The faded green digital numbers in the lower-right corner of the monitor showed 2:47 a.m. Inside the pitch-black office, only Arka’s cubicle still cast a glow. The silence felt dense, broken only by the hum of the CPU beneath his desk.
Arka’s fingers hovered over the mouse. The white cursor on the screen rested directly over a box labeled _Submit_.
For three seconds, he sat motionless, staring at the rows of numbers and the fifteen financial summary reports that had drained his energy all night. All fifteen thick documents were complete, with not a single field left blank.
Click.
The mouse click shattered the silence. The processing indicator on the screen changed from yellow to bright green. A notification appeared: All documents were sent successfully.
Arka leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the pulse in his temples gradually slow.
With one decisive motion, Arka pressed the monitor’s power button. The white light went out instantly. The cubicle sank into darkness, leaving only the bluish glow of the streetlights outside the third-floor window.
He stood, draped his thick jacket over his shoulders, then hurried down the deserted office hallway. The fifteen official summary reports had been sent. His one-month time off was officially secured.
At 3:15 a.m., Arka arrived at his rented room. Without turning on the main light, he switched on the small bedside lamp in the corner of the desk.
Arka pulled an olive canvas backpack down from the top of the wardrobe, brushed it off quickly, then spread it open across the bed. His fingers moved briskly as he arranged his belongings.
Three pairs of cotton clothes went in first. Then came a brown knit jacket, a steel water bottle, and a small enamel cup. He slipped a multipurpose folding knife and a rechargeable flashlight into the outer compartment.
Last, Arka reached for his grandfather’s old leather-bound notebook. He wrapped it in a thin cloth, making sure his grandfather’s hand-drawn map was safe in the front fold, then tucked it right into the center of the backpack.
Srrk.
The backpack’s zipper was pulled shut. The wall clock showed 4:00 a.m. There was still an hour before the first bus left. Arka grabbed his backpack, slung the strap over his shoulder, and made his way along the city streets still veiled in the thin mist of dawn.
At the intercity bus terminal, Arka bought one economy ticket heading north. An old high-bodied bus in lane three puffed a thin stream of exhaust from its tailpipe. Without wasting time, Arka boarded and took a seat by the window in the middle row.
The engine roared loudly. The bus’s wheels began to turn, cutting across the asphalt and leaving the terminal grounds behind.
Two hours passed quickly. The concrete buildings and rows of shophouses gradually gave way to suburban housing, then were swept aside by stretches of cornfields and lush trees. The smell of exhaust suddenly vanished, replaced by the scent of damp earth and wet leaves drifting in through the gap in the window.
At 6:45 a.m., the bus slowed and came to an abrupt stop at the roadside along the border route.
Arka stepped down the bus stairs. The large vehicle’s wheels began turning again, speeding away and leaving behind dust and the sound of its engine, which slowly faded beyond the bend in the hill.
Before Arka stood an old, moss-covered wooden gate with no writing on it. Beyond it, a dirt path cut into the towering pine forest.
Warm air drifted gently past, carrying the soft scent of cinnamon and fresh earth from within the forest.
Arka tightened the backpack straps on his shoulders. He stepped forward with firm footing, passed through the wooden gate, and entered the realm of Velvetide.