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More than anything, I knew that I did not want to be drawn into that circle, that I did not want to take my place amongst them and forget who I was.
-Jennifer Saint, Ariadne
No one had a particularly great time after the apocalypse. The catastrophe at the power plant seemed to have sucked all life and colour out of Winden, leaving its survivors deathly pale and harrowed, faces sunken in and hair dull and lifeless. In the few instances the remaining people of the once seemingly peaceful town happened upon one another, it wasn't like meeting another human you might've seen on the streets once or twice. It was like coming face to face with a personification of death itself, desperate creatures with little care for their appearance. Beauty used to be genetic; now it's more akin to a luxury nobody can afford. In a world without mirrors and care about one's looks, people stop recognising their own faces.
It was a chilly spring morning, dew shimmering on the few sprigs of grass that managed to break through the layers upon layers of ashes, when the lake water in Winden was finally clear enough to recognise the blurry beginnings of a face in one's reflection. Jonas was busy putting up traps all around the lake. In the first few weeks after the apocalypse, he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of trapping innocent animals and letting them thrash around, caught, just waiting for their gruesome demise at his own hands. Eventually he realised that if he wanted his life to be a bit less miserable, he'd have to do things he cannot be proud of. Hanno never really had those moral qualms; in the very beginning, their disagreements would lead to dramatic fights, but Jonas learnt to appreciate Hanno's simple approach to... well, pretty much anything, quite quickly. Hanno always knew what to do, and for the first time since his father's suicide, he didn't feel like he had to take responsibility for everything happening around him.
Whenever Jonas got hungry, Hanno was there with something to eat, giving up his own rations without second thoughts if asked to. Not that Jonas asked that of him, but he knew he could, and Hanno would not hesitate. When Jonas got hurt while scavenging or acting out recklessly, he cleaned and bandaged every tiny scratch and big gash with utmost care and expertise. Whenever Jonas started fights, Hanno was quick to end them for him. When he complained about the cold, it took barely a few seconds for Hanno to make a fire. Oftentimes Jonas couldn't find it in him to get up anymore, but Hanno always took care that a bowl was filled with some sort of nutritious slop, a cup of water ready for drinking and a small note were always in reach. Jonas' favourite part was the notes on most days. They ranged from motivational yet empty phrases to expressions of ultimate devotion, from meaningless little stories about day-to-day life to Bible quotes, from a shared understanding of pain to tasks given to Jonas, so he won't feel quite as useless. So while his breakfast remained untouched, he did find it in him to get started on the task of putting up traps that particular morning.
That's how he found himself on the waterfront, catching a glimpse of his own face in the reflection, shocked to his core. It's been less than a year since Winden became the epicentre of the blast that would change the entire planet forever, yet he looked like he was at least 25 years old. Pain, loss and grief were etched into every line on his face. The longer he stared into his own piercing blue eyes, unable to tear his gaze away, the more his facial features seemed to twist and turn, becoming unrecognisable, until he was no longer sure if the face in front of him was still his or a stranger's. If there had even ever been a difference between those two.
From that point onwards he always kept a few metres distance from the lake, just to be safe.
The blast shattered all mirrors and most windows in Winden, but once Jonas was reminded of the slow yet constant passing of time for the first time after the incident, it seemed like his lifeless eyes were staring back at him from every corner. He saw himself in every shard of glass, in the spoon he used to sustain himself, and in Hanno's equally piercing blue gaze. Oh, Hanno.
It was easy for Jonas to blindly rely on him. The man who seemed to have an easy response to every situation, an easy solution to every problem. Pragmatic, yes, but also efficient. Never emotionless or cold, no, any and all emotions were laid bare by Hanno. He kept no secrets; nothing was too uncomfortable or intimate to share, making it unsettlingly easy to forget that Hanno was nothing more than a teenager just like Jonas, ripped brutally out of his own time. After that morning, that gaze into his own eyes, Jonas recognised just how similar their lost looks are.
Hanno was nothing more than a child when he was pulled into this whole mess. His family and sense of self-identity were taken in a cold calculation, nothing remaining except for the knowledge indoctrinated into him by his own older self. Step for step, he was prepared for this reality, and yet no one could ever be truly prepared for a life like theirs. Every "I know what to do", spoken by him with more convincing conviction than Jonas could ever muster, was in reality closer to a "God, please give me the strength to make it through this, to reach paradise" or an "I'll sacrifice everything; please, PLEASE give me salvation!" But salvation never came.
It was Jonas' personal goal to make Hanno realise their similarities. How they were both trying so desperately not to become the person they may have always been, deep inside. With every "We're just the same; there is no paradise, no salvation; we have to fight this madness!" he lost more and more hope in ever getting through to Hanno, with every reply of "God likes to put his most devout followers through trials; this is my ultimate test." I will continue to carry my burden. "I will lead through the deluge", a part of Hanno Tauber as well as a bit of Jonas' resolve crumbled away, part by part, until his mirror image looked no day younger than 50 and his most trusted confidant was Noah. Barely 5 years had passed.
After his failed attempt to put an end to everything he knew, Jonas came to a better understanding of himself than ever before. For the first time in many years he dared to approach the edge of the lake that's so deeply connected with bittersweet memories of a past life again. His face appeared young to him, again. Innocent. He looked like the teenager he never really got to be; gone were the features and deep lines he mostly remembers from behind the door of a bunker, and gone were the ugly, twisted scars and unknown face. Only Jonas was left.
From then on, every new day was unavoidable; every step in the direction he knew to be wrong was unstoppable. Time kept flowing through his fingers relentlessly. A look at his reflection in the lake's surface, sometimes broken by the rain or wind, became a part of his daily routine, the same face staring back at him every day. After more than ten thousand glances, one no longer notices gradual change. Yet, everything still changes. Has already long been changed.
When he finally steps through the portal, the Stranger doesn't leave the future a lone man. With him, two spirits pass, one old and hardened by painful experience after painful experience, the other young and naive. The stranger takes the youthful spirit by his hand, grip painfully tight, unable to let that version of himself go. He never had a chance to find peace after all.