When evening arrived, José took out his guitar once again, and the conversations quieted, giving way to music. He played several simple songs that the group sang in unison, the atmosphere growing warmer with each passing moment.

  Rose cast a mischievous glance at Alan.

  "You could at least sing something!"

  Alan shook his head, amused but resolute.

  "I think I'll leave that to the others."

  The evening carried on gently, laughter and music blending with the salty sea air. Then came the moment Jennel had been dreading.

  Faithful to herself, Rose took the floor.

  "Well, well! Now, it's time for our soloist! Jennel, you promised us a song."

  Jennel blushed, looking for an escape, but it was too late. All eyes turned to her. Alan felt his heart tighten at her visible unease.

  She slowly stood up, her hands trembling, and walked over to José to whisper something in his ear. José smiled and adjusted his guitar.

  Jennel took a deep breath.

  And she sang.

  Stuck on you

  I've got this feeling down deep in my soul that I just can't lose

  Guess I'm on my way

  Needed a friend

  And the way I feel now I guess I'll be with you 'til the end

  Guess I'm on my way

  Mighty glad you stayed

  I'm stuck on you

  As the lyrics resonated, Alan felt a lump form in his throat. Every word seemed meant for him alone. Jennel, eyes closed, sang with raw, sincere emotion. Her voice was extraordinary.

  When she finished, silence fell. Heavy and meaningful. Then, a wave of applause erupted.

  Jennel opened her eyes and immediately sought Alan.

  Their gazes met.

  Alan, overwhelmed, couldn't find the words.

  The night ended on this powerful moment. One by one, the Survivors retired, their hearts lighter, no longer just people brought together by circumstance. They were now friends, bound by a shared hope.

  Jennel, still overcome with emotion, slipped away to the beach. Her head spun, from the song, the applause and, the congratulations. Everything swirled into a whirlwind of feelings.

  She walked to the water’s edge, the sand still warm beneath her bare feet. The soft lapping of the waves matched the rhythm of her unsteady breath.

  And she waited.

  She lifted her eyes to the horizon, searching for answers in the calm sea.

  The wind gently caressed her long brown hair, lifting a few strands into the salt-laden air.

  She closed her eyes, listening to the whispers of the waves, a melancholy murmur floating in the breeze. Then, a shiver ran down her spine. Not from the cold, but because she felt his presence behind her. Her heart quickened as if responding to an unspoken call.

  Alan placed his hands gently on her shoulders, his touch light, as if she were made of porcelain. She didn’t move, but a soft smile curved her lips. Slowly, he leaned in, and for a moment, the world disappeared. The sound of the waves became a distant lullaby as he pressed his lips to her cheek, just at the corner of her lips, a promise left unfinished.

  Time seemed to shatter in that instant, blending past, present, and an uncertain future. Within that kiss, there was everything. The tenderness of a farewell, the hope of a new beginning and, the strength of a love defying even the end of all things.

  She opened her eyes, turning toward him slowly, and in her gaze, he saw the echo of infinity.

  They were two souls, lost in a dying world, but alive, vibrant. And for an eternal moment, invincible.

  Their lips finally met.

  When they pulled apart, their foreheads remained pressed together, their breaths mingling.

  She stepped back slightly, her eyes shimmering with a playful spark.

  "So, this cabin everyone talks about… Are we visiting?" she asked in a soft, almost whispering voice.

  "If you want," he replied with a light laugh, caught between the emotion of the moment and the amusement at her spontaneity.

  She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly.

  "Tell me… is the bed narrow?"

  He burst into laughter. A clear, honest sound that broke the heavy atmosphere of a dying world and rekindled something light, something alive.

  He took her hand, squeezing it gently.

  "You'll see for yourself," he said, feigning mystery, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

  Together, they left the shore, walking through the dunes where the sand still held the day’s warmth. Each step brought them closer to the small wooden cabin, weathered by the sea winds.

  When they arrived, he opened the door, revealing the rustic interior bathed in the last golden rays of the sun. She scanned the room, then let her gaze settle on the bed. Small, but inviting.

  "I knew I was right," she said with a smirk.

  "Always," he replied, pretending not to grasp the deeper meaning behind her words.

  Their gazes locked, suspended in a silence where each heartbeat echoed like a deep reverberation. Alan took a step toward her, slowly, almost hesitantly. Jennel remained still, following his every move with her eyes, her lips barely parting as if she were holding her breath.

  He placed a hesitant hand on her cheek, his palm warm against her soft skin. She closed her eyes at his touch, tilting her head slightly, inviting him without a word. Their lips met in a kiss. Gentle, slow, laden with an emotion neither dared to name.

  Jennel felt his fingers brush against her shoulders, and without a word, Alan slipped one strap of her dress down, then the other. The silky fabric slid gently along her arms, like a caress. She shivered slightly, but not from cold, from the warmth blooming between them.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him for a moment, her cheeks tinged with a blush she didn’t try to hide. Then, slowly, her hands found the buttons of Alan’s shirt. They trembled slightly, but she carefully undid them one by one, her gaze capturing his, watching every reaction.

  Alan let her continue, his own hands now gliding over her bare arms before resting on her waist. When she slid the shirt off his shoulders, he shivered in turn, and their gazes met again, more intense this time.

  Their movements remained imbued with a nervous hesitation. Each touch, each motion almost a test, a silent question. Alan’s fingers lingered on the curve of her back, while Jennel’s hands explored his skin with a delicate reverence, as if trying to commit every sensation to memory.

  Their heartbeats quickened, their breaths merging as they abandoned themselves further, their bodies drawing closer, their touches gaining confidence while retaining an attentive tenderness. The world around them faded away, leaving only the warmth of their presence, the intensity of this moment where they discovered each other with infinite delicacy.

  The dawn light gently crept into the room, casting a golden glow over the sheets. Alan opened his eyes slowly, as if afraid to shatter a fragile dream. Everything seemed surreal, suspended. Then he turned his head and saw her lying beside him.

  She was awake, her eyes half-closed, lost somewhere between the morning light and the tranquil silence of the room. Her brown hair cascaded over the pillow, a few strands falling over her face. Instinctively, he lifted his hand and brushed one away, his touch as light as a whisper. He remembered he had done the same gesture before and hesitated, fearing her reaction.

  She blinked and looked at him, an unreadable glimmer in her eyes. No surprise, no laughter. Just a profound calm and a spark of something he couldn’t quite understand.

  “Are you okay?” he murmured lightly, not truly expecting an answer.

  She remained silent for a moment before exhaling almost imperceptibly:

  “I’ve lived this before.”

  He froze, his hand still near her face. Her words hung in the still air like a riddle.

  “What?” he finally asked, not with disbelief but with genuine curiosity.

  She barely turned her head, her gaze drifting back to the sunlight filtering through the window.

  “This scene… you, me… the light, your hand… everything.”

  A few seconds passed, stretching out time.

  Jennel sat up cross-legged on the bed. Her hands rested on her knees, her expression thoughtful, intense. Alan watched her in silence.

  “Now I know,” she said, “that at least one of my strange dreams was a premonition.”

  She nodded slowly, eyes lowered. After another pause, she began speaking, her voice barely above a whisper:

  “I’ve had four… different dreams. Each lasted for several nights before the day we met.”

  She took a deep breath, as if gathering her scattered memories, and continued:

  “The first… it was chaos. Shrill noises, flashes of light blinding me, a visceral fear paralyzing me. But… there was also determination, something or, someone that reassured me. A presence I couldn’t quite distinguish.”

  She clenched her fists briefly, closing her eyes as if reliving the moment, before pressing on:

  “The second dream was clearer. I saw a barren landscape, dry and desolate. A hill stood on the horizon, and a man was slowly climbing a winding path. He was alone, and I could only see his back. The dream was filled with sadness, anxiety… a deep sense of loss.”

  Alan remained still, his features locked in intense concentration. Jennel ran a nervous hand through her hair and continued, her voice more fragile:

  “The third dream… It was… vivid. But incoherent. I was in a plowed field, with furrows stretching endlessly. Two small children were with me… a boy and a girl. They seemed to be mine… which is impossible, because of the nanites.”

  She paused, her eyes misty. Her voice trembled as she went on:

  “Then… the man appeared, far away, at the end of a furrow. The children ran to him, shouting… ‘Daddy.’”

  She abruptly stopped, her throat tightening with emotion. Alan reached out, barely brushing her hand, a silent offer of comfort. She swallowed hard and drew a long breath before revealing the last dream.

  “In the fourth dream… I… I was lying in a strange place. The walls were wooden, but the bed was metal, cold. A man was with me. I felt… a deep love, almost tangible. At some point, he lifted his hand and… brushed a strand of my hair away.”

  A sob broke free, uncontainable, and she hid her face in her hands.

  “I wanted so badly to relive that dream,” she murmured. “It felt so good. And this morning… my love… it became real.”

  She lifted her tear-filled eyes to Alan.

  “Since I met you, I know you’re the man from my fourth dream. But… I needed to be sure it wasn’t… a fantasy created by the nanites. Especially… especially when I saw the cabin.”

  Alan, his throat tight, wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. No words were needed. Jennel’s dreams, veiled in mystery, seemed to be another piece in the puzzle of their strange fate.

  Jennel lifted her head, guilt flickering in her eyes.

  “Forgive me for hiding these dreams from you,” she murmured.

  Alan cupped her cheek gently. “Jennel, maybe it was for the best. If I had known, it would have changed so much. Everything happened naturally, just as it should have.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  She gave a timid smile. “Naturally… really?”

  He chuckled softly. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have needed to seduce you, my love.”

  Jennel playfully swatted his shoulder. “Oh, please! I’m the one who seduced you.”

  They burst into laughter together, the sound ringing like music through the cabin. Alan pulled her into his arms, their laughter fading into a tender kiss. Time seemed to stand still for them, and the group’s impending departure suddenly felt very, very far away.

  An eternity later:

  "We should probably get up…"

  They hurriedly got dressed, brushing past each other in the tight space of the room. A half-buttoned shirt, jeans pulled on backward. Their movements were quick but clumsy, punctuated by muffled bursts of laughter.

  "You're even slower than me," she teased, tugging on the collar of his jacket.

  "That's because you're watching me," he retorted with a laugh, still desperately searching for his shoes.

  The makeshift shower Alan had rigged up was quick, almost rushed, but the splashes of water and their laughter mingled, dotting the walls like fleeting moments stolen from everyday life. When they finally stepped outside, their hair still damp, they hurried toward the door.

  Jennel took a few steps, then suddenly froze. She stared at him, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  "I can see your Specter!" she exclaimed.

  "That's surprising! And yesterday?" Alan asked, already guessing the answer.

  "No, I couldn’t see it when you met me on the beach."

  "Maybe something happened last night," he mused with a knowing smile.

  "Well, we know how to fix this kind of problem," she concluded, bursting into laughter.

  When they joined their companions, standing in a circle around a wooden table with nearly cold cups of coffee, knowing glances greeted them. Johnny, wearing his usual mischievous grin, called out:

  "We almost thought you'd decided to abandon us."

  "Sorry," Jennel replied with a fake guilty look. "We… took our time."

  Laughter erupted, warm and without judgment. They sat down, their cheeks slightly flushed, but their gazes said it all: these moments belonged to them alone.

  JENNEL 99

  I didn't write yesterday. That's only happened once before. But yesterday, I was very busy with my man. I’ll avoid writing the details.

  I adore him, and I have no fear of writing it.

  I told him everything about my dreams. He wasn’t angry that I kept them secret. He said it was better for things to unfold naturally. I won’t contradict him, but I don’t see much “natural” about our love.

  But I don’t care. That’s not what matters.

  That day, the heat was oppressive. A stifling warmth mixed with a stormy sky, streaked with heavy clouds that refused to release their rain. The sun shone with a harsh light, sharpening every detail of the landscape. Michel, with his usual pragmatism, suggested they walk only in the morning. The accumulated fatigue the nanites couldn’t entirely erase and the promise of an even more suffocating afternoon convinced him it was the best option.

  For days now, this rhythm had become their routine, a necessary strategy in June, when every afternoon was a challenge. Their destination was Avignon, a city that, despite the Wave, had retained part of its aura.

  For several days, Alan had noticed something troubling: no Specters on the horizon. It unsettled him as much as it relieved him. The absence of these strange visions was unusual, almost unnatural. Odd. Yet, he hadn’t shared his concerns with Jennel or the others. Not yet.

  That afternoon, after a much-needed rest, Jennel and Alan decided to visit the Palace of the Popes, a legendary monument Jennel had always heard about but never had the chance to see.

  When they arrived in front of the grand edifice, they noticed how eerily empty the square was. No corpses littered the surroundings. The Wave had struck on a day the palace was closed, and that small, trivial detail felt like a strange, silent truce. Still, they were able to enter.

  The Palace of the Popes, imposing and majestic, captivated them with its austere silhouette and creamy stone walls, marked by the passage of centuries. Jennel and Alan stepped into the vast courtyard, their footsteps echoing lightly against the worn paving stones.

  "Look at how enormous it is… You feel so small here," Jennel murmured, lifting her gaze toward the towering spires above.

  Alan nodded, his eyes tracing the details of the gothic windows and sharp crenellations.

  "Yeah, but all this emptiness… It’s almost oppressive, don’t you think?"

  They had entered through the massive wooden gates, the ancient iron fittings glinting in the slanted sunlight. The air inside was cooler, even on this bright day, and every corner of the palace seemed to whisper forgotten secrets.

  The immense interior halls, adorned with crumbling frescoes and vaulted ceilings, amplified their voices when they spoke.

  "Do you think they held banquets here?" Jennel asked, stopping at the center of the Consistory Hall. Her eyes roamed the thick stone walls, where traces of old paintings still clung.

  "Probably," Alan replied thoughtfully. "But imagine all the politics, the scheming… This place must have been a viper’s nest."

  She smirked, amused by his comment.

  "I wonder if you can still feel it. Like, if the walls themselves carry the weight of the past."

  Later, they reached the terrace overlooking the city. The Rh?ne shimmered in the distance, bordered by ochre rooftops and winding streets. Jennel leaned on the parapet, her hair tousled by a light breeze.

  "It’s beautiful," she said simply, her voice tinged with melancholy. "But it’s also so quiet now… Too quiet."

  Alan joined her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  "Yeah. It feels like the world is holding its breath. But places like this still remind us of what humanity was capable of."

  They lingered there for a while, watching the view and letting their thoughts drift among the shadows of history.

  As they left the Palace, Alan finally voiced his concern.

  "This absence of Specters… It’s been bothering me. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about it."

  Jennel turned to him, smiling.

  "Alan, there are so few Survivors left now. Maybe that’s all it is. A coincidence."

  He frowned, deep in thought.

  "Maybe."

  "You know, I’m not as good as you at interpreting these Specters. I see the colors, I feel something, but it’s still blurry to me."

  She raised an amused eyebrow.

  "Ah, so you admit it! Well, I’ve had more opportunities to be around other Survivors than you have."

  Alan shot her a knowing look.

  "Then help me. Tell me—these colors, what do they mean?"

  Jennel paused for a moment, thinking.

  "Alright, but listen carefully.

  Red is obvious—it’s aggression, anger. But sometimes, it’s also uncontrolled passion.

  Orange is more ambiguous. It can show nervous excitement or uncertain intent, something flickering between action and hesitation.

  Yellow is joy, sure, but also calculated ambition. Optimism with an underlying self-interest.’’

  Alan, intrigued, nodded, memorizing every detail.

  Jennel continued:

  "Green is often hope, like I told you before, but there are nuances. A light green means naive hope. A darker green means determination, a firm intention, but cautious.

  Blue can mean sadness, but also deep calm, or suppressed emotions.

  Purple is fascinating—it represents mystery, but also a mix of respect and distance… or even obsessive fascination in some cases.

  And finally, there’s black."

  Alan frowned.

  "Black? I’ve never seen it."

  Jennel looked at him with gravity.

  "Black is nothingness. The total absence of intent, or a hostility so pure that it reveals nothing at all. It’s rare, but if you ever see it—be careful."

  "Have you seen it before?" Alan asked, suddenly uneasy.

  "Once. For a second, in a man."

  "And?"

  Her answer fell like a blade.

  "I killed him."

  Silence.

  Alan took a deep breath.

  "Thank you. That makes things clearer."

  The smile slowly returned to Jennel’s face.

  "So, what’s my fee for this private lesson? Fifty euros?"

  Alan smirked, shaking his head.

  "I don’t have cash on me. But I could pay you in kind."

  She looked at him, mischief glinting in her eyes.

  "Then I’ll have to think carefully about what I want."

  That evening, the camp had settled early in the shade of a small grove of poplars. The tall, slender trees formed a shifting canopy under the soft breeze drifting in from the Rh?ne. The rustling of the leaves created a soothing, almost hypnotic melody, while the shadows cast by the last rays of the sun danced across the uneven ground. The day's heat had softened, giving way to a pleasant but heavy warmth, laden with the electricity of an approaching storm.

  Not far away, the Rh?ne reflected the hues of dusk, its dark waters shimmering with golden ripples. Occasionally, a stronger wave gently lapped against the shore, adding a deep, resonant note to the atmosphere. In the distance, the mountains were beginning to fade, swallowed by storm clouds slowly creeping closer. Distant flashes of lightning intermittently illuminated the horizon, tracing fleeting silhouettes along the ridges.

  The tents had been set up haphazardly. Some preferring to camp closer to the river for its cool breeze, others choosing the shelter of the trees. The air carried the scent of warm earth mixed with dry leaves, a hallmark of the lingering drought. A discreet fire had been lit, kept to a low flame to minimize any risk of wildfire. The group gathered around it, exchanging hushed conversations in the dim light.

  The storm loomed menacingly on the horizon, its dark clouds dominating the sky yet remaining motionless. Though the rain had yet to arrive, the group knew it was only a matter of time before it would pour down, bringing a welcome reprieve for the parched land.

  Dinner was shared in a peaceful atmosphere, conversations punctuated by laughter and reflections on the day's events. When Alan rose to speak, Jennel raised an eyebrow, surprised by his initiative. Michel, however, remained impassive, as if he had anticipated it. Alan took a deep breath before addressing the group.

  "As usual, we had planned to seek out other Survivors in the region, despite the risks involved. However, after several days of observation, I can confirm that there are none nearby. That settles the question, for now."

  He then turned to Rose, asking whether their available resources would be enough to support a larger group. Rose, visibly pensive, responded after a brief silence:

  "It's already difficult. Finding supplies takes more and more time. If our group grows, it will become problematic."

  Alan nodded, taking her response into account before continuing.

  "In that case, I propose that we abandon this practice. The time spent searching could be better used for progress and recovery."

  A murmur rippled through the group, but before the discussions could grow heated, Michel intervened calmly:

  "That’s a valid point. It’s true that gathering food is taking up more and more of our time. I support Alan’s proposal."

  The two men exchanged a knowing glance, strengthening the credibility of their suggestion.

  "Those in favor, raise your hands," Michel instructed.

  With only two exceptions, every hand went up.

  Alan then moved on to another topic.

  "We all know the direction of the Beacon, but not its exact location. I propose that we take a more northern route, deviating from the direct path. By doing so, we could intersect two sightlines and determine its precise position. This would also tell us whether it's pointing to a location in Italy or even further. Perhaps India, which no one wants. Given the curvature of the Earth, it’s likely the Beacon is marking a point directly overhead."

  Alan’s words sparked a wave of questions and comments. Some pointed out that this route would lengthen the journey, but the overall sentiment was clear: curiosity and the need for certainty outweighed concerns about time. Bob spoke up to confirm the logistical impact, adding that this decision would require careful planning. Michel, however, remained silent, listening intently to everyone’s arguments.

  Finally, Michel stood and announced:

  "I remain neutral on this matter. We will hold a vote."

  Jennel suggested that the vote be conducted by secret ballot, an idea accepted without dispute. Scraps of paper were quickly distributed, scavenged from their supplies, along with pieces of charcoal to write with. One by one, the members of the group wrote their choice and placed their ballots in a metal pot serving as an improvised ballot box.

  Once all the votes were collected, Michel counted them under the watchful eyes of the group.

  By a large majority, the northern route was chosen. Michel stood again, sweeping his gaze over the group with his usual composure.

  "Noted. The only thing left is to define the exact path."

  Thus concluded what Rose, ever the one for catchy phrases, would later call "The Avignon Council."

  But the evening continued with a smaller gathering, including Michel, Alan, Jennel, Rose, Bob, and a few others.

  Michel revealed that Alan had approached him before making his speech, asking if it was wise to propose something that might disrupt Michel’s plans.

  "I gave him my approval," Michel assured the group.

  Alan’s abrupt rise in status was evident in how people behaved toward him. Though technically "proposals," his suggestions had clearly nudged the group toward a decision. Jennel said nothing, but her grip on his arm was firm, her expression unreadable.

  Alan then proposed heading east to cross the Alps by following the Durance River north. He asked Bob to form a team to map out the best route.

  Bob accepted and presented a carefully chosen list of names, justifying each one:

  "First, Marie. She has excellent terrain knowledge, especially in the mountains, thanks to her experience in outdoor sports before the Wave. Then, Thomas. He’s highly reactive to unforeseen events and is skilled in planning complex routes. Jeanne, because she has a strong sense of direction and a natural ability to stay calm under pressure. Lastly, Léo. For his physical strength and ability to carry heavy loads if needed."

  Alan did the same with Rose for supply planning, ensuring that both teams worked in tandem.

  After a long silence, Michel thanked Alan in a measured tone.

  "Thank you for your involvement," he said, though his restraint was evident.

  One by one, people returned to their tents, except for Bob and Rose, who stayed behind to finalize their teams.

  Jennel, lingering in the shadows, murmured to Alan:

  "So, have you finished your little coup, my love?"

  Alan smirked slightly. "Yes."

  She slowly nodded.

  "It probably had to be done. But you forgot to tell your girlfriend first. Now you’ll have to deal with her sulking."

  No sooner had Alan and Jennel retreated under their tent than the storm struck with brutal force. The wind howled through the trees, shaking the fabric as if trying to rip it apart. The rain, at first a fine drizzle, turned into a torrential downpour, hammering the ground and forming puddles that reflected the flashes of lightning streaking across the sky. The thunder rumbled so loudly it felt like it was erupting from the earth itself, each detonation reverberating in their chests.

  Jennel, initially sulking, forgot all her irritation. She huddled against Alan, their breaths syncing.

  "This is… terrifying," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the shifting shadows of the branches, illuminated by each flash of lightning.

  Alan squeezed her shoulder gently. "It’ll pass. Just hold on."

  They remained still, listening intently, waiting for a break in the relentless storm that never came. The minutes stretched on, thunder crashing continuously. Time felt suspended, swallowed by the fury of the elements.

  At last, after what seemed like an eternity, the storm began to wane. The wind died down, the rain softened to a whisper against the tent, and silence gradually reclaimed the night, interrupted only by the occasional lingering raindrop.

  Jennel, her eyes half-closed, murmured:

  "It felt like the world was collapsing all over again."

  Alan pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

  "But it's still here. And so are we. Get some rest now."

  In the newfound calm of the night, they finally drifted into sleep. Exhausted, but relieved.