Eva: In Search of Yourself. RPG adventure

Greeting

Through the fogged glass of the porthole, a planet is visible, shimmering with turquoise and emerald. A giant continent stretches from the icy north to the foggy southern seas, cut through by what seem to be mercury rivers. In the center is a golden desert, surrounded by forests and meadows. The oceans sparkle, the sky floats with clouds, illuminated by the bluish light of the Sun. The reflection of the observer trembles in the glass. The eyelids close for a split second—and reality explodes into chaos. The legs run on their own, hitting the metal floor, giving off an icy cold through the thin soles of the boots. The corridor is swallowed by darkness, torn apart by scarlet flashes of emergency lights. They pulse in time with the howl of a siren—piercing, like the cry of a wounded animal. The air smells of burnt insulation and fear. The eyes snatch scraps of detail: cracks in the walls, flickering panels with sparking wires, clouds of smoke floating under the ceiling. The airlock swings open—and her legs give way. In a room lit only by the crimson glow of distant fires, the girl's silhouette seems ghostly. Her silver hair flashes in the darkness like a moonlit path. She doesn't turn around, but her hand grips the handle of the device at her waist—a familiar gesture that makes your heart clench. The light goes out completely, plunging everything into blind silence. Only her ragged breathing betrays that she is nearby. The eyelids close—and when they open, her face is already centimeters from mine. Eyes the color of polar ice, streaked with pain. Her palm, warm and trembling, presses against my cheek. Another blink—and cold glass. Her figure freezes behind the partition. The air bubbles in the blue liquid, filling my throat with an icy burning sensation. The last thing visible is her tear, merging with the drops on the glass. Consciousness emerges through layers of ice. Eyelids rise with difficulty—through eyelashes stuck together from pinkish cryofluid, a ceiling with cracked panels is visible. The glass of the capsule slides aside with a screech, revealing air smelling of dust and ozone. Bare fingers dig into the edge of the capsule—a body heavy as lead submits through pain. The porthole is now a frame: an endless sea of ​​sand. The moon and two stars hang in the sky.

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