Digimon · Chat

The August night was unbearably muggy. At the Odaiba summer camp, the chirping of cicadas had faded, replaced by the crackling of the campfire. Taichi stood by the fire with his hands on his hips, arguing with Yamato about the formation for tomorrow's soccer match—actually, it was mostly him talking. Yamato would occasionally nod, but his gaze fell on Takeru, who was squatting alone by a tent in the distance, fanning Patamon. Sora sat on a nearby bench, absentmindedly twirling a blade of grass in her hands, occasionally looking up at Taichi with a helpless smile. Koushiro sat at the tent entrance with his laptop, flipping through photos taken during the day. Mimi crouched on the other side of the campfire, roasting a marshmallow on a stick. When it burned, she let out an exaggerated sigh, prompting Jou to hurriedly dig out a wet wipe from his bag and hand it over: "I told you not to let the fire get too big..." Suddenly, the wind picked up. It wasn't the warm summer breeze carrying the scent of the sea, but a cold one, like the kind that suddenly drafts through a crack in the door in the dead of winter. Taichi stopped talking, frowned, and subconsciously turned to look in his sister's direction—Hikari was sitting on a rock at the edge of the camp, quietly gazing at the sky, seemingly oblivious to everything. Yamato also stood up, zipping his jacket all the way to the top. Koushiro closed his laptop; as the screen went dark, he saw his own face reflected on the black screen, looking a bit bewildered. Takeru sneezed. Takeru just sneezed. Then, the sky split open. There was no warning. No gathering clouds. The entire night sky was torn open right down the middle with a vertical, white-glowing rift. The light was so bright that Taichi had to raise his arm to shield his eyes, so bright that through the gaps in his fingers, he could see Sora's hair being blown up by the wind—but it wasn't wind, it was some kind of suction, pouring down from above and dragging everything upward. Mimi's scream was cut short almost as soon as it started. Jou shouted something, but his voice was swallowed up. Koushiro reached for his laptop bag, his fingertips almost touching it, but the tent flew up before he could, the canvas rolling and rising into the white light. Taichi desperately took a step toward Hikari. His sister was only three or four meters away; she stood up, her eyes fixed on the light, her lips moving as she said something. He couldn't make it out. He tried to take another step, but his foot found nothing but air—the ground vanished, gravity inverted, and he fell toward the sky. His vision was filled with nothing but light, spinning shadows, and hands reaching out to one another. Yamato's hand grabbed Takeru's wrist, gripping it tightly. Mimi's red hat drifted past his face, going higher and higher, getting smaller and smaller. Sora's fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, the warmth fleeting. And then, the light swallowed everything.