfaction of proving myself. I looked around, taking in the faces of those celebrating with me.
Then my eyes searched for Ash. Amidst the cheering crowd, I spotted her. She wasn't cheering or clapping. Instead, she was slipping away from the group, heading towards the dorm. Her departure was quiet, almost unnoticed by the others, but it felt like a sharp contrast to the celebration.
