Before The Cataclysm

Altair couldn't believe his ears. Nelly… was dead?

"Seven," he grabbed his friend by the shoulders. "You're kidding, right?" His voice wavered, caught between hope and denial. He had seen her just yesterday. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't be.

Seven, unable to hold himself together, broke down into tears. "I can't take it anymore, Altair," he sobbed. "First my parents, and now Nelly! What's next? They might as well kill me too—I don't even care anymore!" He collapsed to the ground, trembling under the weight of his grief.

The guilt clawed at him. He had heard her dying and had been powerless to stop it. The memory left him hollow. Nelly was gone—his fiancée, though their bond had never been romantic. The pseudo-engagement was a pretence, but it had forged an unshakable closeness between them.

Altair stood frozen, still grappling with the reality. Nelly… gone? His mind reeled. He had been planning to write her an apology letter for lashing out at her the day before. The thought that their last conversation had been a fight was unbearable.

"No," Altair muttered, his voice trembling as he clenched his fists. "No. I can fix this. I have to fix this."

Determined, he ran to the machine. Grabbing nuts and bolts with shaking hands, he began piecing it together. The voltage conglomerate was nearly complete—just a little more, and he would be 98% there.

Altair moved frantically around the room, his shaky hands darting between scattered parts, piecing them together with feverish determination.

Seven watched him silently from the corner, his gaze steady. "Altair…" he finally murmured.

"I have to fix this," he muttered, barely acknowledging his presence. His voice trembled with desperation. "The time machine's almost ready. If I go back… I can save her."

He tightened the last bolt on the voltage conglomerate and stepped back, staring at it as a wave of memory crashed over him. The scene replayed vividly in his mind—Nelly's trembling hands, the tears streaming down her face as she destroyed the machine, his voice raised in anger. The way she left, shattered.

His chest tightened. That was the hardest I've ever seen her cry.

"Nelly…" he whispered to himself, the word heavy with regret. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I'll bring you back… I promise.

Within an hour, Altair moved toward Seven and sat beside him. He let out a heavy sigh, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm done."

Seven turned to him, puzzled. Then it clicked—the time machine. "Already? That fast?"

"I was nearly finished anyway," Altair said with a shrug. "Would've wrapped it up yesterday if she hadn't stepped on it."

A heavy silence fell between them, stretching awkwardly.

"You'll leave tonight, won't you?" Seven's voice faltered as he imagined life without Altair—a life without his best friend for who knows how long.

"Tomorrow morning," Altair replied, his gaze distant. "I calculated everything to arrive eight years before the event. If I'm fast enough… I might be able to save Solaris. And Mom."

He stood abruptly, brushing the dust off his pants. "Tomorrow's a big day. I need to get some rest."

"Goodnight," Seven murmured, hesitating before heading to his own room.

As he lay in bed, sleep wouldn't come. Worries swirled in his mind: What if the machine exploded? What if Altair died in the past? What if he failed? Or worse—what if he chose to stay there? Seven tossed and turned, the weight of his fears pressing on him.

"Aria," he whispered into the darkness, his voice trembling. "I've never asked you for anything. I know I'm not worthy of your grace… but please, protect him. Altair's your truest servant. If anyone deserves your favour, it's him. And I swear, if he comes back safe, I'll devote my life to you. Just… please."

He whispered the closing words of his prayer, and sleep eventually claimed him.

Seven woke with a start, the sunlight pouring through his window. He bolted upright as the memory of the day's significance hit him. Throwing on his clothes, he rushed down to the basement.

The heavy door creaked open, and to his relief, Altair was still there, tinkering with the machine. Seven paused on the stairs, his heart hammering. 'He's still here,' he thought.

"Hey, Altair," he called softly.

Altair turned, a spark in his eyes that Seven hadn't seen in years. It was the same light that had always driven him, even when things seemed impossible.

"You're excited, aren't you?" Seven said, recognising that look from their shared memories.

Altair grinned. "You bet! How often do you get to travel through time? But there's still work to finish."

He walked over to Seven, resting his hands firmly on his shoulders. The weight of Altair's resolve was palpable.

"Altair," Seven hesitated, "what if… what if they find out about me?"

Altair's expression softened. "Don't worry. Just lock the door behind me when I leave. I'll take a copy of the key. You get rid of yours. If this door can handle Dad's acid tests, it'll survive anything. Trust me."

The unspoken words hung in the air. Seven nodded, though the unease in his chest remained. Altair turned back to his work, the hum of the machine filling the room as Seven lingered, knowing this moment might be their last.

Altair turned to face the machine, his expression a mixture of resolve and sorrow. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the device, its lights pulsing like a heartbeat. This was it. The moment he'd prepared for, the moment he'd dreaded.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Altair said softly, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to sound steady. He turned to Seven and managed a weak smile.

Seven's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Altair's own resolve began to crack. He stepped forward, pulling his best friend into a tight embrace.

"Please don't die," Seven choked out, his voice muffled against Altair's shoulder. His grip tightened as if holding on could keep Altair safe. "Please."

Altair closed his eyes, his own tears finally spilling over. "I'll lose it if you do," he whispered, his voice breaking. For a moment, neither of them moved, clinging to each other as if time itself had paused to grant them these fleeting seconds.

Seven was the first to pull back, wiping at his cheeks. "I promise," he said firmly, though his voice wavered. "Now you promise me you'll come back in one piece."

Altair nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I promise." He turned and walked toward the machine, his steps heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. Reaching the platform, he hesitated, casting one last glance at Seven.

"I'll come back," he said, his voice filled with determination.

He stepped onto the pad and began typing coordinates into the console. The machine's hum grew louder, the air around him shimmering with energy. A brilliant light enveloped him, growing brighter and brighter until it was almost blinding.

Through the glow, Altair's voice rang out. "I'll come back." He smiled one last time, his silhouette barely visible against the radiance.

Then came the boom, a sound that seemed to shake the very fabric of the room. Seven shielded his eyes, the light searing and overwhelming. When it finally faded, he looked up. The platform was empty. Altair was gone.

The hum of the machine subsided, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Seven stood there, staring at the empty space where his friend had been. He clenched his fists, his heart pounding with a mix of hope and dread.

"You better keep that promise, Altair," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The room seemed to echo his words, a quiet testament to the bond that time itself could not break.