Chapter 1: Tiny Life in the Miniature Project

In a classroom that smelled old and dusty, with old wood and paper, Clayne could not stop it entering his nose.

With every breath, his chest felt tight, like the air had gotten heavier overnight.

His shoulder pressed hard against the stacked desks, the edge of one digging painfully into his collarbone. His hands were locked in place, fingers curled so tightly around the rough wood that his knuckles had turned pale. He didn’t dare loosen his grip, not even for a second.

Suddenly, the door and desks shuddered again.

A loud, violent slam echoed through the classroom, followed by the scraping sound of something dragging against it. The desks thumbed slightly, their legs screeching against the tiled floor.

"Come on... please... please let me in..."

The voice outside was a hoarse and trembling whisper, it was filled with raw inherent fear that sounded painfully real. It wasn’t the growl of guttural flesh eating things that are outside. It wasn’t the broken, twisted noise he had been hearing for hours.

It was like him, still human.

Clayne swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. His lips parted, but no words came out. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to find a reason to open the door.

But his body refused to move.

His phone slipped slightly in his trembling hand, the dim glow of the screen cuts through the darkness he was in.

2056. Monday. 3:14 AM.

Note: Miniature Day.

A bitter laugh almost escaped him, but it died halfway in his chest.

"Miniature Day..." he whispered silently under his breath, his voice weak and hollow. "Yeah... perfect."

Another slam shook the door, harder this time.

"Open the damn door!" the man shouted, his voice cracking under pressure. "I’m not bitten! You hear me?! I’m not—"

The words cut off abruptly.

"Shit!"

Several heavy thuds and groans followed.

"Get off- Get off-" his voice seemed to be full of desperation and helplessness.

For a brief, dangerous moment, hope thump in Clayne’s chest.

But it didn’t last long.

A low, wet groan crawled through the air, followed by another... and another... and of course another one.

Clayne’s entire body stiffened.

He chose to squeeze his eyes shut, his teeth clenching as his grip tightened even further.

"I’m sorry..." he whispered, so quietly he could barely hear it himself. "I’m sorry..."

The screams didn’t last long.

They never did.

Just like the others earlier.

Soon, they faded into wet tearing sounds and heavy dragging noises, until even those disappeared, swallowed by the suffocating silence that followed.

Clayne didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Time stretched in a way that didn’t make sense anymore. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours. His arms trembled violently, but he kept holding, as if the moment he let go, everything would collapse.

When his body finally gave out, it wasn’t a decision.

It just happened.

He slid down slowly, his back pressing against the desks as he sank to the floor. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, each inhale shaky, each exhale weak.

His limbs felt distant, like they no longer belonged to him.

"I... I can’t..." he muttered, staring blankly at the ceiling.

But even as the words left his mouth, his body remained tense, ready, unwilling to truly relax.

Yet a loud growl broke the silence.

Clayne blinked.

"...seriously?"

His stomach twisted again, louder this time, like it was trying to scare him.

He let out a weak breath and reached for his bag. He moved slowly and carefully, as if anything quick could make it worse. The zipper sounded too loud in the quiet room. He stopped mid way... but realized it was too late so he immediately grabbed his water bottle and took a small sip.

The cool water slid down his dry throat and helped a little.

Another expected growl came right after that.

Before he could react, the door slammed again.

This time, it wasn’t just one hit. It came again... And again... And again.

The desks rattled violently, shifting inch by inch under the repeated impacts.

Clayne lunged forward, throwing his weight back into them, his muscles screaming in protest.

"No... no, not again..." he whispered, panic creeping into his voice.

The pressure on the door grew stronger.

Whatever was outside wasn’t just one anymore. It felt like several bodies pressing in, pushing, clawing, dragging against the wood together.

His arms shook uncontrollably.

His breathing turned ragged.

"I can’t do this..." he gasped, his voice trembling. "I can’t..."

His mind was on the verge of giving up, but his body did not.

Even as his thoughts started to fade and exhaustion pulled at him to stop, his muscles stayed strong. They stayed locked in place and refused to let go.

"Stop..." he whispered weakly, his forehead pressing against the desk. "Please... just stop..."

The pounding continued.

His vision blurred.

His thoughts slowed.

Inside his head, the panic turned into a dull, repeating echo.

Please stop... please stop... please...

And still, he held on to his ground!

Tick... Tick... Tick...

When the noise finally died down, it took him a while to notice.

Clayne remained there, frozen, his body still holding its ground against the desks, as if expecting another attack at any second...

But thankfully, nothing came next.

Slowly, he pulled back, his arms falling limply to his sides.

He slid down again, this time collapsing fully onto the floor.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at nothing.

"...still alive," he whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.

His stomach growled again, he clutched it to avoid making another noise, fortunately, it’s also softer this time.

"Yeah... I hear you," he muttered, letting out a tired breath.

Then Clayne closed his eyes and covered them with his palm, trying to hide his stress.

He didn’t expect that the day he was supposed to turn in his small forest school project would also be the day the zombie apocalypse started. Now he was trapped in this room. No hope. Hungry and alone.

Suddenly, his eyelids felt heavy.

He couldn’t fall asleep... But he was too tired to fight it... However he was also scared that if he did, that would be the end of him. He needed something to keep his mind busy and stay awake.

Soon, his eyes drifted to his backpack.

The project.

Right.

Clayne reached for his backpack. His fingers were clumsy, but he was careful. He pulled it out and started putting the pieces together... Slowly, one by one.

Little by little, the miniature forest began to appear in front of him.

On one side sat a small mountain. It was painted in gray and green. A thin river cut through the middle, holding a dull shine from the light that came into the room. Tiny trees filled the land, placed with care.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it felt real.

Clayne stared at it for a moment, quiet. Then he spoke under his breath.

"We really worked hard on this."

His smile was small, but it was there.

His teammate was supposed to finish it. ...add life ...animals ..small signs of movement. Something to make it feel complete.

But they never showed up to class.

Clayne had been mad about it only a few hours ago. Now, the anger felt far away, like it belonged to someone else.

"I’d take their absence... for this," he said softly.

Somehow, his eyes started to close... the edges of the room started to blur.

"I can’t sleep..." he whispered, but the words didn’t sound strong.

He leaned back. His body grew heavy... And before he could stop it, the dark came in and embraced him softly.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

Suddenly, a sharp clinking sound snapped him awake.

Clayne’s eyes flew open. He gasped and jerked upright.

Morning light slipped into the room, spilling pale shadows across the floor.

For a second, he just stared.

Then everything came back... Fast.

The door! The screams! The dead!

Yes! The Zombies!

His head turned toward the entrance.

The desks were still there. The door was still closed.

Outside, the low, endless groaning kept going... slow and hungry.

Clayne let out a shaky breath.

"...still holding."

Another sound of a small metallic clink echoed through the room.

Clayne’s eyes moved as he tried to pin down where it came from. He frowned, he must stop that sound or it might alert the zombies again and his gaze slowly drifted away from the door and across the floor. Toward the one thing he had been staring at when he fell asleep.

The miniature forest.

And then... he froze so hard it felt like his body forgot how to move.

Something moved inside it.

Not outside. Not in the room.

Inside the tiny world he had built.

"...what...?"

He leaned closer, breath caught in his throat. His eyes narrowed, like staring harder might make sense of it.

For a moment, the only sounds he heard were the low endless groaning from the hallway, and something else, faint and strange, coming from that miniature space.

There, among the tiny trees and painted hills, was a tiny figure.

A girl.

She was impossibly small, like she had been shrunk just to fit inside the scene. She wore a flowing eastern style gown that moved as if there were wind where there should not be any. Her long dark hair trailed behind her, and beside her hovered a thin gleaming sword. The blade looked too bright for something so small. It pulsed faintly with light, like it was alive.

Clayne blinked once... Then he rubbed his eyes hard... Then he looked again.

She was still there.

Still moving... Still fighting...

Four small ants surrounded her. But each one somehow towered over her small frame like monsters. Their mandibles clicked sharply as they lunged forward, forcing her to retreat step by step, like she was trapped inside a nightmare only she could see.

The sword shot forward.

It struck one ant with a flash.

But the blade did not cut the way Clayne expected. It bounced off, as if the sword could not reach the enemy beneath their thick stubborn bodies. The girl’s movements became slower. Her breathing turned heavier. She kept trying to dodge, but the ants kept closing the distance, attacking again and again without pause.

Clayne leaned in closer without meaning to.

His heart started racing.

"Is that real?" he whispered, barely sounded.

One of the ants charged harder than the rest. She tried to step aside, tried to twist away. But her foot slipped on the painted ground.

She stumbled.

Then she fell hard onto the dirt he had carefully made.

The sword wavered and dropped beside her with a dull clink.

She did not get up.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, like she was running out of breath. Clayne could tell, somehow, that her strength was gone. Not just tired. Not just hurt. Like the fight had already ended for her, and she was waiting for the final moment to arrive.

Then Clayne saw her face clearly.

The tiredness, desperation and hopelessness.

That look hit him so fast it stole the air from his lungs. It was not strange. It matched him. It matched how he felt hours ago, and how he still felt even now, sitting here with his back to the wall and his stomach empty.

Something twisted inside his chest.

He clenched his jaw.

"...yeah, no," he muttered.

He reached out slowly. His hand hovered above the miniature world like it might break something, or worse, like it might snap reality in half.

The ants moved closer. They sped up, circling the girl tightly.

She did not move.

She could not.

Clayne’s shadow covered them.

One ant turned its head, mandibles clicking louder. It seemed to notice him.

Clayne’s finger descended.

And it struck.

One ant flattened instantly, crushed out of existence beneath the weight.

Another cracked under the pressure.

The remaining two scattered in panic. They darted away like they suddenly remembered how to fear. Clayne did not hesitate. He followed without slowing, his finger descending again and again with calm certainty that surprised him as much as it terrified him.

Soon he pulled his hand away after crushing them and immediately, silence returned to the tiny forest.

No more clicking.

No more scrambling.

Just quiet. Thick and unnatural quiet inside the world he had made.

Suddenly, the girl knelt, "Mighty Deity, thank you for saving this junior..."