Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The trees seem more beautiful than before, or at least, that’s what Mom says. JiJi believes her without question, as she has no other reference but the word of the woman who gave her life. Her mother has always been so wise, so strong… She looks at her with the admiration reserved for those who seem to know all the secrets of the old world.

JiJi has never been a fan of her nickname. Not because she thinks it’s ugly, but because her older brother, Ethan, says it in a teasing tone that irritates her. Sometimes he stretches it out or sings it like a silly song, which drives her crazy. He doesn’t do it all the time, since their father tells him to stop bothering her, but there are still moments when Ethan just can’t resist.

Despite those small annoyances, JiJi loves her life. Although… sometimes she wonders what it would be like if her family weren’t always right on her heels. It’s not that she doesn’t love them (she adores them) but she can’t help but crave a little more independence. She wants to be a hunter like her mother and her Uncle Jake, to feel the wind on her face and the ground tremble beneath her feet as she follows the trail of her prey. She wants to explore beyond the settlement, beyond her small world.

Today is an exploration day, and she’s lucky to be going, but before leaving, there’s one thing she must do: say goodbye to her family.

Her father is the first to catch her in a strong, warm hug, as if he won’t see her for a long time. JiJi thinks he’s exaggerating, she’s not going anywhere dangerous, but she lets him be. After all, her father has always been affectionate by nature.

"Promise me you’ll be careful," he says, with the seriousness of someone fearing for her life.

JiJi rolls her eyes but smiles "I promise."

"And listen to everything your mom says."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Dad," she replies playfully.

Her father blesses her by pressing his forehead against hers. They stay like that for a second, and when they pull away, he makes her promise again to be careful.

Then she approaches the crib where her younger siblings, the twins Jordan and Joanna, are sleeping. Jordan yawns and stretches sleepily when she picks him up, but he lets her hold him without complaint. His round, drowsy little face makes her smile, and she plants a kiss on his forehead before setting him back down in the crib.

Joanna, on the other hand…

The moment JiJi picks her up, she feels a small but fierce bite on her arm.

"Oh, Joanna," JiJi sighs, trying not to burst into laughter. Her father tries to calm the little rebel, but she doesn’t let go until JiJi gently strokes her head.

"Someday, sister, you’ll learn that biting isn’t the answer," she murmurs affectionately.

She says goodbye next to Joshua, who is completely focused on building a bow. When JiJi hugs him, he squirms as if he were on fire.

"Enough, Sis, stop it," he complains, pushing her away gently.

JiJi just smiles. She knows that one day, he’ll grow out of his grumpy preteen phase, and when he does, she’ll be there to remind him how unbearable he used to be.

On her way to the exit, she runs into her uncles and aunt. She gives them quick hugs since she’s in a hurry, but they wish her luck, and she appreciates it. Every word of encouragement feels like a small protective shield for the journey ahead.

Finally, she spots her mother and Ethan. They are deep in a serious conversation, their faces focused. JiJi can’t help the excitement that ignites in her chest, that tickle of anticipation she always gets before heading out.

"Let’s go, Mom!" she says, approaching enthusiastically.

Her mother looks at her with a half-smile. "Are you ready, sweetheart? Did you say your goodbyes?"

JiJi nods eagerly.

"Good, then let’s go. I don’t want nightfall to catch us on the way," her mother declares. Then she turns to Ethan. "Take care of your siblings and keep an eye on your father, okay, honey?"

Ethan nods with the obedience of an eldest son who understands the weight of his role. "Yes, Mother." Then he looks at JiJi. "Goodbye, take care."

She returns his smile, and they bump fists in their usual farewell.

And so, with her heart pounding in her chest, JiJi follows her mother toward adventure, leaving behind the safety of home… if only for a little while.

JiJi watched with curiosity as her mother removed the mask she always wore whenever they left home. It was an almost ritualistic gesture, as if by doing so, she allowed herself a brief respite from the constant tension of the road. They had stopped to rest for a few minutes before continuing their journey. JiJi took advantage of the pause to look around in fascination, taking in every detail of the landscape.

The wind carried the fresh scent of vegetation. Beside her, a cluster of purple and pink flowers swayed gently, the same kind she and her aunt used to make flower crowns. JiJi smiled and leaned in to brush her fingertips against the petals, enjoying their silky texture.

Beyond that, the lake shimmered with deep blue reflections, like a piece of the sky trapped on earth. Its surface was so clear and inviting that she felt an irresistible urge to dunk her head in the water, just to see what it would feel like to be enveloped in that endless blue. But she knew her mother well. Even though she was usually more flexible than her father, she never let JiJi get too close to those lakes. JiJi never asked why, maybe, deep down, she shared the same fear as her father, that the water was contaminated.

With a sigh, JiJi sat on the grass and nibbled on her food, lost in thought.

"Mom," she called with her mouth half-full.

Her mother, who was cleaning her bow with automatic movements, made a soft sound in her throat to signal she was listening.

JiJi hesitated for a second but eventually asked, "What did you do before the Collapse?"

Her mother let out a soft laugh without taking her eyes off the bow. "You’re so curious, kid," she replied with amusement. This wasn’t the first time JiJi had asked about the past. Her daughter was always digging into what came before, as if searching for pieces of a puzzle she had never been given. "I’ve told you before. Before all of this, your father was very badly behaved, so my job was to scold him."

JiJi rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Ugh, Mom! I’m not a little kid anymore. I know you and Dad hated each other, you don’t have to say it like that, Uncle Jake told me."

Her mother finally lifted her gaze, raising an eyebrow with a half-smile.

"Oh, really? And what else did your dear Uncle Jake tell you?"

"Just that you were always fighting," JiJi shrugged, "but it’s hard to imagine… I mean, not real hate. You two can’t even stay apart now."

She grimaced at the memory of the countless times she had witnessed her parents kissing for way too long or saying ridiculously sappy things to each other. No matter how hard she tried to avoid it, she always ended up being an unwilling witness to their overly affectionate displays.

Her mother let out a low chuckle and shook her head. "A lot had to happen for us to get here, it didn’t happen overnight."

For a moment, her tone grew more serious. JiJi noticed a shadow of something in her eyes, something she couldn’t quite decipher. Before she could press further, her mother stood up and dusted off her clothes.

"Alright, enough talk. We need to keep moving."

JiJi sighed, picked up her backpack, and hurried after her. She knew there were many things her mother wouldn’t tell her, at least, not yet. Ethan, her older brother, seemed to know everything, but he never told her anything. Joshua, on the other hand, had no interest in digging into the past, and her newborn siblings were completely out of the equation.

Still, JiJi wasn’t going to stop asking.

Someday, one way or another, she would get all the answers.

When they returned home, the first to greet them was Uncle John. He approached with his firm stride and a warm smile, greeting his sister-in-law face to face, as was customary between them. Then, he turned to JiJi and ruffled her hair with a large, calloused hand.

"Welcome back, little explorer."

JiJi groaned at the nickname, she hated being treated like a child. She was sixteen now, only a few years younger than Ethan. She was so exhausted that all she wanted was to collapse onto her cot with fur blankets and disappear into sleep. But she knew she couldn’t just yet.

Dinner was sacred in the community.

It didn’t matter how tired someone was, how exhausting the day had been, or what tasks remained unfinished, when night fell, the whole family gathered around the fire to share a meal and talk. It was one of the few traditions they never broke.

She took her usual seat, feeling the comforting warmth of the fire against her face. Her father stood before anyone could take a single bite. With a presence that always commanded respect, he raised his hands slightly and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Tonight, we give thanks for the food granted to us and for having lived another day," he said solemnly.

Some bowed their heads, moved by his words. Others looked at him with the same admiration as always. Sometimes, JiJi forgot that her father was special, not just to her and her siblings, but to everyone around them.

They held hands, as they did every night, and gave thanks for the peace they were allowed to live in once more.

When the prayer ended, dinner began. JiJi picked up her plate and got comfortable, glancing around as she ate.

Her father was trying to feed Jordan with a homemade puree, but the baby was not cooperating. Every time her father tried to bring the spoon to his lips, Jordan turned his face away with an expression of utter indignation, as if the very idea of eating was a personal insult.

JiJi laughed at the frustration on her father’s face and her younger brother’s exaggerated reactions.

In contrast, her baby sister devoured her food with enthusiasm, barely giving Aunt Faith a moment to breathe between spoonfuls.

Ethan, sitting beside her, ate quietly as always. Joshua, on the other hand, was animatedly chatting with Uncle John, gesturing wildly as he told a story, one JiJi was sure he was exaggerating.

Then, JiJi noticed her mother.

She was sitting across the table, leaning over a small map with Uncle Jake. JiJi couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their expressions were serious. Her mother pointed at a spot on the paper, and Jake nodded, scribbling something in the margins.

JiJi frowned.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen her mother and Uncle Jake whispering over maps and plans, but no one ever explained anything to her. She only knew that when this happened, something important was going on.

She took another bite of her food, but her mind was elsewhere.

Jiji walked slowly through a vast and beautiful field, where the lush green grass swayed with the gentle breeze that carried the fresh scent of nature. She smiled as she felt the leaves brushing against her bare legs while she moved forward, enjoying the warmth of the sun filtering through a clear sky. Around her, the landscape unfolded with untouched beauty: majestic mountains in the distance, sturdy trees whose branches reached toward the heavens like outstretched arms, and a horizon that seemed to stretch endlessly, untouched by the collapse that had ravaged the world.  

If she had a pencil and paper at hand, she wouldn’t hesitate to immortalize that image. There was something almost ethereal about this place, as if it existed in a bubble outside of time, a corner where disaster had never arrived.  

As she continued walking, she noticed something new among the greenery: flowers she had never seen before. They weren’t the usual purple or pink blossoms that typically grew in the area; these were as white as snow, with large, open petals that seemed to absorb the light. She crouched down to touch them, sliding them between her fingers with instinctive delicacy. They were soft, almost silky, filling her with a sense of tranquility.  

She could spend hours there, simply contemplating that lost paradise, allowing herself to forget the reality of the world. She wondered, with a hint of nostalgia, if Hope County had once been like this before the collapse, prosperous, pure, full of life.  

But before she could even lie down in the grass, a sudden change pulled her out of her reverie. A cold wind blew through the field, and the once-clear sky turned an ominous gray. Rain began to fall, first in scattered droplets, then in a furious downpour. The storm arrived with unexpected ferocity, the roar of thunder echoing around her as she searched desperately for shelter.  

She spun around, looking for a tree or some kind of cover, but she had no time to react. A blinding flash illuminated the sky, and in an instant, a bolt of lightning struck with relentless force.  

The impact coursed through her like an invisible current, yet against all logic, she felt no pain. There was no burning, no seared flesh, only an energy that surged through every inch of her body like a torrent of pure electricity. Her vision blurred with flashes of gray and black, and then came the voices.  

Screams. Whispers. Pleadings, interwoven in an endless echo.  

She recognized some of them immediately. Her mother’s voice, her father’s. But their words were unintelligible, fragmented, as if dissolving into the air before they could reach her ears. Her chest tightened under the overwhelming sensation of being trapped in a space where time and reality were unraveling.  

What were they trying to tell her? What was happening to her?  

And then, suddenly, she woke up.  

Her breathing was steady, but her mind was clouded with confusion. She blinked several times, trying to orient herself. The familiar surroundings of her small room came into focus: the thin mattress she slept on, the soft shadows cast by the moon through a battered window. The night air was cold, and without thinking, she pulled a fur blanket around herself to ward off the chill running down her spine.  

She didn’t want to go back to sleep. Not after such a strange, vivid dream.  

Moving quietly, she walked toward the main room, driven by the need to talk to her parents. Maybe if she told them, they could help her understand. Or maybe she just wanted to feel their presence—a reminder that she was awake, that she was here.  

When she arrived, she was surprised to see that they were still awake.  

Her father stood, holding Jordan in his arms, the baby sleeping peacefully against his chest. She heard him humming a soft melody, barely audible, a lullaby that seemed to soothe not only the child but himself as well. Her mother, seated near the oil lamp, was fully focused on a map, her eyes scanning it with meticulous care while she cradled Joanna, also asleep, in her lap.  

Jiji froze in place.  

Suddenly, she hesitated.  

She didn’t want to disturb them. They both had a community to manage, responsibilities that weighed heavily on their shoulders. Her father, always the communicator, the pacifist who sought solutions through words rather than weapons. Her mother, the lead hunter, the one who ensured everyone had food on the table. They were a formidable team, and Jiji couldn’t help but admire them for it.  

Compared to all that, her nightmare felt insignificant.  

“What are you doing awake, my love?” Her mother’s voice abruptly pulled her from her thoughts.  

Jiji felt a pang of embarrassment. She had been standing there in silence, watching them like a shadow in the dim light.  

Her father, who had his back turned to her, turned around upon hearing the question. His gaze softened when he saw her.  

“Can’t sleep?” he asked gently.  

Jiji nodded slowly, unsure of what else to say.

“It was just a nightmare…” she murmured, as if saying it aloud would make the weight in her chest lessen.  

She stepped closer to her father, who had already freed one arm and extended it in an open gesture, inviting her into his embrace. She didn’t hesitate to accept, curling up against his side, feeling the protective warmth of his hold. From there, she could see her brother Jordan, deeply asleep, his breathing slow and steady.  

“I heard you and mom,” she continued in a low voice. “But I couldn’t understand. And then… I think I got struck by lightning.”  

Her father kept humming softly, not interrupting, not making any rushed comments or dismissing her words. His simple presence was enough to calm her anxiety. It was her mother who finally broke the silence.  

“Have you had these nightmares before?” she asked, her tone calm, though Jiji noticed a hint of genuine interest in her voice.  

“No. It’s the first time,” Jiji admitted. “I was in a meadow, and there were white flowers… I’ve never seen them before.”  

That detail seemed to catch both their attention. Her mother tilted her head slightly, and though she tried to keep her expression neutral, Jiji noticed the brief exchange of glances between her parents. Her father, who had remained calm until now, subtly tensed. He wasn’t holding her tighter, but she felt it in the way his arm stiffened just a little.  

“White flowers, you said?” her mother repeated, her tone too casual to be natural.  

Jiji frowned “Yes… they were big, with long petals. I’ve never seen them before. Why?”  

Her mother didn’t answer right away, but her father spoke before she could press further.  

“That’s… interesting.”  

Her mother tilted her head slightly, watching Jiji with a contemplative look and something else, something Jiji couldn’t quite place.  

“What else did you see?” her father asked.  

Jiji tried to recall the details precisely.  

“Not much,” she admitted. “It was short, but strange. I didn’t feel pain when the lightning hit me… I just heard voices. Familiar voices. But I couldn’t understand what they were saying.”  

Her father shifted his gaze from Jordan to her.  

That simple act sent a chill down her spine.  

Jiji couldn’t remember the last time she had seen that expression on his face—completely serious, with an intensity that made her shiver. Her father was the peacemaker, the man of soft words and open hands. He never raised his voice, never made threatening gestures. And yet, in that moment, his gaze terrified her more than anything.  

“I see…” was all he said.  

Two words, but spoken with a weight that unsettled her even more.  

Her mother, still cradling Joanna in her arms, stood up gently.  

“You must be exhausted after today’s scouting,” she said softly, almost whispering so as not to wake the babies. “Don’t worry about those nightmares, alright? No one will hurt you.”  

Jiji nodded, but she wasn’t entirely convinced.  

“You know your father and I will always be here to protect you,” her mother added, with a certainty that usually reassured her.  

And in part, it did.  

Jiji knew she wasn’t in danger, not with her parents by her side. She had never imagined a life without them. Even though she longed for independence, the thought of being apart from them was unthinkable. Her family was her refuge, her entire world. Everything she knew beyond th

e limits of their community.  

But that night, for some reason, the fear still lingered in her chest.  

Something inside her whispered that this nightmare wasn’t just a bad dream. 

Chapter Text

JiJi hasn't stopped thinking about her dreams, even though days have passed since she last had them. She clings to the soft warmth of her younger sister, Joanna, who has finally fallen asleep after eating and biting so much. Her tiny hands rest on JiJi’s chest, and her breathing is slow and steady. JiJi gently strokes her, running her fingers through her silky, dark hair, trying to anchor herself in this moment of calm.  

But her mind remains restless. She knows that her father has also had premonitions in dreams, and that thought terrifies her. A gift like that is not common. Not in her family, not among her people. And if she truly inherited it, it is both a blessing and a burden. She has seen the looks on her parents’ faces when she mentioned her dreams—their eyes filled with something between concern and reverence. It is not something normal, and that makes it all the more real.  

She lowers her gaze to Joanna. Her serene face brings her some comfort. She is the only one among her siblings who has experienced this—at least, as far as JiJi knows. Ethan and Joshua have never spoken of such dreams. She asked them directly, and both denied it without hesitation. Why her, then? Why only her?  

She is so lost in thought that she doesn’t notice her father’s presence until she feels the slight shift in the trunk where she is sitting. Her heart gives a small jump when her father’s large hand reaches out to Joanna, gently stroking her little head.  

"You’ve been very pensive, my daughter," he says in his deep, steady voice, but with that soft undertone, he always uses with his family. "What’s wrong?"  

JiJi bites the inside of her cheek. Of course, her father would notice. Nothing escapes his gaze. He is too observant.  

She takes a breath and, without lifting her eyes from Joanna, cautiously asks, "Father… you have had premonitions through dreams, haven’t you?"  

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilts his head, studying her with an intensity that makes her feel as if he can see into her very soul. "Have you had those dreams again?" he asks at last.  

She nods slowly. "I don’t understand them," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. "They’re confusing… they unsettle me because they feel so real."  

Her father watches her in silence for a few seconds, as if carefully choosing his words. JiJi focuses on him—the firmness of his jaw, the subtle lines that time has etched onto his face. There is something in his gaze, something she cannot quite decipher—whether it is understanding or the weight of an old burden he has carried.  

"I know what it feels like," he finally says. "There are dreams so vivid they stay with you, gnaw at your thoughts… and the worst part is, you are just a spectator, powerless to intervene."  

JiJi listens intently, absorbing every word.  

"The answer to your question is yes. God showed me what was to come in many ways, and dreams were one of them. What I saw was not pleasant, but I learned from it."  

She blinks. It is a striking revelation, even if, deep down, she already suspected the answer. "Wow…" she murmurs, trying to process it. "Then… did you get used to it? To the nightmares?"  

Her father shakes his head, a faint, melancholic smile on his lips.  

"They weren’t nightmares, JiJi. They were revelations. And no matter how grotesque or macabre they were, I had to see them. I had to be ready. Thanks to God, we were able to be."  

Understanding hits her hard. Her father has never spoken much about his past, but she has heard fragments—whispers of events and dark times. She imagines what he must have seen, what he must have felt, having dreams that weren’t just nightmares, but warnings of the inevitable.  

JiJi remains silent. She doesn’t know what to say. There are so many questions in her mind, yet none seem like the right one.  

Her father, sensing her turmoil, stops stroking Joanna and, with the same gentleness, brings his hand to JiJi’s cheek, brushing his fingers softly over her skin. She feels the ring on one of his fingers. His touch is warm and comforting—an anchor in the storm of thoughts raging within her.  

"I know you’re afraid, my JiJi," he says, his voice filled with both tenderness and conviction. "But times have changed. Peace has flourished. And as your mother always says… you are not alone."  

JiJi feels a lump form in her throat. She is still surprised by her father’s gift with words—he speaks as if his heart is laid bare, his words carrying a weight stronger than steel.  

She closes her eyes for a moment, letting his touch and his words envelop her. Then, when she opens them, a small smile forms on her lips.  

"Thank you, Dad," she whispers.  

He returns her smile and presses a soft kiss on her forehead. "No, thank you for trusting us," he replies, pride evident in his voice.  

JiJi feels that even though she doesn’t have all the answers yet, at least she is not alone in finding them. She finds solace in her father’s raw words, in his unwavering intention to never let her face this alone.  

"Don't move, Mom!" JiJi raised her voice urgently, frowning as she slid the charcoal across the paper.  

Her mother let out an impatient sigh but didn’t move.  

"JiJi… I've been holding this pose for too long," she murmured, not bothering to hide her irritation.  

JiJi barely paid attention. She smiled in satisfaction, seeing that despite the complaints, her mother remained still, her bow in position, her expression firm, and her earthy-toned clothing making her look like a creature of the jungle, one that could vanish into the trees at any moment.  

It was an imposing image, and JiJi wanted to capture it on paper before her mother lost her patience completely.  

"Just a few more seconds," she said, not taking her eyes off her sketch.  

Her mother huffed softly but didn’t argue.  

JiJi worked quickly, outlining the figure with firm strokes, making sure to capture the most important details: the curve of the bow, the worn string from constant use, and the irregular patterns of the fabric designed to blend into nature. On the bow, the scribbles made by all her children stood out against the wood. Some marks were rougher than others—of course, the twins had been the most chaotic.  

When she was satisfied with the base sketch, she lifted her gaze. "Done!"

Her mother sighed in relief and, in one swift motion, removed the white mask covering her face. Sweat glistened on her skin from the lack of ventilation.  

JiJi tilted her head, observing her curiously. "Your mask makes you look like an owl."

Her mother blinked, then let out a rough laugh as she ruffled her daughter's hair. JiJi eagerly showed her the sketch, and her mother smiled at her daughter's joy.  

"Let's see if, in the drawing, I look like Napoleon posing epically."

JiJi frowned. "Napoleon?"

"Oh, right…" her mother clicked her tongue, more to herself than in response. "I'm going to tell John to add more history lessons to your education."

JiJi had no problem with that, but at that moment, her mind was elsewhere. She walked beside her mother, debating whether to ask the question she had been mulling over for days.  

Finally, she gathered her courage.  

"Mom, can I go with you on today's expedition, please?"

Her mother didn’t even hesitate.  

"No."

JiJi pressed her lips together. "Why not?"

"You're too young," she replied calmly. "I let you participate in safe expeditions so you can gain experience, but today's journey is long and risky."

JiJi felt frustration coil in her chest. "Ethan is going."

"Ethan is older. He’s earned his place on these expeditions. I know you will too, but not today. The decision is final."

JiJi clenched her fists. It wasn’t fair. She trained just as much as Ethan. No, more than Ethan. And yet, she was still treated like a child.  

But she knew arguing with her mother was pointless. A "no" from her was absolute.  

Her mother, noticing her tense expression, softened her tone.  

"Don't be upset. Everything in its time. You still need to perfect your archery. Your stance is still off."

JiJi huffed, crossing her arms. "That's not true!"

Her mother raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Your dominant arm trembles when you hold the string for too long," she pointed out without hesitation.  

JiJi narrowed her eyes, offended. “That's because I get nervous when you watch me," she admitted, a little embarrassed.  

"Then you'll have to learn to focus even under pressure," her mother replied with a faint smile. "Believe me, the day you really need to shoot an arrow, no one will give you the luxury of doing it calmly."

JiJi remained silent, lowering her gaze. She knew her mother was right, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.  

"Yes, Mother…" she murmured at last.  

Her mother gave her one last look before walking away to speak with other members of the community.  

JiJi let out a sigh and, in an attempt to distract herself, opened her sketchbook. She slowly flipped through the pages, stopping at the portraits of her family: Ethan with his serious expression, Joshua with his mischievous grin, the twins in their cribs, her mother with her bow, her father with his thoughtful gaze… her uncles helping the community. There were also drawings of animals, flowers, fleeting moments she had wanted to preserve on paper.  

And then there were those other drawings.  

The ones that tried to capture her dreams.  

Clumsy scribbles, distorted figures, and images failed to convey the intensity of what she saw in her visions at night.  

She tightened her grip on the charcoal.  

She still didn’t know how to turn those dreams into something tangible.  

But she would figure it out.  

Somehow, she would.  

From the very first moment, JiJi knows that what she’s doing is completely wrong.  

The knot in her stomach tightens as she slides out of bed, feeling like every little movement is louder than it should be. The fabric rustles as she puts on her jacket and slings her backpack over her shoulder. She closes her eyes for a second as if that could silence the guilt creeping over her.  

Her mother said no. She was clear. "It’s not safe. You’re not ready."

But JiJi is tired of waiting.  

She moves stealthily, holding her breath as she makes her way through the wooden house. Her father sleeps in the next room, near the twins’ cribs. She saw him before going to bed, his brow furrowed even in sleep, always worried about her mother and Ethan.  

She pauses for a second in front of the table where she left the note. She doesn’t read it again. If she does, she might change her mind.  

Then, without a sound, she slips out of the tent.  

The night air hits her immediately. It’s colder than she expected, and the New Eden settlement looks eerily still at this hour. She knows it isn’t truly unguarded, that there are eyes in the darkness, watchful and alert at the slightest movement.  

But above all, there’s him.

Her uncle Jake.  

If anyone catches her, it’ll be him.  

He’s a born hunter, just as skilled as her mother. Maybe even better. If he still went on expeditions as often as he used to, he’d still be the most feared scout in New Eden. JiJi knows this because he’s her survival tutor. He taught her everything she knew—from the basics, like starting a fire, to crafting homemade traps.  

And now, she has to use his own lessons against him.

She crouches, moving with controlled steps, using the darkness to her advantage. Her dark clothing helps, but she can’t get careless.  

Near a campfire, her uncle Jake and her uncle John speak in hushed voices. JiJi stops dead in her tracks, holding her breath. She knows Jake has sharp hearing, capable of detecting the smallest changes in the environment with terrifying speed.  

The fire crackles. John lets out a low chuckle. JiJi seizes the moment to move, her feet barely brushing against the ground.  

And then, with a few more precise steps, she’s out.  

The settlement fades behind her. Adrenaline surges through her when she realizes she did it. A thrill of excitement runs through her, and with a restrained smile, she pulls the map from her backpack, her hands still trembling from the rush of using stealth meant only for hunting.  

She unfolds it carefully, tracing the route the expedition group must be taking. If she moves fast, she can catch up to them before anyone notices she’s gone.  

But then, a pang of doubt strikes her as the adrenaline fades into reason. If someone discovers she’s not in her bed, the entire settlement will go on high alert. Her father will be the first to notice.  

She saw him before leaving, his body leaning over the cribs as if his mere presence could protect the twins from any danger. He looked so tired. So worried.  

She should have said goodbye, at least told him what she was about to do. He would understand… or at least, that’s what JiJi wants to believe.  

But she couldn’t.  

Instead, she left a note.  

Please, let it be enough.

She takes a deep breath.  

She just needs to reach the group. She just needs to return with them.  

It's easy, right?

JiJi moves cautiously, staying as close to the trees as possible while following the exploration group's route. She had to run through the darkness of the night with her homemade compass, perfected byblindingcle Jake.  

Her heart pounds, but not just from the excitement of catching up to them; it's because she knows that if she's discovered, there will be Suddenly.  

Tracking them hasn't been easy. Though her path has been free of danger, the real challenge has been staying hidden, moving in sync with them without alerting anyone.  

Until she makes a mistake.  

As she steps out of her hiding spot, she barely takes a step before the sharp whistle of an arrow cutting through the air stops her dead in her tracks.  

They're aiming at her!  

“Don’t shoot! It’s me!” she exclaims, raising her hands in surrender.  

The archer immediately lowers his weapon.  

“JiJi?”  

She instantly recognizes the voice—it's Ethan. Her brother stares at her in disbelief as he approaches, still holding his bow.  

“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispers urgently, his dark eyes scanning her up and down as if trying to make sure she isn't an illusion.  

JiJi resists the urge to shrink under his stern gaze. “I came to help,” she replies firmly.  

Ethan blinks and lets out a sarcastic laugh.  

“Help? Mom is not going to be happy about this. How did you even manage to get permission to come?”  

JiJi crosses her arms, not having thought much about the consequences of her actions. “No one ‘let’ me come. I came on my own.”  

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Ethan sighs at her response, running a hand through his hair. “Are you telling me you snuck out of the settlement?”  

JiJi nods, her expression showing not a hint of regret. “I need to earn my place, just like you. It’s not fair that they keep me out just because I’m younger. There’s barely an age difference between us.”  

Ethan closes his eyes in frustration. “JiJi, this is not a game. Do you even realize what’s going to happen when Mom finds out?”  

JiJi is about to respond when she notices something in his expression. He’s not just angry. He’s tense.  

“What happened?” she asks cautiously.  

Ethan glances around before lowering his voice. “We were ambushed,” his tone reveals his irritation.  

JiJi’s stomach drops. “Ambushed? By who?”  

“Sinners,” he replies, his voice laced with something akin to hatred.  

The word falls between them like a heavy stone.  

A chill runs down JiJi’s spine. She has heard of them before. People who live outside the settlement—ruthless savages. Enemies.  

“Mom seemed to recognize them,” Ethan adds gravely. “I don’t know if it’s from the past or what, but she’s in no mood to deal with this—or with you.”  

JiJi swallows hard and asks, worried, “But… is everyone okay?”  

“For now. But if Mom sees you here, trust me, she’ll drag you back kicking and screaming,” Ethan warns. “You should leave now before it’s too late.”  

But JiJi doesn’t move. “I’m not leaving.” She refuses to let her journey to reach them be in vain.  

“JiJi…”  

“I’m not leaving alone. I made it all the way here—I know how to take care of myself.”  

Ethan watches her with a mix of exasperation and resignation. He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “Fine, do whatever you want.”  

JiJi feels a small victory, but she knows this is just the beginning.  

Before they can say another word, the sound reaches them.  

Gunfire.  

It’s not a distant explosion or a faint echo among the trees. It’s real. Close. Accompanied by the roar of engines.  

Ethan and JiJi freeze for a second, sharing an instinctive look of understanding. There’s no time to talk.  

Both draw their bows in one swift movement, pulling the strings taut as they race toward the source of the noise. The wind whistles through the pines as they move swiftly, but just as JiJi tries to take another step, she feels a hand gripping her forearm tightly.  

“Go! Now.” Ethan’s gaze is so serious it chills her to the bone. It’s Suddenlyder. It’s a plea.  

JiJi shakes her head immediately.  

“What? No! I’m not abandoning you.”  

“I said go,” Ethan grits his teeth. “Find shelter. I’ll come back for you with Mom. Be sensible, for God’s sake.”  

JiJi feels something burning in her throat. She wants to argue. She wants to prove she’s strong, that she can fight.  

But then she sees it in her brother’s eyes—this isn’t about pride or skills anymore. This is life or death.  

She has never faced someone with a gun before.  

And Ethan knows it.  

“Run,” he tells her one last time.  

And this time, she obeys—reluctantly.  

JiJi spins on her heels and takes off. Her boots pound against the damp earth, crushing dry leaves and wildflowers in her frantic escape. The gunfire continues in the distance, rumbling like thunder in the night. Each shot pushes her to run faster.  

No one is chasing her. Not yet.  

She keeps running, without looking back, without stopping. Until she realizes she has no idea where she is.  

She finds herself in an abandoned area, trying to rely on her map and compass—but this place doesn’t exist on the map.  

The ruins of what was once a home rise before her, a house withered by the collapse. Its walls are blackened, its windows shattered like toothless mouths, its door barely hanging from its hinges. But there’s no time for doubt.  

Breathing heavily, JiJi raises her bow and moves cautiously.  

“Hello?” her voice is barely a whisper in the night breeze.  

No one answers. Of course not. This might be some kind of base of operations, but there’s no one here.  

Still, with her pulse racing, she moves around the house, inspecting the area with an arrow nocked. She finds little more than books ruined by time.  

That’s when she steps out back and sees it.  

Something completely strange.  

A metallic structure rises among the rubble, hidden by overgrown vegetation. Antennas of unusual shapes reach toward the sky, surrounded by a complex network of cables. It’s too technological, too advanced to be here, in the middle of nowhere.  

JiJi approaches cautiously, feeling her heart pound in her ears.  

The cables, the copper, the conduits… What the hell is this?  

Her eyes land on a dust-covered lever.  

A part of her screams not to touch it. To step away.  

But curiosity is stronger.  

As she reaches for the lever, a jolt of energy snaps against her gloved hand, making her recoil.  

She decides to retreat into the abandoned house to hide, but she doesn’t see the tangled vines in the darkness. She trips over the structure and, in an attempt to break her fall, accidentally pulls the lever.  

A sharp click echoes in the air.  

Immediately, the structure comes to life.  

An electric hum spreads through the antenna, spiraling outward in blue light. Sparks crackle around her, illuminating the darkness with bind

Chapter Text

JiJi's consciousness returns in scattered fragments. A sticky sensation coats her skin, cold and damp. Her face is buried in something soft and viscous. She blinks sluggishly, trying to clear her foggy mind. There’s a faint taste of earth on her lips and a smell of moisture mixed with something metallic in the air.  

JiJi pushes herself up clumsily, feeling the mud peel away from her cheek and slowly slide down her skin. Her body protests immediately; every muscle is numb and heavy as if she had been running for days without rest. She brings a hand to her forehead, feeling the cold sweat mixed with dirt.  

She doesn’t remember how she got here.  

The last image in her mind is the frantic sprint, the desperation in her brother’s voice giving urgent orders. A makeshift shelter in an abandoned house… And then, the lightning. A surge of energy swallowed her in an instant, a sensation she couldn’t describe as if her body had ceased to belong to her for a second.  

She lowers her gaze to her hands. One is bare, the other still gloved, but both are covered in dry, cracked mud. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she tries to stabilize the chaos in her head. The ground beneath her is still damp, which means the storm wasn’t too long ago. But the sky above is dark, with no trace of it—just a blanket of stars, twinkling indifferently.  

She moves her fingers slowly, feeling the sharp pain in her joints. Dragging herself into a crouch, she looks around, searching for answers.  

The metal structure is still standing. It seems intact, yet the air smells of ozone and ash, a ghostly trace of the lightning that struck it. JiJi frowns. There’s no fire, no visible smoke, only that lingering scent, making her feel as if she’s still trapped in the exact moment when everything changed.  

She takes a deep breath and tries to stand, but her legs tremble.  

She feels weak and exhausted, and that confuses her even more. She’s supposed to be in good shape, thanks to the training her uncle Jake has drilled into her. But now? She feels like nothing more than mush.  

How long was she unconscious? That’s the question on her mind.  

She looks at the sky again. It’s still night. If she had to guess, she’d say no more than a couple of hours have passed. But her body feels like it’s been out for days, drained of all energy. She shakes out her clothes roughly, trying to rid herself of the dry mud on her face and hair, but only ends up smearing it further.  

She groans in frustration at waking up in this state—tired and filthy. A bath wouldn’t be bad right now.  

She heads back to the house, glancing down at her boots, equally caked in dirt. How long will it take to clean all of this off? Well, it’s not like the sensation is unfamiliar to her. She’s always getting dirty—playing with Joshua, training with her uncle. Nature takes care of that.  

She finds an old couch in the corner of the house and drops onto it without much thought. The fabric is worn, smelling of dust and dampness, but she doesn’t care right now. She rests her head against the backrest and closes her eyes for a moment.  

Her family.  

The thought hits her like a punch to the gut.  

How are her mother and brother? And the rest of the exploration team? Her father, her uncles… They must all be looking for her, worried about her disappearance. Or worse—dealing with the Sinners.  

She clenches her teeth at the thought of the Sinners lurking around.  

JiJi’s eyes snap open, and she sits up. The idea puts her on immediate alert—she’s alone, without communication, practically in the middle of nowhere.  

And if they find her first… She shakes her head violently as if that could drive away the possibility. No. She won’t think about that.  

She sighs and reaches for her backpack, carefully pulling out her bow, now covered in mud. She wipes the wood with automatic movements, trying to restore its original appearance. Then, she takes out an arrow and runs her fingers over the feathers at the back. Half red, half with a striped black-and-white pattern.   

One of the arrows her mother made for her.  

She grips it tighter than necessary. She tells herself everything will be fine.  

Mom and Ethan won’t take long. They’ll find her. They’ll get her out of here. They always do.  

But doubt creeps into her mind, and the questions gnaw at her. What if they don’t find her? What if they pass by without knowing she’s here?  

What if something happens to them before they can reach her?  

Fear coils in her chest, but JiJi crushes it before it can take root. If they don’t find her, she will find them. She doesn’t care if she has to face the sinners in the process. She doesn’t care if she has to cross the entire territory to reach them.  

Still sitting, with bad posture and tense muscles, JiJi readies her bow. Her body still feels heavy, but she ignores the pain, focusing on keeping the arrow steady as she aims at the open doorway she enters through.  

The feeling of alertness keeps her rigid, her breath held as she scans the outside. The machine is still there.  

But something is different.  

Her gaze sharpens, scanning every detail of the metal structure. Something doesn’t fit. Her fingers tremble slightly around the bow, and without realizing it, her grip falters. The arrow slips from her hand and falls to the ground with a soft thud.  

There’s no undergrowth.  

No traces of nature invading the machine like before.  

It takes her mind a few seconds to process it. When she first saw it, the structure was consumed by time, covered in vines, moss, and roots reclaiming their space. Now, however, it is pristine, too clean, as if it had just been built.  

A chill runs down her spine.  

Immediately, she stands up.  

And then she notices it.  

The house isn’t the same either.  

She quickly turns her head, her eyes scanning the interior with growing bewilderment. This is not possible. When she arrived, the place was in ruins. Cracked walls, floors covered in dust and weeds, flowers growing through the cracks, old furniture full of cobwebs. It was a dead house, abandoned for years, maybe decades.  

But now… it’s alive.  

No dust. No weeds. No trace of the decay that once filled every corner. Instead, she finds furniture in good condition, a table with stacked books, and what seem to be records scattered on the floor. The air no longer smells of damp earth but of something else… artificial.  

Her heart pounds and her breathing turns uneven.  

She blinks several times as if that could force her mind to understand what she is seeing.  

JiJi pinches her arm. Is this another one of her dreams?  

Her instinct screams that something is wrong, that something has changed beyond her comprehension. And then, a sound cuts through the silence.  

A beep.  

JiJi reacts instantly, raising her bow again, her eyes searching for the source of the noise. Her pulse quickens.  

What was that?  

The sound persists, intermittent, and mechanical. Her senses are on high alert as she turns her head back and forth, trying to locate its origin. It doesn’t take her long to find it.  

On a nearby desk sits a strange object. Its shape feels vaguely familiar. Her mind digs through memories, and suddenly, an image breaks through: a dusty book in Uncle John’s hands, illustrations of artifacts from the past.  

A phonocator.  

No, a cell… cellphone.  

That’s it. Her uncle once told her about these devices, a relic of lost technology. In her community, they weren’t used or studied much. Her parents and Uncle John always told her that past technology was the ruin of the world, that it turned humanity into something dangerous, into beings with too much power, capable of creating destructive artifacts that imitated God… and that destroyed them in the process.  

But now, one of those objects is here, right in front of her, emitting that relentless beeping.  

JiJi approaches cautiously.  

She hesitates before reaching out, her bare fingers brushing against the device’s smooth surface.  

And suddenly, the beeping stops.  

A different sound emerges from the artifact. A voice.  

Her body tenses immediately.  

She can’t identify who it belongs to or clearly make out what it’s saying, but she catches a few words.  

«Parker… messages… Mars…»

Goosebumps rise on her skin.  

She swallows hard and stares at the cell phone with a mixture of confusion and fascination. It doesn’t make sense. She saw no technology when she arrived. The only things in this place were the metal structure and the ruined house.  

And now… now everything is different.  

Her breath quickens. Her mind desperately searches for an explanation.  

But she doesn’t find one.  

And that terrifies her.  

Her breathing turns erratic, her chest rising and falling with each inhale. Something inside her screams that none of this is normal, that none of this is possible.  

Almost as an instinct, one of her hands moves to her chest, pushing aside the layers of fabric until she finds it. Her necklace.  

Her fingers close around the amulet bearing her community’s emblem, the symbol of her family. She grips it tightly as if its mere touch could anchor her to reality as if it could assure her that everything is still real.  

Mom. Ethan. Dad.  

She squeezes her eyes shut, feeling the cold metal against her skin. She breathes in. Exhales. Forces herself to calm down.  

When she opens her eyes again, her gaze sweeps across the room in greater detail.  

Then she notices it.  

The shelves are filled with more technological artifacts. Not just the phone—cellular, or whatever it’s called—but other things. Devices of various shapes and sizes, some with blinking lights, others with darkened screens. Her curiosity sparks instantly.  

She wants to move closer.  

She wants to touch them all, figure out what they are, and understand why they’re here.  

But something else catches her attention.  

Her gaze drifts to another wall, where a board is covered in information.  

She approaches cautiously. Letters, numbers, strangein thesymbols. Some lines appear underlined, others hastily crossed out. Arrows connect words and formulas written in a firm hand.  

She tries to read them.  

But she doesn’t understand anything.  

This isn’t written in a language she recognizes.  

Her heart skips a beat.  

JiJi knows how to read and write perfectly—her father and Uncle John made sure of that since she was a child. But here, in front of her, everything seems… incomprehensible. Almost as if it were written in another dialect, in another system that shouldn’t exist.  

However, amidst all that chaos of letters and numbers, something stands out.  

A calendar.  

Her body freezes.  

She slowly moves closer, her eyes locked onto the paper.  

Several dates are marked with annotations she doesn’t understand. Some days are circled in red; others are crossed out. But the only thing her mind focuses on is the year.  

2018.  

Her stomach twists.  

A chill runs down her spine.  

No. No, that can’t be right.  

JiJi rips the calendar off the wall, holding it in both hands as if it might crumble at any moment. Her eyes scan it over and over, hoping to find a mistake, something that tells her she’s seeing it wrong.  

But the number remains. Clear. Unchanging.  

2018.  

Her breathing quickens.  

What do you mean by 2018?  

Panic seeps into her veins, chilling her skin. Her world never kept track of years with precision, but she knows the correct year is 2038.  

This calendar makes no sense.  

But then again, nothing around her does.  

She lets the paper fall onto the table as if dropping it could rid her of the weight of what she just discovered.  

Her mind races, searching for explanations. Maybe someone lived here and abandoned this. Maybe this house is functional, maybe it is inhabited. Maybe she only assumed it was in ruins when in reality…  

But doubt drives itself into her chest like an icy blade.  

What if it wasn’t?  

What if the house was in ruins when she arrived? What if it really did change?  

What if she isn’t in her world?  

No.  

She shakes her head, refusing to consider the thought.  

Her gaze sweeps the room in desperation. There has to be something else. Something that will tell her what the hell is going on.  

JiJi remains silent, but not for long. She sits next to her mother, watching her closely. There is something different about her today. She is not wearing her usual attire of tanned animal hides, the ones that always make her look like a huntress, like someone born for the wild.  

Today, she wears a simple sleeveless black shirt. Something so plain, so ordinary, feels strange on her. Too common for someone like her mother.  

JiJi lowers her gaze, and that is when she notices it.  

Her mother’s bare arms tell stories.  

Claw marks, healed cuts, old burns… silent testimonies of a life of struggle.  

It is not that she has never seen them before, but like this, without the usual hides covering her body, they seem more… real. More raw.  

Her gaze drifts among the scars until it stops on something different.  

It is not a wound. It is not a battle memory.  

It is a tattoo.  

A single word.  

«WRATH.»

JiJi frowns. Her mother has always been strong and untamed… but wrath?  

Wrath is a destructive sin, brutal and uncontrollable. A force that consumes and devours until nothing remains but ashes.  

Then why does her mother bear it on her skin?  

She knows the tradition. In her community, sins are tattooed onto the skin to be remembered. Never forget what you once were, even if you were saved. Her father carries all the sins etched into his skin, scattered among symbols, words, and memories of a past life.  

But her mother…  

Only wrath.  

JiJi tilts her head, thoughtful.  

If she had to choose a sin for her mother, it would be pride. She has always been strong, always been firm, but JiJi has never truly seen her lose control.  

Something does not add up.  

"Mom" Her voice breaks the silence. Her tone is calm, yet firm. "Why is your sin wrath?" 

Her mother, who had been lost in thought, lifts her gaze to her.  

For an instant, her expression hardens.  

It is a small gesture, a fraction of a second, but JiJi catches it.  

For a moment, she thinks her mother will not answer. She is not someone who gives explanations easily.  

But after a few seconds, she sighs.  

"Why do you think?" she finally says, with a half-smile that does not reach her eyes.  

JiJi does not look away.  

"I… I don’t know." She exhales. "It’s just that I can’t picture you that way. Not as… as someone who loses control to anger."

Her mother lets out a small, low laugh, devoid of humor.  

"That’s because you’ve never truly seen me angry."

The way she says it makes JiJi’s skin prickle, but it also makes her want to laugh.  

It is not a threat. It is not a warning.  

It is a simple fact.  

"Does it hurt?" she changes the subject, though her question is still connected. She is not sure why, but she needs to know.  

Her mother remains silent for a moment, looking at the tattoo on her arm.  

"A little.” Her tone is indifferent as if discussing the weather. "But the pain fades. What it represents, however…" She leaves the sentence hanging as if it does not need to be finished.  

JiJi stares at the words marked on her mother’s skin, feeling deep down that there is much more to this story than she has been told. In fact, now that she thinks about it, she knows very little about her own family.  

Her father always says that "what matters is the now" and that focusing on the past only brings unnecessary distractions, especially when the world they live in demands they always stay one step ahead.  

But JiJi cannot help but wonder.  

How did they meet? How did two such different people end up falling in love in hand e middle of the world’s collapse?  

What was it like before everything changed?  

Her uncles do not reveal much either.  

Uncle John is the one who helps her the most with her studies, teaching her things beyond survival. But even he seems to measure his words.  

He never reveals too much.  

Every now and then, he lets slip a curious detail when she insists enough, like when she asked about his tattoos and their meanings. But even in those moments, there is something in his tone that suggests some things are better left unknown.  

JiJi does not know if they do it to protect her.  

Or perhaps because there are things they simply prefer to forget.  

She sighs and looks back at her mother.  

She is now next to her husband.  

In her arms, she holds Jordan, just as newborn as Joanna.  

Her father watches her, and in an almost automatic motion, they take each other’s hands and press their foreheads together.  

It is a simple gesture, something so intimate.  

But so full of meaning that JiJi feels like she should not be watching.  

As if she is witnessing something sacred. She looks away, slightly disgusted.  

Then, why?  

What had to happen for them to become a family?  

And, more importantly…  

How did they manage to build a community in a world that was meant to collapse?  

The insistent beeping of the phone drags JiJi back to consciousness. She doesn’t remember falling asleep. Confusion wraps around her like a dense fog as she blinks, feeling the gritty sensation of dried dirt clinging to her skin. Instinctively, she raises a hand to her face, scratching at the dust that has settled on her cheeks. Her mother and brother must have found her… but daylight is already seeping through the doors of the house, telling her that far more time has passed than she thought. Her stomach twists with suffocating anxiety. She couldn’t have run that far. Not far enough for them to take this long to find her. So why haven’t they appeared yet?  

Uncertainty morphs into impulsive anger. She stands up abruptly, making the couch creak under her weight. Her gaze sweeps across the room with restrained desperation, and she spots a bottle of water on the table where the phone keeps ringing, over and over, with the same message. JiJi has already learned to ignore it. Right now, she cares more about getting the dirt off her than answering a stranger’s voice on the other end of the line. She grabs the bottle, opens it with a clumsy motion, and pours some water into her hands. It’s not to drink but to clean herself. She rubs her face roughly, scrubbing away the layer of dust and grime sticking to her skin. Then, she uses the hem of her shirt to dry off, but it’s not enough. She looks around for something else and finds a piece of clothing discarded on the floor—a shirt that reeks of stale sweat and confinement. Her brow furrows in disgust.  

"Disgusting... whoever lived here had terrible hygiene," she mutters, tossing the shirt far away from her.  

Despite how small the house is, she still feels overwhelmed by the sheer number of objects surrounding her. The calendar remains on the wall, displaying that impossible date: 2018. It still doesn’t make sense. Everything is just as it was last night, but in the daylight, she can see the details more clearly. Now, she dares to touch some of the things around her. She moves slowly through the space, slipping between the furniture with caution, her fingers skimming over the dusty surfaces of strange artifacts. She wants to find something—anything—that will give her answers.  

Without realizing it, she has begun playing with her knife. The blade catches the sunlight filtering through the windows. She has had this knife since her Uncle Jake gave it to her for one of her birthdays. She has used it so many times that handling it feels as natural as breathing. She spins the blade between her fingers with practiced ease—an unconscious way of steadying herself. Nothing is more reassuring than the familiar weight of the weapon in her hand. Her uncle always said that a gift like this wasn’t just a tool; it was a promise of protection. One that she now wishes would come true.  

She stops in front of a cluttered desk, covered with colorful books. Some are thick, others as thin as magazines. JiJi picks one up with curiosity and flips through it. She recognizes the word… "comics." She remembers Uncle John mentioning it before, referring to illustrated stories from ancient times. She tosses the book back onto the desk with little interest and sighs. Her patience is running thin.  

After searching without finding any answers, she feels the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her chest. She returns to the couch and sinks into it, resting her elbows on her knees. Her mind is still tangled in unanswered questions. That’s when she turns to the only thing that has always helped her find calm: prayer.  

She closes her eyes and clasps her hands together in a gesture of devotion. In her mind, the words flow automatically, like a silent whisper directed at God. She thanks Him for another day of life, for her family, for the community she loves so much. But the peace she usually finds in prayer doesn’t come. Something feels wrong.  

Her prayers usually resonate in unison with the voices of her father and brothers. They have always prayed together, as one. But now, she is alone. The emptiness surrounding her grows more suffocating with every passing second. Her breathing grows heavy, and she opens her eyes abruptly, refusing to let fear take root in her chest.  

She has to do something. She can’t just sit here, waiting for answers that may never come.  

Her breathing is ragged, each heartbeat pounding loudly in her ears. She clenches her jaw and straightens up, gripping the knife more firmly, as if the simple contact with the metal could grant her security. The air inside the house feels thick, oppressive. Every shadow in the corners seems darker than normal, every creak in the wood sounds louder than it should.  

She doesn’t belong here.  

She wants to move, to leave this house and search for her family, but something keeps her rooted to the floor. Ethan’s orders.  

His words echo in her mind, filled with authority, with that unwavering certainty that always made her feel safe. But now… now they only make her feel trapped.  

She sighs, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. This is her fault, in some way. Of course, she couldn’t have known an attack was coming, but still… what if she had done something differently? If she had been faster, smarter?  

Two thoughts battle in her mind, clashing violently in her consciousness. Wait or act. Stay here, clinging to the hope that someone will find her, or leave on her own and search for them, no matter the danger.  

She raises a hand to her face, pressing her temples in frustration. This is a test. Or at least, that’s how it feels. As if God is testing her, forcing her to prove that she can make it home on her own.  

But then, she sees the calendar.  

Her body freezes.  

2018.

A shiver runs down her spine. Her breath becomes uneven as she blinks, incredulous. This can't be a hallucination. It can't be a mistake. Something is wrong.  

She forces herself to move. She can't keep waiting.  

Without realizing it, she has already walked to where she left her backpack. She slings it over her shoulders with mechanical movements, her fingers acting on instinct as she tightens the straps and checks that everything is in place. Her bow is still there. The arrows. She picks them up one by one, inspecting them quickly. She can't afford to lose a single one.  

Before leaving, she searches the house for something useful. She can't go empty-handed.  

Her eyes scan the room until they land on a small object resting on a dusty table. She steps closer and carefully picks it up. It’s a camera.  

She presses a couple of buttons, trying to turn it on. Nothing. But she keeps it anyway. It might come in handy. Everything might come in handy.  

Finally, she pulls out her map. Her last connection to reality. Her only guide in this world that suddenly feels so unfamiliar. She marks the house as an exploration point. She doesn’t know if she’ll return, doesn’t know if there will be anything useful here in the future, but it’s better to be sure.  

She looks toward the door. Her way out.  

She takes a breath.  

And take the first step.

Chapter Text

Stop walks with firm yet silent steps, gripping one of the straps of her backpack with one hand and her homemade compass with the other—the one she managed to make despite some difficulties. She doesn’t know exactly how long she has beenwalking, but she senses it hasn’t been too long. Her body doesn’t feel completely exhausted, and though her legs have traveled several kilometers, she still has enough energy to keep going.  

She tries to retrace her steps, heading back to the point where the exploration group is supposed to rest. However, as she moves forward, a strange sensation begins to settle in her chest. With every step she takes, the world around her feels increasingly… foreign. Nothing is entirely out of place, yet something in the details makes her skin prickle.  

The trees and pines are still there—tall and majestic—stretching into a forest that should feel familiar, but it doesn’t. Not entirely.  

Back home, whenever she went exploring, the forest was full of life. Vibrant wildflowers bloomed among the tall grass, animals moved freely between the trunks, and the wind carried the sounds of insects and birds. But here… everything is different. The vegetation feels more controlled as if nature itself had been restrained in some way. The ground beneath her feet is oddly clean, without the usual layers of fallen leaves and dry branches that would normally crunch under her boots. That makes her suspicious.  

JiJi furrows her brows, tightening her grip on the compass. Something is wrong.  

Despite the unease creeping into her chest, she tries to keep her goal clear. Once she finds her mother and brother, things will be better. All of this will make sense. She just has to reach them, she just has to keep moving forward. But that certainty begins to crack when she realizes something that makes her shudder.  

She hasn’t found anyone.  

Since leaving the house where she had taken shelter, she hasn’t seen a single human face. No sinners, no signs of her exploration group, not even evidence that anyone else has passed through recently. It’s as if the world has been emptied.  

That thought leaves a knot in her stomach.  

But then, she lifts her gaze to the sky.  

The blue is still there—clear and vast, stretching like an infinite canvas above her head. For a moment, she takes a deep breath and tries to focus on that. The vegetation is no longer the same, the landscape she knew has changed, but somehow, there is still beauty in all of this. Maybe it’s the sunlight filtering through the treetops or the way the wind gently stirs the leaves. Maybe it’s simply that she needs to hold onto something so that fear doesn’t consume her.  

Whatever it is, she allows herself a moment to take it in.  

And then, she keeps walking.  

After pushing througand h the dense vegetation, JiJi suddenly comes to an abrupt halt. Her boots step onto something strange and smooth. Pavement. A paved road—the kind of cars used before the collapse.  

The texture beneath her feet feels foreign and cold. It’s the first time in a long while that she’s seen a road in such good condition. Who has been maintaining it? Her thoughts are cut short by a sudden sound—a frantic noise that puts her on high alert. Voices.  

JiJi reacts instantly, her body trained by her mother telling her she needs to prepare to fight. She moves quickly, trying to pull her bow from her backpack, but before she can fully grip it, a shout stops her in her tracks.  

“Hey, you! Where do you think you’re going?!”  

The tone is harsh and hostile. The words aren’t just a warning—they’re a threat. Instinct screams at her to fight, to defend herself, to act as her mother would—shoot first, ask questions later. But… her father. Her father always said words could solve more than weapons ever could.  

JiJi’s heart pounds as she makes a decision. Slowly, with a shaky breath, she raises both hands in surrender. She can’t take the risk. If she acts suspiciously, if she makes even the slightest wrong move, they could shoot her without hesitation.  

“Turn around!” the same voice commands.  

JiJi obeys, pivoting cautiously on her heels, keeping her hands up. Running isn’t an option. She wouldn’t be able to escape fast enough.  

She wants to yell at them, to tell them that survivors shouldn’t be attacking each other—that the world has already been cruel enough without them continuing to kill one another. But her voice gets caught in her throat the moment she lays eyes on the people pointing their weapons at her.  

Four of them.  

They’re in a white car, its doors open, the engine still roaring. But what leaves her completely speechless isn’t the vehicle or the guns they hold with steady hands—it’s their clothing.  

Their clothes are worn, dirty, and marked by use… but over them, something unmistakable stands out. A large logo is embroidered on their chests.  

JiJi feels her stomach twist. Her breathing quickens.  

That logo.  

She recognizes it—because she has spent her entire life seeing it.  

The symbol of her community. Of her family.

But… these are not members of New Eden.

They can't be. She knows everyone in he community. Every face, every name, every role within the group. These strangers are not part of them.  

"Didn't you hear me? I told you to identify yourself!" The voice of the man pointing at her is harsher now, and he steps out of the car with a menacing stride.  

JiJi remains frozen. This doesn't make sense. Her hands stay raised, and her head spins, trying to process the situation. Who are these people?  

Before the armed man can get any closer, another of the strangers places a hand on his chest, stopping him. His tone is calmer, but still heavy with distrust.  

"Wait. She's just a girl. She's scared."  

A chill runs down JiJi’s spine. She wants to tell him that she’s not scared, that she doesn’t need his pity, but… that would be a lie. She doesn’t know what’s happening or why these people wear the symbol of her community. She doesn’t know if they’re lying or if there's a truth that has been hidden from her all her life.  

"Lower your arms," the man who tried to calm the situation orders.  

JiJi observes him more closely. His skin is weathered by the sun, his expression severe, but what stands out the most is the tattoo on his forehead. It’s the same symbol. The one of her family. But distorted, altered.  

Her fingers tremble slightly as she obeys, slowly lowering her arms. Her instinct tells her to be careful and not to trust too much.  

"What’s your name?" the tattooed man asks.  

JiJi opens her mouth to respond, but the air feels thick in hr throat. "I… I…"  

What would her mother do in this situation?  

She would surely find a way to take control. Disarm them. Strike before they could react. She would be lethal and quick. But JiJi… doesn’t have that killer instinct. She can’t do something like that.  

"Well, that doesn’t matter now," the man with the marked forehead interrupts. "Tell me, do you know who we are?"  

JiJi's throat feels dry. Who are they?  

Her eyes scan their clothes, their weapons, tir car, their wary gazes. The only thing that escapes her lips is a trembling word.  

"Sinners…?"  

The man barely smiles, something that resembles resignation more than amusement. "We all are."  

Beside him, the man who had been pointing his gun at her since the beginning seemed to grow impatient.  

"What are we waiting for? We don’t know who she is."  

But the tattooed man stops him again with a gesture.  

"She doesn’t seem to be from around here," he says in an assessing tone. "Tell me, have you heard of the end of the world?"  

JiJi blinks, confused. "Are you talking about… the Collapse?"  

Upon hearing her response, both men's expressions relax. A disturbing sense of relief crosses their faces.  

"Yes. That one. So… you are not a stranger to the Father's word."  

Father? JiJi feels her blood run cold.  

"A relative of hers must be part of the Project," the other man says. "We need to take her."  

Project? Father? What the hell are they talking about?  

JiJi opens her mouth to ask, to demand answers, but before she can say anything, she feels a sudden movement behind her. Something rough covers her face.  

A piece of cloth. It suffocates her.  

Panic hits her like an avalanche. She kicks, struggles, and tries to fight back.  

"Let me go!" she tries to scream, but her voice is muffled against the fabric.  

The air escapes her lungs within seconds. She fights, but it’s useless.  

Panic engulfs her, and her body convulses violently, desperately trying to find a way to break free. Her muscles tense, her chest burns, and the lack of oxygen makes her head spin. Her mind is in chaos. She wants to kick, to scream, but the strength nand her limbs begins to fade. She feels trapped and suffocated, the heat inside the fabric smothering her even more.  

And then, the world explodes around her.  

A commotion erupts. She doesn't know if it's just her clouded mind or if it's real, but gunfire thunders in her ears. Screams, frantic orders, more gunshots. Rushed footsteps, bodies hitting the ground. JiJi clenches her teeth, fighting to stay conscious, but the terror grips her chest—thsand is her end.  

She holds back the tears and fights the thought of dying away from her family. No. Don’t think about that. But it’s impossible. She wants her father, her uncles, her aunt, her siblings, her twins… she wants her mother.  

The sounds of the fight continue, but suddenly… silence.  

The shift is so abrupt that JiJi feels like her own heart stops. Her breathing is erratic, gasping, trying to take in air. What happened? Did they win? Did they lose? Who is still alive? Who isn't?  

And then, she feels hands on her head.  

The sack covering her face is yanked away. JiJi gasps as the suniand ght hits her full force, blinding her for a few seconds. She blinks repeatedly, her blurry vision struggling to adjust. Her head spins, and the pulse in her ears pounds, but there’s something else. A voice. It sounds clear and strong but with a note of concern.  

"Are you okay?"  

The voice is feminine. JiJi blinks again, her still-blurry vision barely making out the silhouette of someone in front of her. Her body trembles, her mind remains hazy, but the voice… there’s something eerily familiar about it. So familiar that her heart skips a beat in her chest.  

"Mom…?" Her own voice sounds weak, broken by uncertainty and exhaustion. Her mind fails to process what she is seeing.

The woman in front of her furrows her brow in confusion. She doesn’t respond immediately, only staring at her with something resembling surprise. JiJi, still dazed, feels a warm hand gently touch her face. That gesture. Her mother used to do the same when she had a fever when she was sick or scared. The touch comforts her instinctively, but her mind refuses to accept what she’s seeing.  

She opens her eyes fully, and suddenly, the world seems to tilt around her.  

The woman in front of her… looks like her mother. She’s identical. An exact copy. But it can’t be.  

JiJi feels her pulse quicken at her temples, a pressure in her chest that makes it hard to breathe normally. The woman is younger. Too young. Her mother hasn’t looked like this in years.  

“Damn Bliss,” the woman mutters, still with her palm on JiJi’s forehead, as if checking her temperature.  

JiJi squints, trying to focus on her face, on every detail that makes her look so eerily similar to her mother. But it’s not her. It can’t be.  

“Bliss…?” she repeats, her voice barely a whisper.  

Her mind is too tired to understand, her body too drained to keep questioning. She hasn’t eaten in hours, the confrontation has drained her energy, and now this. Her brain seems incapable of processing what’s happening.  

The woman continues to observe her closely, as If analyzing every reaction, every expression on her face.  

“Yes. But don’t worry, you’re safe now.”  

JiJi doesn’t know if she can trust that. She doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t. But in this moment, with the warmth of a hand on her cheek and the figure of a woman who looks too much like her mother looking at her with concern…  

She can do nothing but close her eyes and let exhaustion take over.

You have rescued many people since this nightmare began. Men, women, people who were ripped from their homes, from their lives, by the damned fanatics of Eden’s Gate. They do it without remorse, convinced they are "saving souls."

You have seen the result of their salvation up close—bodies broken by manipulation, minds lost in the haze of Bliss, people turned into mere shadows of themselves.

d now, you carry another victim.

The young girl in your arms is heavier than she looks, not just because of her weight but because of the backpack still hanging from her shoulders. Her legs dangle limply, her head rests against your chest. Her breathing is steady, but the beads of sweat on her forehead and the involuntary spasms in her fingers betray the battle her body is fighting against the drug in her system.

If you hadn’t found her—if you had arrived just a few minutes later—the peggies would have taken her already. And then what? Would they have sent her on a pilgrimage? Baptized her in the river to wash away her sins? Or would they have turned her into another mindless soldier, another weapon for their war against everyone else?

You clench your jaw and adjust your grip around her. You won’t let that happen.

The road to Fall’s End is long, but you don’t stop. With every step, you wonder who she is. You haven’t heard of any missing teenagers lately. Maybe she belongs to a group of traveling merchants or a more isolated settlement. Her clothes are strange, made of tanned hides and leather, as if she stepped out of another time. It’s not the kind of outfit someone from Hope County would wear. Could she be from somewhere else?

A faint murmur escapes her lips.

At first, it’s barely a sound, just a breath with no shape. Then, her face scrunches in discomfort, and her fingers twitch. She’s waking up.

“Shh, easy,” you murmur, trying to keep her calm. There’s still a long way to Fall’s End, and the last thing you need is for her to panic and start struggling in the middle of the road.

You hear her breathing quicken. Her head shifts weakly against your chest, and then, finally, her eyes flutter open—just barely, so subtly it’s almost imperceptible.

“…Mom?”

The word comes out as a faint, barely audible whimper, but it slows your steps. She’s hallucinating again.

You look at her more closely. Her pupils are dilated—without a doubt, the Bliss—but there’s something else in her expression. A genuine bewilderment, a deep confusion that goes beyond the effects of the drug.

“No, kiddo. I’m not your mother,” you answer softly but firmly.

Her eyes try to focus on you, but she seems too dazed. She tries to say more, but you stop her—she’s exhausted.

You quicken your pace. “I’m taking you somewhere safe.” It’s the only thing you can think of to say. You’re good at rescuing people, but talking to them, comforting them—that’s not the same.

She blinks several times, trying to stay awake. Her breathing remains unsteady. “I have to go… home,” she barely whispers before her eyes drift shut again.

You sigh under the extra weight and just hope the effects of the Bliss wear off quickly.

As you step into Fall’s End, people greet you with nods and waves. This place may be small, but so far, it has been a solid refuge.

Still carrying the teenager, you hesitate—who should take care of her? The only people that come to mind are Mary May or Jerome. Without realizing it, your feet carry you toward the bar, drawn by the glow of its neon sign.

The murmur of voices pulls her back into consciousness, slowly but inevitably. It’s not immediate; first, a heaviness in her limbs, a stab of confusion in her mind that refuses to fully dissipate. Then, a strange scent in the air, something clean, far too different from the dampness of the woods. The discomfort in her body tells her she’s been unconscious for a while, but she doesn’t know how long. A chill runs down her spine as memories strike with the force of a gunshot: the ambush, the people who spoke to her, the hands gripping her tightly, the suffocating pressure against her head, the desperate fight she waged to avoid being taken. She doesn’t know when she lost control of the situation, but she remembers the terror of feeling everything slip away.

Her eyes snap open, and instinct forces her to move. She tries to sit up, her breath erratic, muscles still numb from exhaustion. She’s alert. Her heart pounds in her chest, and every fiber of her being screams at her to run. A man with glasses, dressed in black, sitting nearby, raises his hands in a peaceful gesture, his expression calm yet firm.

“Take it easy, you’re in a safe place,” he says in a calm voice. “No one here will hurt you.”

But JiJi doesn’t believe him. She can’t. She’s confused, her eyes scanning the room, searching for exits, anything she can use as a weapon, anything. She tries to move again, but a softer voice stops her.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Breathe. Do you remember me?” Her head turns toward the source of the voice, and for a second, her mind freezes.

The woman sitting next to her… is the one who rescued her, the one who looks exactly like her mother.

The air gets caught in her throat as she watches her, no longer fatigued, her mind struggling to process what she’s seeing. It’s her mother. But not entirely. There’s something different about her, beyond the years that don’t seem to have affected her. She looks younger, with fewer scars, as if the weight of the world hasn’t left any marks on her expression. But the eyes… those eyes are the same. So familiar, so impossible to ignore. JiJi blinks several times, stunned by the unreal nature of the moment. Her mother shouldn’t be here. Her mother couldn’t be here.

The woman seems to notice, her expression softening even further. “I found you before the peggies could take you,” she explains in a calm tone, as if trying not to upset her any more. “It seemed like the Bliss was kicking in, but I don’t see any signs of it now. Do you feel okay?”

JiJi barely hears the last part. Her mind is still dazed, trapped in the feeling that something doesn’t fit, that she’s seeing a reflection of her mother that shouldn’t exist. She doesn’t know how to respond, she doesn’t even know what to feel.

The man with glasses extends a glass of water to the woman, who takes it before offering it to JiJi. “Drink, it’ll do you good.”

JiJi hesitates. She looks at the glass as if it might be poison, as if it could be another illusion created by the absurdity of the situation. Then she looks at the woman, searching her face for any sign that this might be a trap. But all she finds in those eyes is genuine patience, a faint smile that doesn’t try to pressure her. She swallows, still unsure, and finally extends her hand to take the glass. She trembles slightly as she brings it to her lips and takes a small sip. The water is cold, purer than she expected, and somehow helps clear her mind.

The man with glasses watches her attentively, but his gaze is not intrusive. “I’m Jerome,” he says in a calm voice. “What’s your name?”

JiJi hesitates. She doesn’t know whether she should say her full name, reveal her last name, or trust anyone in this room. But her mind is still too scattered to come up with a convincing lie. “I’m… JiJi,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man nods calmly, observing her closely, his voice serene, almost paternal. “JiJi… It’s a nickname, right?”

Before she can decide whether or not to answer, the woman sitting next to her lets out a small smile, one that seems calculated to ease the tension. There’s something in the way she looks at her, in the way she speaks to her, that doesn’t feel threatening, but it is unsettling.

"I have one too," the woman says, her tone relaxed, as if trying to make the conversation seem casual. "They call me Rook."

JiJi blinks, and something in her brain lights up. It's an instinctive reaction, as if the sound of that name echoed in some forgotten corner of her memory. Her chest feels heavy, and for a moment, the background noise in the room seems to fade away.

"Rook?" she repeats in a whisper, unable to stop herself. Her throat is dry, and she doesn't even know why that word sounds so important.

The woman nods, watching her closely, almost as if she expects JiJi to say something more. When JiJi doesn't respond, Rook decides to continue the conversation with a light air, trying to keep the calm in the atmosphere.

"Yeah. It's not the most original nickname in the world, I admit, but I guess it works. Though I have to say, yours is much more interesting."

JiJi blinks a couple of times, and to her own surprise, she feels her face trying to form a smile. It's not a big smile, nor is it entirely intentional, but it's the first sign of relief she’s felt since waking up.

"Thanks..." she whispers with a somewhat hoarse voice. Her mind is still confused, but the atmosphere doesn't feel as suffocating anymore. "Where... where am I?"

This time, it's the man who answers, his tone kind and calm, as if he doesn't want to startle her more than necessary.

"You're in Falls End. It's a small town in Holland Valley."

Falls End. Holland Valley. The words float in her mind as if they should mean something, but they don't evoke anything concrete. It's like looking through a fogged-up window, with the persistent feeling that something important is on the other side, but unable to make it out. She doesn’t remember a location by that name.

"Rook told me she found you alone," the man continues, with the same calm tone as before. "I don't want to pressure you, but we need to know if anyone's looking for you. Do you have family around here? Do you know where your parents are?"

The question hits her hard. JiJi feels her muscles tense instantly, her body reacting before her mind can process it. Her hands grip the sheets tightly, her gaze shifting to the floor. She doesn't want to answer. Not because she wants to hide something, but because the answer scares her. "I don't know..." she admits after a long silence. Her voice is small, fragile. "I don't remember much."

The air in the room changes immediately. Jerome and Rook exchange a quick glance, almost imperceptible, but JiJi notices. She knows what it means. She knows they’re trying to decide what to do with her. For a moment, she fears the worst. But when Rook finally speaks, her tone is neither accusatory nor cold, but understanding.

"It must be the Bliss," she murmurs, thoughtful. "I've seen it before. It affects memory, distorts reality... It wouldn't be the first time someone doesn't remember how they got here."

Jerome nods slowly, exhaling through his nose with something resembling resignation. "Yeah... That makes sense. You wouldn't be the first person in this situation."

JiJi listens, but her mind is elsewhere. Bliss. She knows she's heard that word before. She knows it’s something important. Something bad. But when she tries to remember more, it's like her own mind refuses to give her answers. She's only heard it from Rook and Jerome, these people who, thank God, rescued her. She wants to ask about her family, admit that she knows where they are, but she resigns herself because, deep down, she knows that no matter how much she tries to deceive herself, she is no longer home.

Chapter Text

You watch the teenage girl you rescued eat with a hint of caution. The plate in front of her is something simple, quick, and Casey threw together without much ceremony. She introduced herself as JiJi, an unusual name, no doubt, but that was the least of it compared to the fact that she remembered very little about herself. The Bliss, its hallucinogenic effects, and the way it stripped people of their identities might have messed with her memory. It wouldn’t be the first time someone woke up not knowing who they were in this damn county.

The midday light streams through the bar’s large windows, bathing the place in a deceptively warm glow. At this hour, the bar is nearly empty, allowing you to watch JiJi without interruption. It’s rare to see teenagers in Holland Valley. Most ran away when everything started, and the ones who stayed… well, it’s better not to think about what might’ve happened to them. JiJi is the first teen you’ve seen in a long time, though it’s not like you’ve spent years in this hell to be completely sure.

Jerome had been clear when you brought her in unconscious: he didn’t recognize her. And Jerome knew practically everyone in the county. That worried you more than you cared to admit. Around here, everyone knew everyone else, who belonged to whom, and what family they came from. But JiJi? JiJi was an unknown.

For now, the girl was scared. You weren’t going to leave her to fend for herself. Jerome hadn’t hesitated to offer help either, though the stern look on his face showed he had questions, lots of them. You watch as he speaks to her in a calm, gentle voice, trying not to scare her more than she already was. From the kitchen, you grab your plate of food, but you can’t help overhearing snippets of the conversation.

“Do you remember anything? Your last name, where you’re from?” Jerome asks in that kind but firm tone of his.

JiJi lowers her gaze, pushing the food around her plate before shaking her head. “No… I don’t know. I just know they tried to take me with them and… and then you found me,” she murmurs, barely a whisper.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think it sounded like an interrogation—but it had to be. If she had family out there, if someone was looking for her, they needed to know as soon as possible. And if she didn’t… well, that meant something too.

Mary May, wiping down a few glasses, glances at JiJi as well, not recognizing her either. “No word about her?” she asks, puzzled by the whole situation.

“No, but at least I managed to find her in time,” you reply with a confident tone, a little relieved to have saved someone else’s life.

You return to the table and sit down just as Jerome stands up with a sigh. “I’ve gotta go. More people need help,” he says, giving you a tired but reassuring look. Then he turns to JiJi. “The church is open to you if you need a safe place. There are other good people there. You can stay as long as you need.”

You watch JiJi hesitate, her eyes lowering, her hands tightening around her fork. Finally, she nods with a small, polite smile. “Yes… That’s fine. Thank you very much, Mr… Jeffries,” she replies, her formal tone catching you off guard.

You almost let out a laugh. Where did this kid come from? Aren’t teenagers supposed to be more rebellious and rude? But JiJi speaks with this kind of forced politeness, maybe born out of fear. And you get it. This place has become dangerous for everyone.

When Jerome leaves, it’s just the two of you. You smile at her as you take a bite of your food. “Do you like it? Casey’s a great chef,” you say, trying to ease the tension.

JiJi looks up, surprised, like she hadn’t expected you to talk about something so mundane. Then she quickly nods. “Yes, it’s really good. Thank you,” she says, lowering her gaze again. Then, in an even softer voice, she adds, “Miss Rook… thank you… Thank you for saving me.”

The way she says it, so serious and sincere, catches you off guard. It's not the first time someone has thanked you for saving their life, and it won't be the last, but seeing that sorrowful expression tugs at your heart. All you can think to do is give her a gentle pat on the back. That works, right? You're not exactly an expert in dealing with teenagers, but you're trying.

"You don't have to thank me. And stop calling me 'ma'am' makes me feel old," you joke. To your relief, JiJi smiles, her mood lightened by your spirit, and she nods.

For a moment, both of you sit in silence, eating in relative peace. Your mind, however, is already elsewhere; it never stays still. At any moment, someone might reach out to you. JiJi looks up and asks a question that pulls you back to the present.

"Do you know what day it is today?"

You frown, thinking for a moment. "Honestly... I think it's Tuesday. Why do you ask?"

JiJi presses her lips together, hesitating before responding. "I'm confused about the dates... that's all," she says, stammering at the end.

You cross your arms and observe her curiously. There must be more to it, but you have no idea what. "I'm not surprised, considering how you woke up. It seems you've been through a lot. But you're not alone, everyone here is struggling because of Eden's Gate." You grimace at the cult's name, as if uttering it brings misfortune.

JiJi furrows her brow, confused. "What's going on with Eden's Gate? Who are they?"

You sigh. It's not easy to summarize the hell the county has become, but you can't shield her from reality. She needs to know the truth if she wants to be free of this place. "Those people who tried to kidnap you are part of a cult," you explain, taking a spoonful of your food and chewing. "They've taken control of the entire county, and it's awful, I know. But we've managed to defend ourselves as best we can. Fall's End is safe; don't worry about that."

"A cult...? Are they bad?" JiJi blinks, as if trying to process the information, and asks again with an uncertain voice.

"Very bad. They've done horrible things to this place—things I wouldn't want to detail because they're too ugly," you respond seriously. What haven't they done in the Father's name? You lose your appetite just thinking about the things you've witnessed, crucifixions, murders, poisonings. It comforts you a bit to know you managed to rescue her from them. "Hey, you got out of there safe and sound, and that's already an achievement! Well, the Bliss is a nuisance, but you'll recover, I know it."

You barely finish speaking when JiJi suddenly stands up from the table, surprising you with her quick movement, almost mistaking it for a surprise attack. Your hand instinctively moves to your waist, where you keep your revolver.

"I need to go to the bathroom," JiJi says quickly, or rather urgently. You indicate the direction with your head and watch her walk away hurriedly, almost tripping in her rush to lock herself in the bathroom.

You rest your elbows on the table, watching where she locked herself in. Did you say it without tact? Did you drop too much information at once? You're not used to dealing with teenagers, but it can't be that complicated... You continue eating your food, thinking about how you found her. The poor girl was asking for her mother, and even mistook you for her. Poor thing. Where is her mother now? Dead? A Peggie? It's not like you can ask JiJi about her. You make a mental note to contact the militia and the Cougars to find out about JiJi's true identity.

JiJi locks herself inside the small bathroom with trembling hands, the sharp click of the door echoing in the stifling silence. Her breathing comes fast and shallow without her realizing it, her chest rising and falling in an erratic rhythm as her mind spins, desperate to find a logical explanation for what she’s living through. She wants to tear at her hair, scratch her arms, pinch herself until she leaves marks on her skin, anything that might wake her from this impossible nightmare. She wants to run, to escape far from this place that feels so alien, so strange, and yet… somehow, inexplicably, so familiar.

She braces herself against the sink, feeling its cold surface beneath her sweaty palms. She dares to lift her gaze, and there it is: her reflection in the mirror. Her face is a little dirty, her hair messy, desperation etched into every line of her expression. But that’s not what terrifies her most. The real horror is the certainty sinking into her chest like a poisoned thorn—what happened… or worse, what hasn’t happened yet.

She remembers the machine. That strange machine. This is her fault. If she hadn’t followed Ethan, if she hadn’t been so impulsive, she’d be home right now, in her own time, in her reality, instead of trapped in this temporal limbo that defies all logic. She presses her lips together and forces herself to meet her gaze in the mirror. She tries to motivate herself, to speak with resolve. She can do this. She has to do this.

But her determination crumbles in seconds. Her gaze falters, and before she can stop it, the tears begin to slip down her cheeks in silent streams. Who is she kidding? She misses home so much it hurts, a deep ache that steals her breath. Her mother had been right… She wasn’t ready. She was never ready. And now she’s here, stranded in a time that doesn’t belong to her, her heart knotted tight, with only the company of a woman who, though it seems like it, isn’t her mother. Or maybe she is… but from another time.

Does that even make sense? She asks herself silently, almost voiceless, as her reflection stares back from the bathroom mirror with red-rimmed eyes, dilated pupils, and a shadow of disbelief that won’t fade. Because the dreams have haunted her for as long as she can remember, like distant echoes, like scattered fragments of a puzzle impossible to solve. And now it all clicks, all at once, as if every image that chased her in the night, every strange flicker in her mind, every nightmare that didn’t seem hers had been warnings she’d chosen to ignore, refused to believe out of fear. Because there was something dark, something unknown hiding behind those visions, something her heart wasn’t ready to face.

But now, now that the truth floods in like an unstoppable torrent, she can’t hold it back anymore.

God showed me this, she whispers to herself, her voice trembling. God prepared me. God had let her glimpse what was coming. But knowing doesn’t bring comfort. Not when reality crashes down with cold brutality, with a certainty that crushes her, with a fate she can’t refuse. Because she’s here. Trapped in another time. In another world that doesn’t belong to her. In a year, she only knew through old photos and secondhand stories. In a 2018 so distant that even her older brother doesn’t exist yet hasn’t even been born, and that thought strikes her chest, knocks the breath from her lungs, makes her stagger as if her body can’t bear the weight of that revelation. As if the very walls around her are closing in.

She wants to let herself fall, to slide down to the floor, curl up in a corner, and sob until the tears turn into silent screams, until time itself shatters and takes her back home. But she knows she can’t, she mustn’t, because giving up is a luxury she was never allowed to have. Because her family doesn’t bend, doesn’t break. The Seeds are strong, they are resilient, they are unyielding. She repeats her Uncle Jake’s words to herself over and over again, the ones that, since she was a child, have been her anchor, her mantra, her invisible shield against the world. Because the Seeds aren’t weak; they’re warriors. And so is she, even if sometimes she doubts her strength, even if the tears threaten to spill again.

With an almost desperate movement, she turns on the faucet and splashes cold water on her face, feeling the chill race down her spine, forcing her to wake up, to focus, to regain control. And as she rubs her eyes hard, erasing every trace of tears, she takes a deep breath, forces herself to take a deep breath because she has to, because she’s a Seed. After all, she’s her mother’s daughter, and her mother is a warrior. And remembering that a version of her mother is here, just a few meters away, gives her a quiet, warm hope, small but powerful. Because if she’s here, if her mother is here, then maybe not everything is lost. Maybe there’s a reason for all of this. Maybe she can find answers.

A warrior, she repeats in her mind. A warrior can handle this. A warrior can find a way. A warrior doesn’t run. And if her family taught her anything, it’s that no matter how dark the path gets, there’s always a way forward. There’s always a way to fight.

But then, a thought strikes her like lightning, so sudden and fierce it knocks the breath out of her. Her hand flies to her chest as if she needs to hold her own heart in place to keep it from racing away. Because if this is the past, if her mother is here, then her father must be here too. And her uncles. And her aunt. They must all be here, somewhere in the county. And the idea shakes her, ignites a spark of hope so intense it nearly burns her from the inside out. Because her father is here. Her father could understand her. Her father could help her, could hold her and tell her that everything’s going to be okay, that she’s not alone.

She straightens up suddenly, a smile blossoming on her lips as she grabs a piece of paper and dries her face. How didn’t she think of this before? How didn’t she see it? Her family is closer than she ever imagined, more within reach than she ever dared dream.

But just as her hand brushes the door handle, something inside her stops, like an invisible thread pulling her back, like a shadow clouding her mind. And doubt settles in her chest, thick and sharp, because she remembers what you told her, remembers who it was that almost kidnapped her, remembers that name.

The Gate of Eden.

That name echoes in her mind like a distant whisper, like an old bell vibrating in her bones. Something she’s heard before. Something she can’t quite place but that sends a shiver down her spine. Because she doesn’t know exactly what it means, but she senses it’s not good, that it’s not safe, that there’s something dangerous behind those words, something that sets her on edge.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, hand frozen on the door, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, but time seems to have stopped, and her mind is so overwhelmed she can’t decide. She doesn’t know if she should follow you, if she should look for her father, if she should run far away, or stay right where she is. Because what is happening in this county? What’s surrounding her? What secrets are hidden in this place that feels so familiar and yet so strange all at once?

She hesitates, because even though she longs to see her father, even though every fiber of her being urges her to seek him out, to run to him, to find refuge in his arms, the words she heard from her family echo as warnings in her memory. She knows that her father and you never got along before the Collapse, that there was something between you two greater than love, greater than resentment, a rift impossible to mend, a silent war that ended only when the world did. And although her father always spoke of you with measured words when referring to the you before the Collapse, with a mix of frustration and sadness, he also admitted that they tried again and again to reach out to you, but they never could, because you were already too far gone, too broken, too lost.

And now that she knows you a little, now that she's by your side, she doesn't see the anger they spoke of, she doesn't see hatred or rage, she doesn't see the darkness that supposedly consumed you. What she sees in you is something else, something that hurts but also brings peace, because even though you're not her mother, even though you can't be, there's something in you that is the same, something that vibrates on the same frequency, something that makes her feel that somehow, somewhere, you are the same person. And that's why she doesn't want to leave you, doesn't want to let go, even though part of her cries out to run to her father, even though she knows he's a fundamental pillar in her life.

Being with you, even if it hurts, even if it confuses, also makes her feel less alone and abandoned. And even if she doesn't have all the answers, even if fear still grips her heart, she decides to stay, decides that she won't let go just yet.

You noticed it the moment she came out of the bathroom; there was no need for her to say anything. JiJi had been crying, it was evident even though she tried to hide it, even though she sat back down beside you pretending nothing had happened, feigning normalcy. Of course, you saw it in her eyes, those slightly reddened and swollen eyes that spoke for themselves, and you couldn't blame her for it, because everything is too much.

The two of you eat in silence, a silence that gradually becomes uncomfortable, a silence that weighs heavily, filling the room even as you try to ignore it. Meanwhile, JiJi barely touches her food, merely plays with it, pushes pieces of bread with her fork, and chews without appetite. Suddenly, she breaks the silence with a confession that sounds small, fragile, almost as if she fears you'll judge her: "Sorry... for not remembering who I am," she says softly, with a sadness that breaks your heart, and you feel an almost instinctive urge to hug her, to protect her from everything.

"Hey, hey, no, you don't have to apologize," you respond gently, trying to sound firm but also warm. "It's just a matter of time, okay?... A matter of time and recovery. You're going to remember something; you don't have to be afraid of that. You're not alone, JiJi... Jerome and I are here to support you, really, damn... I feel like all of Fall's End is here to help you, because we protect our own, always."

"Thank you," JiJi whispers with a shy smile as she looks you straight in the eyes. Seeing her like this, with that small spark of light finally beginning to shine in her blue gaze, you can't help but smile too, because it's contagious, because it's hopeful.

When you finish breakfast, you accompany her to the exit of the Spread Eagle, walking together as she takes a deep breath, as if trying to memorize this moment. Outside, Mary May introduces herself to a somewhat nervous JiJi, who nonetheless thanks her for the hospitality with sweet and sincere politeness. Then you wonder if she'll go straight to the church in Fall's End, because Jerome's offer seems too good, too tempting to refuse.

But before she could walk away, JiJi musters her courage and calls out to you, her voice steadier, more determined, though the tremor still lingers beneath her words: “Mrs. Rook… you’re a cop, right? Please… I want to go with you.” And you turn to look at her, finding that mix of fear and bravery in her expression that’s utterly endearing, and you offer her an almost motherly smile.

“Maybe another time, kiddo,” you reply warmly, though with a firmness that makes it clear it’s non-negotiable. “What I do… It’s really dangerous, and” you step closer and gently tap her forehead, where a faint trace of dried mud still lingers, joking, “You’re still recovering, I bet you’ve still got some Bliss in your system, don’t lie to me.” Because even though you smile, deep down you know it’s true.

JiJi lowers her head, a little embarrassed, maybe disappointed, but at the same time understanding, accepting the refusal with a maturity you didn’t expect. After murmuring a quiet apology, she heads toward the church, walking away little by little as you watch her with a mixture of relief and worry, raising your hand to wave goodbye, silently hoping she’ll be safe here because even though you’d love to take her with you on your adventures, you know risking her life right now wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be right, because she’s surely already been through enough.

The church of Fall’s End is beautiful, JiJi thinks as she approaches with tired but determined steps, still carrying her backpack, grateful to the heavens she hasn’t lost it because inside it is everything she has left, her entire world reduced to a few personal belongings and her bow, which, though damaged, is still more or less intact, an extension of herself, of who she was and who she is now. And as she climbs the church steps, feeling the wood creak beneath her boots, she crosses herself silently as she sets foot inside because even though she doesn’t know what she’s hoping to find, it’s still a temple, still God’s house, and that gesture learned from her father is almost a reflex, as if crossing herself were an invisible shield against everything around her.

But she doesn’t see what she expected; she doesn’t see people kneeling in prayer, she doesn’t see lit candles or devout hymns. Instead, she sees an improvised refuge; she sees how the pews have been removed and turned into cots, into makeshift operating tables, into places where the wounded rest or suffer; she sees bloodstained bandages, IV bottles hanging from ropes tied to the ceiling, people running back and forth carrying medicine or water some wearing bulletproof vests, others holding weapons that look too heavy for their thin frames. And though part of her feels out of place, there’s also a strange sense of belonging, because everyone here is surviving, like her; everyone here is resisting, like her; everyone here carries an invisible cross that binds them together, even if they don’t know each other.

JiJi looks around, uneasy, her eyes trying to take in every detail, every face, every wound, every scar on the walls, not quite sure where to go, feeling small amid the organized chaos until she spots Mr. Jeffries in the back, talking to other men wearing bulletproof vests and hardened expressions shaped by the situation. With steps firm yet trembling, she walks through the church, still crossing herself as she passes near the altar, even though there’s no cross, even though the symbol that should be there is glaringly absen,t because her father taught her to always be respectful, always be polite, no matter what happens. And that small gesture is her way of clinging to something familiar, to something that connects her to home.

Mr. Jeffries greets her with a tired but genuine smile, pleased to see her willingness to help, and explains the basics: for now, they need hands to tend to the newly rescued wounded, there's no time for more questions, only action. JiJi nods, not daring to question him, because even though her mind is buzzing with questions, she’d rather not know, rather not confirm what she already suspects. Something inside her tells her that if she asks, if she digs deeper, she won’t like the answers.

Under Mr. Jeffries’ supervision, she assists a man lying semi-conscious, barely breathing, murmuring unintelligible words. When she uncovers his wounded chest, when she sees the torn flesh, the ripped skin, the dry blood mixed with fresh, she gasps involuntarily, a strangled sound she barely manages to stifle. She’s used to seeing injuries, she’s seen them in her family, on her skin, but never anything this raw, this violent. For a moment, she feels her hands might tremble, that she won’t be able to go through with it. But Mr. Jeffries instructs her on what to do, hands her bandages, explains how to press, how to clean, how to wrap the wound, and JiJi obeys, focusing on his directions, forcing herself not to think, not to feel, only to act because if she lets the emotion flood in, she will break.

“Who would do something like this…?” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath, not even realizing she’s spoken aloud, directed only at Mr. Jeffries, just for him, because she fears the answer, but needs to hear it.

The man looks at her with deep seriousness, his face hardened by the county’s consequences, by too many losses, and as he finishes securing the bandage around the bleeding torso, he answers in a grave, almost resigned voice, “This was the work of one of the Seeds, no doubt about it… and judging by the type of cut, I’d say it was John.”

JiJi feels the air leave her lungs, her heart sinking in her chest. She almost drops the blood-soaked cloth in her hands, nearly lets everything fall because those words make no sense, because they can’t make sense. He’s not talking about just any man he’s talking about her Uncle John, her uncle who taught her to read and write, who gave her her first model airplane, who held her at her christening with a tenderness she still remembers, her uncle who laughed with the twin brothers as he poured water over their little heads to baptize them. How can that man be the same one who did this ?

“I don’t understand… why would he do something like this…?” she asks, confused, almost childlike because even though she knows she sounds naive, even though the answer should be obvious, she just can’t grasp it, can’t fit the pieces together, can’t accept that the man she knows and loves is capable of such cruelty, such needless violence.

Mr. Jeffries stays silent for a moment, as if he’s wondering the same thing, as if deep down he wishes he could understand too. But only the members of that cult know the dark reasons behind their actions, only they understand the twisted motives that guide them. Finally, with patience, he speaks to her, like someone explaining a painful but necessary truth: “Rook told you about the Gate of Eden, right?”

JiJi nods, waiting, clinging to his words.

“It’s a family that leads them, the Seeds… they’ve put the whole county at war. And the territory you’re in? That belongs to the youngest, John… he’s the Baptist, the one who handles the cleansing of sins. If you’re lucky, he just tattoos your sin on you. But if you resist, if you refuse, if you fight… he does this.” He gestures solemnly toward the man’s bandaged chest.

JiJi looks again at the sleeping man, at his chest wrapped in bandages, at the blood that still drips slowly, and Mr. Jeffries’ words keep echoing in her mind, bouncing around with no way out, screaming at her to deny it, to insist that her uncle would never do such a thing, that there must be an explanation, because it can’t be true it can’t be her Uncle John, it just can’t… And yet, here she is, in a world where everything she thought she knew is falling apart, where the Gate of Eden is not just a symbol but a brutal reality, and she is the outsider, the one who doesn’t belong, the one who doesn’t understand, the one who doesn’t fit.

Mr. Jeffries gives her space, silent, believing the weight of the information has overwhelmed her. He rises to speak into the radio while JiJi looks away, swallowing her tears, feeling a knot in her throat that threatens to break her, because the Gate of Eden is her family, her blood, her history and now also… her greatest conflict.

Joseph wakes slowly, startled by a familiar sound cutting through his sleep, the cries of his children, both wailing at the same time, their voices blending into an anguished chorus that drags him from his drowsiness. And though exhaustion weighs down his eyelids and his body aches for more rest, he doesn’t hesitate for even a second. He gets up, bare feet dragging across the cold floor until he reaches the cribs, where his little ones flail their tiny arms in desperation. Without thinking, he scoops them up, one on each side, rocking them gently as his heart, aching with worry, also fills with that overwhelming tenderness only felt when holding your children, those small, fragile lives, so innocent, so utterly dependent on his arms.

He recognizes the crying instantly; he’s already learned to tell the difference. Every sound has its meaning, and these aren’t hunger cries, nor the fussing of a dirty diaper. No, these are cries of unease, something deep, a restless wailing, as if their tiny souls sense something he can’t yet see. The thought makes him hold them tighter, his embrace instinctive, almost primal, as he sits on the edge of the bed and rocks them, whispering.

“Shhh, it’s okay, babies. I’m here, Daddy’s here with you. Everything’s fine, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he murmurs with a gentleness that contrasts with his deep voice. And as he speaks, he feels his chest ease just a little, as though by saying it out loud, he’s also trying to convince his own heart that everything is fine, even though, deep down, a shadow of doubt begins to settle, a suspicion he can’t quite shake. He’s lost count of how many times he’s been woken in the night for them, how many times he’s paced this same room, carrying them, soothing them, rocking them until their sobs turn into sighs. And though he knows some men would complain, who would lament the sleepless nights, he doesn’t. He has no regrets for every lost hour of sleep, because he adores this stage, this brief, precious window when his children still fit perfectly in his arms, when he can still cradle and protect them. Because he knows, with a painful kind of certainty, that they grow up too fast, that one day they won’t want to be held, that one day those arms will reach for new horizons, and that’s why every moment stolen from sleep is worth it.

He sings them a song, a simple, old melody, but one filled with love, and for a moment, he feels it’s working, that their tiny breaths begin to steady. But soon he realizes it’s not enough. Because even though their little bodies slowly relax, the crying doesn’t stop completely, as if they’re seeking him out more out of habit than true comfort, as if it’s not his presence they need. And Joseph understands it feels it with painful clarity. He knows he’s not the one they’re looking for; it’s not his voice they want to hear, not his arms they long for. It’s their mother, their mother who isn’t here, whose absence weighs even on these little hearts. And though he keeps trying to soothe them, managing only to quiet their sobs down to soft hiccups, he knows it’s a gap he can’t fill, not completely.

As he rocks them, his thoughts drifting between tenderness and worry, an idea crosses his mind—an idea that’s visited him on other nights like this. He should talk to his wife. He should suggest she not take such long expeditions, that she stay closer to home, at least while the babies are still this small, this needy, so dependent on her warmth. Because these cherubs, these little angels, need their mother, too. They seek her, they wait for her, and it’s not fair that her absence leaves them with this quiet sadness they can’t even name.

The bedroom door bursts open suddenly, with a sharp, quick, urgent bang, and Joseph looks up, his eyes meeting the figure of John, hurrying inside his younger brother, brow furrowed and mouth pressed into a tight line. Behind him, Jacob follows, his presence quieter but just as heavy with tension. And the moment Joseph sees their faces, a chill races down his spine. It’s not normal for both of them to come in like this, together, with that seriousness, with that bottled urgency, and he knows instantly that something’s wrong, that something serious has happened.

This doesn’t look good, he thinks, as he slowly rises to his feet, still holding the babies in his arms, his gaze fixed on John, waiting for the words he’s dreading to hear.

“Joseph, something’s happened,” John begins, his voice fast, uneven, as if the words are hard to get out. “There was an ambush. The expedition was attacked. Ian just got back to deliver the message; they arrived only a few minutes ago…” he explains, no sugar-coating, straight to the point, and Joseph feels the blood drain from his veins.

“Was anyone hurt? Where’s my wife? Where’s my son?” Joseph demands, his words sharp with urgency, his heart pounding hard against his ribs as he pulls the babies tighter to his chest, as if holding them close could somehow shield them from the news he fears is coming. And though he fights to stay calm, he already knows the answer won’t be simple.

“They’re okay… at least that’s what we know so far. But they haven’t returned yet, they’re still out there searching. The group scattered during the attack,” John replies. But before he can say more, Jacob cuts in, his voice lower, but carrying a weight that slices through the room like a knife.

“JiJi is missing,” Jacob reveals bluntly, his face serious, unflinching, like someone who fully grasps the gravity of the situation but refuses to let fear show. “That’s the real problem.”

Joseph feels the air leave his lungs, feels those words sink deep, JiJi… his JiJi… his little one, his baby, missing, lost. And something inside him twists, a surge of fear, rage, and desperate love. Without a word, without asking for further explanation, he leans down and gently lays his children back into their cribs. He kisses each one quickly on the forehead, closing his eyes for a brief second as he whispers a silent prayer. Then, with steady but quiet steps, he walks out of the room, his brothers following close behind, not questioning him, because they know that silence says more than words ever could.

He pushes open JiJi’s bedroom door and looks inside. Empty. The bed was untouched, the blanket neatly folded, no trace of her presence. And that absence, so stark, so palpable, confirms what his heart already feared. And though part of him isn’t surprised, because as the man who gave her life, as the father who has known her since the moment she opened her eyes, he knows JiJi has inherited too much from her mother. That same rebellious blood runs strong in her veins. It’s no secret that both mother and daughter share the same sin: pushing limits, going beyond, believing they can carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. His JiJi, his little girl, is proud, stubborn, brave to the point of recklessness, a child who believes, with dangerous conviction, that she can follow in her mother’s and older brother’s footsteps. That she doesn’t need permission. That she doesn’t need protection. And Joseph, standing there, staring at that empty bed, feels his heart pounding hard, because even though he admires her, respects her, and is proud of her unbreakable spirit, he also knows that same strength puts her in danger. And now, as night closes in around his home and the silence grows heavier, he realizes his little girl has crossed a line, a line she may not have been ready to cross alone.

Before Joseph can say another word, another figure rushes toward them, Faith, her face tight with worry, her usual calm and sweetness replaced by a deep, unsettling anxiety. Her breath is uneven, betraying how fast she must have come, likely after hearing what was happening. Her voice trembles but stays firm as she blurts out the news that seems to burn on her tongue.

“Brothers, Ethan’s back… he has news,” she announces, her tone sharp, urgent, so charged with tension that it makes the Seed brothers exchange a look of immediate understanding. No words are needed—they know there’s no time to waste. Without hesitation, they leave Joseph’s home behind, stepping out of the warm light inside and into the cool night, where people are already gathering. The tense, worried faces of the other faithful show that news of the ambush has spread like wildfire, and now the whole place seems to hold its breath, bracing for the worst, dreading whatever the shadows might bring.

There, at the entrance of the community, stood Ethan. The boy was breathing through his mouth, gasping heavily, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath. He had probably run the entire way back from the point where they'd left him, and when he saw his uncles and father, his brow knotted and hardened with worry, softened slightly, as if finding them there gave him a brief moment of relief amid the storm.

“Father…” he finally said, his voice heavy with exhaustion and relief. Joseph didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate; he stepped forward and embraced him tightly, wrapping him in a hug that said more than words ever could, deeply grateful and profoundly relieved to see him alive, to feel his warmth, to know that, at least for now, his eldest son was safe.

“Son… where’s JiJi? And your mother? Where are the others?” Joseph asked, his tone a mixture of tenderness and worry, his mind already weaving possible scenarios, while his arms refused to let go of his firstborn, wanting to hold on to that one certainty.

“The others made it back safely,” Ethan began, lowering his gaze, his breathing still uneven. “But JiJi’s whereabouts are still unknown. Mom said she’d find her…” he admitted, and those words made Joseph’s heart clench with a mixture of anguish and dread, as if an invisible fist had begun to squeeze his soul.

“Why didn’t you help her…?” Jacob cut in, his voice sharp and hard, unable to hide the disapproval boiling inside him, his eyes fixed on Ethan with an intensity that seemed to pierce through him.

“She… she said she’d find her on her own,” Ethan replied, swallowing hard, uncomfortable under his uncle’s harsh gaze. “She told me to tell you… she wouldn’t come back until she found JiJi…” he finished, his words falling like heavy stones into the tense silence around them, each syllable feeding the worry already consuming them.

Joseph listened in silence, his brow deeply furrowed, eyes locked on some distant point as he desperately searched within himself for a sign, a word, a guide, hoping God would speak to him in that moment, show him the path to take. But there was no answer, no heavenly whisper, only the strong, painful pounding of his own heart that, despite the divine silence, screamed at him that he couldn’t stay still, that he couldn’t wait, that his daughter needed him. And even though, deep in his soul, he understood that maybe all of this was part of a greater plan, his protective instinct, his love as a father, was stronger, pushing him to leave immediately, to ignore any order or caution, driven only by the burning urgency to bring his little girl home.

“Your mother is so damn stubborn…” Jacob muttered, shaking his head, his tone thick with frustration and disapproval, equally displeased with his sister-in-law’s orders, his gaze hardened by worry. “Josh… go get the Judges,” he then ordered his nephew, his voice firm and commanding. Ethan, understanding the seriousness of the command instantly, nodded without protest and bolted toward the area where the animals were kept, the loyal, trained canines bred to track and hunt, disappearing quickly into the shadows as the night wind carried with it the promise of a long and dangerous night.

Chapter Text

It’s dark, but for JiJi, it isn’t the kind of darkness that frightens her. It’s the kind that wraps around you like a heavy blanket. It feels as if the world has chosen to go quiet for a moment. JiJi blinks and realizes she’s there again, in that endless field surrounded by distant mountains resting like sleeping giants. The night sky glows faintly with a purple hue, and the air is warm, filled with a scent she doesn’t recognize but finds refreshing. Her bare feet touch the damp grass, which tickles her slightly, and for a moment, she thinks this might be one of those soft dreams, the kind where she can rest a little. No shocks, no strange voices calling her name, no lightning striking her. Just peace.

But when she turns around fully, her eyes catch something beyond. A light flickering like a distant lighthouse. She squints and sees it. A small island rises from the middle of a river, bathed in a white glow. Without thinking, she starts walking. The water before her is calm and reflects her image. She’s wearing the same clothes she fell asleep in. Her face looks tired. Her hair is down. But she doesn’t feel cold when she touches the water. She feels no weight, no resistance, because instead of sinking, her feet move forward as if the river were solid ground. Each step is steady but slow, as though the world itself is opening the way for her.

There are no clear thoughts, only that constant hum at the back of her mind. It’s like a song she can’t remember but has always known. A murmur that soothes her, that guides her, that whispers she must keep going, that she must reach the island, that something she needs to see is waiting there. Something she must know. Something hidden beyond dreams.

When her feet touch the soil of the island, they don’t get dirty. The mud doesn’t cling to her, as if she doesn’t fully belong to the world she’s walking on. Still, she continues. Her eyes move across the figures around her. They seem to be people walking, praying, and working in silence. But no one looks at her. It’s as if no one can hear her. She realizes she’s invisible, like a ghost wandering without a name or body. For a moment, she wonders if she’s no longer dreaming. Suppose she’s crossed a deeper threshold of the dream. Because this feels different, it feels more real, with the smell in the air and the warmth of the great bonfires.

In front of her rises a white building, pristine. A church like the ones from before the Collapse, like the ones she’s only seen in books or her parents’ stories. At the top, a flag waves. She looks at it carefully, and her breath catches. It’s the flag of the United States, but something is different. It bears the symbols of New Eden, the same ones found in her home, on the walls of the dining hall, and the doors of the sanctuary. And for the first time, she stops. Her heart beats harder. She can’t help but feel confused, staring at the flag, clean and fluttering in the breeze.

She walks toward the door without thinking of knocking, without asking herself if she’s allowed to enter. She simply opens it and walks in, as if the place had been waiting for her. The first thing she hears is the singing. Voices rising like smoke, filling the air with a fervor that sends chills across her skin. The church is full of people. The faithful sing with closed eyes and raised hands, unaware of her presence. And though the words are unfamiliar, the melody is not. It’s too familiar. Like the hymns she used to sing with her mother, her brothers, her uncles, under firelight, when silence was broken only to honor God.

JiJi walks down the central aisle. The pews beside her are full of living shadows that cannot see her. Her breathing grows faster, and a strange unease builds in her chest. Something here is different. Something is calling to her in silence. A tingling sensation spreads across her body, frightening her, but she cannot stop walking.

Then she sees him. At the end, in front of the altar. A hunched figure on his knees, his back bare, covered in tattoos that seem to breathe, to move, as if they had a life of their own. He speaks out loud, his voice making her skin crawl.

"I can feel it... It's here... It’s with me, my children!"

JiJi draws closer. Each step was slower than the last. His voice vibrates through her bones. She recognizes it before she fully sees him. That voice. That tone. That strength that only appears when the voice possesses him. And yet, something about this feels off.

JiJi slowly extends her hand, barely brushing his bare shoulder. The skin is warm and pulsing. Then suddenly, he turns sharply, locking his eyes on her. For a moment, JiJi feels that everything around her stops. The singing and the light, the enveloping hum, everything is suspended in the air, frozen in the moment.

JiJi gasps, steps back in shock, and pales at the man standing before her.

He has the face of her father, but not the one she knows. Not the man who has hugged her a thousand times, who has sung softly into her ear, who lifted her in his arms when she was a child. Not the one who gently brushes her hair and tells her every day that he loves her. This is someone else, someone younger, with a fiercer gaze, a body and mind illuminated, with eyes that glow and a stare so heavy it feels like he can see through her. He frightens her, yet he intrigues her. He is someone else, and yet… he is still him.

“Dad…?” JiJi whispers, barely audible, her voice carrying a mix of fear and wonder. There’s doubt in her eyes; she has never seen anything like this in her dreams before, only voices and fleeting fragments. This feels so real, as if they could truly see her and feel her presence.

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t recognize her. His expression is impossible to define, yet JiJi has seen it before. His lips part slightly.

“…daughter?” he asks, almost in a breath, as if he doesn’t know why that word comes so naturally, as if he has dreamed it before.

JiJi opened her eyes with a jolt, gasping, as though she had just surfaced from the depths of a frozen lake. The transition was so sudden, and yet she still remembers it perfectly, the whisper, the gaze of that version of her father. It took her several seconds to realize she wasn’t dying. She had only choked on her saliva. She coughed, slightly embarrassed, her chest tight with distress, her throat burning, as involuntary tears streamed down her cheeks from the struggle to breathe. But they were not tears of fear; they were the aftermath of that strange dream. It had never happened before. Talking to people in her dreams, touching them, and having them look back at her as if it weren’t a dream.

Upon waking, what hurt the most wasn’t the soreness in her body from sleeping on the hard ground. It was the vast emptiness left by her dream, a blow of reality so brutal it carved a hollow space inside her that she didn’t know how to fill.

She sat up slowly, still wrapped in her sleeping bag, and looked around. She was inside the church of Fall’s End. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional murmur of someone talking in their sleep or the creak of old wood. Everyone was asleep, lying in uneven rows like exhausted soldiers after a battle. Some held their weapons even as they slept, as if expecting to be attacked in their dreams. She had her knife beside her. She stared at it for a moment. The dream had not faded from her mind as quickly as others. It had imprinted itself on her in a way even she couldn’t understand. Was it melancholy? Sadness?

Carefully, she rose from her sleeping bag. Her muscles protested with stiffness, but she didn’t complain. She tiptoed between sleeping bodies, weaving past backpacks, rifles, and scattered boots as if she were crossing a minefield. The church’s main doors were open, letting in the cool air of dawn.

Stepping outside, she paused at the threshold. The town’s main street was quiet but guarded. Improvised watch posts pointed floodlights toward the entrances, and on a rooftop above, a figure moved with a rifle in hand. JiJi observed everything, soaking in every detail. She was struck by how different the past was and, at the same time, how beautiful. The sky was clear and full of stars. The houses still standing glowed under the soft moonlight, and the nearby trees whispered in the breeze. JiJi still couldn’t fully believe she was in some version of the past. One that felt so alive when she looked out at what once was Hope County.

She took a deep breath. The fresh air distracted her. Part of her wanted to explore and understand how the world used to be. But another part just wanted to go back home, where everything made more sense and the world was smaller. Here, she felt like an ant in a peaceful, vast, and unfamiliar world.

“Is something wrong, JiJi?”

The voice startled her. She gave a little jump and turned around. Sitting by the entrance was you, her mother. Not exactly as she remembers you, but a younger version. Still, your voice… your voice had the same sweetness with which you always woke her in the middle of the night. “What is it, my girl?” “Can’t sleep, baby?” “Did you have another bad dream, JiJi?” Those phrases returned with force, crashing against her chest like waves against a shore already worn down by nostalgia.

She stared at you, eyes wide, trying to keep the emotion from shaking her voice. “I can’t sleep,” she admitted, almost in a whisper.

“Then that makes two of us,” you replied with a tired smile, moving the rifle you were holding between your legs to the side and patting the wooden bench beside you. “Come, sit.”

She did so without much thought, letting herself fall beside you without saying anything else. The silence that settled between you wasn’t uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt comforting, as if simply being together was enough to quiet the noise in her head.

Your hands still held the rifle, fingers tense, but your face was relaxed as you looked out at the horizon. JiJi glanced at the weapon with a certain fascination. She had never touched a real gun. In her community, they were forbidden objects, symbols of the old world and the Collapse itself. But seeing you with one stirred something inside her, a quiet curiosity.

“Nightmares?” you asked without looking at her, your voice calm but firm, as if you already knew the answer.

JiJi nodded. “Yeah… they’re awful. It’s like the dream drags me into something I don’t understand. Sometimes it’s just darkness. Other times… I see things. But this time, I saw people. This time it felt really real.” She tried to describe it without revealing too much.

“I understand,” you said without judgment. “I don’t sleep much either. But you should, you know. Living on fear alone isn’t good for you.” You smiled at her gently, trying to be strong for her.

Maybe it was your protective instinct, or maybe it was something else, something about her that moved you. You didn’t have any siblings, and you certainly weren’t used to taking care of someone so much younger than you. But with JiJi, it felt different, as if life had suddenly cast you in the role of older sister. And you accepted it with surprising ease.

“Have you remembered anything else?” you asked, this time with a more serious tone.

JiJi lowered her gaze. “A little. But not much… I still don’t fully remember my family. Just… feelings. Fragments.” JiJi lied. She never liked lying. In her community, it was considered nearly a sin. And it was nearly impossible to lie to her mother, who always seemed to smell the lies. But now she looked at you, waiting to see if you knew she wasn’t telling the truth.

Your smile faded, almost imperceptibly. Inside, a quiet voice whispered that her family probably hadn’t survived. But how could you tell her? How do you take hope away without breaking someone’s soul?

So you decided to change the subject. “Jerome told me you helped this afternoon. That you saved a couple of the wounded. I didn’t know I’d rescued such a capable nurse. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. I want to help too…” JiJi answered, then fell silent for a few seconds before adding, “I did what I could. Some of them were bad off. One of them… he looked at me like he was already saying goodbye.”

“These aren’t good times,” you replied, and that was the only truth you allowed yourself to say out loud.

There was a pause. Then JiJi looked at you, a little cautiously. “Is it because of the Gate of Eden?” Her question was sincere. There was no judgment in it, only a deep need to understand what no one in her home had ever wanted to explain. And now that she was seeing it with her own eyes, everything felt more confusing.

“Yes… partly. It’s complicated, and I’m pretty new around here myself. But this… this holy war… it didn’t start yesterday,” you tried to explain.

“How long has it been going on?”

“Years,” you said with a sigh, eyes fixed on the horizon. “I don’t know the full story, but… the Seeds came here intending to stay. And not everyone was willing to let them.”

JiJi nodded silently. The night continued unfolding as the two of you, separated by generations, worlds, and time, shared a moment of truth in the middle of chaos. For a moment, you seemed like mother and daughter again. Or something even stranger, two souls that had somehow found each other again, even if the universe had no way to explain it.

Your eyes rested on JiJi, noticing how silence had taken hold of her after what you’d just said, as if your words had triggered a storm of thoughts in her mind. The frown forming slowly between her eyebrows didn’t bode well. For a moment, you felt an urgent need to pull her out of that inner darkness she seemed to be sinking into. You couldn’t stand to see her like this, so quiet, so far from the curious girl you’d just met.

A small spark of an idea flickered in your head, a warm, spontaneous impulse full of tenderness and mischief that you followed without hesitation. You brought your fingers to your lips and whistled sharply, a crisp sound that sliced through the evening air.

JiJi turned her head quickly, startled not so much by the sound itself but by the familiarity it stirred within her. Something deep, something buried. Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted slightly as the pieces came together, as if she had just seen a ghost. Because it wasn’t just any whistle, it was that whistle. The same one you or her version of you from the future used with perfect precision. For some reason she couldn’t quite explain, a spark of melancholy ignited in her chest.

“What was that?” she asks with a smile that tries to be light, though still filled with wonder.

You don’t answer with words. The response comes in the form of paws pounding against the earth with overflowing excitement.

A dog comes running at full speed, throwing himself joyfully at your side, almost skidding to a stop. He’s a whirlwind of energy, eyes glowing with joy, tongue lolling out of his mouth. “JiJi, let me introduce you to the most handsome dog in all of Hope County,” you declare with theatrical pride, while the animal barks happily, as if he knows he’s being formally presented. The dog leans into your touch without hesitation, pushing his muzzle under your hand before trotting over to JiJi and sniffing her curiously while you speak to him softly. “Boomer, this is JiJi.”

JiJi blinks a few times, taken aback by the dog’s energy and sweetness, and without thinking, kneels to pet him. The feel of his warm, soft fur comforts her more than she expected, as if with that simple gesture, the weight of everything she’s living through becomes a little more bearable. A smile time more genuine form on her face, without her even realizing it. Her fingers sink into his back, and as she pets him, a memory surfaces: her Uncle Jake, patiently teaching her how to handle Judges, how to speak to them, how to earn their loyalty, and how she and her siblings would later play with the obedient, gentle pups as if they belonged to another species entirely.

Boomer is nothing like those Judges, not in body or spiritbut there’s a shared tenderness that links them in her mind. JiJi looks up and meets your gaze, and something in her expression changes. One of the Judges in her time was named Boomer the Second. And now, she finally understands why. There’s something beautiful in meeting the first, in knowing where it all came from. Her smile widens, laced with emotion, while the dog keeps wagging his tail excitedly.

“It’s a nice name… Boomer,” she whispers, but her voice gets lost in the tangle of thoughts inside her. There are so many things I don’t know about you, Mom. So many stories no one’s told me yet.

“Well, looks like he likes you,” you comment with a smile, watching their interaction, noticing the shift in her posture, her face, her eyes. “He’s a great battle companion… though don’t expect him to be very stealthy,” you add with a light laugh that lifts the weight of the moment. And to your surprise, JiJi laughs too. One of those small, real laughs, like a sprout breaking through fertile ground.

For a moment, the atmosphere grows warmer, more human, as if the shadows recede just enough to let a little peace in. JiJi is no longer sweating or shaking. Her breathing has steadied. But her mind is still working, still weaving questions that burn deep inside her. There’s so much she wants to know how this woman, her mother from a past timeline, survived so much, how she became such a respected leader, how she remained strong through all the chaos. But above all… where is her father? What is he doing? Is he still alive? Is he still the man she remembers?

“Hey… Miss Rook,” JiJi’s voice is softer now, but carries an urgent tone, the sound of someone searching for more than just answers. You turn to her, giving her your full attention. “Sorry to keep asking, but… are the Seeds as bad as people say?” There’s the tiniest glimmer of hope in her voice, a plea disguised as curiosity. She doesn’t want the answer to break her, though she fears it will.

You sigh not because you don’t know what to say, but because some truths are easy to speak and hard to hear.

“Look, JiJi…” you begin, trying to choose your words carefully, but in the end, you go with honesty. “I don’t want to get into too much detail, but let’s just say the Seeds… they’re dangerous people. The kind I’d never want you to run into. Not ever.”

JiJi tightens her jaw just slightly, her brow furrowing again with a bitter mix of disbelief, discomfort… and pain.

“What kind of people…?” Her voice is lower now, but also sharper. Boomer remains by her side, still wagging his tail, but she’s no longer paying attention to him.

You meet her eyes, and this time, you don’t soften the truth.

“Monsters,” you say coldly, without hesitation.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with unspoken meaning. JiJi doesn’t respond, doesn’t argue, doesn’t cry out or defend them. Instead, she lowers her gaze to Boomer, stroking his head with a mechanical softness, seeking comfort in something that can’t fully give it back. Your words have opened a crack inside her, one that begins to spill out in the form of a tight knot in her throat, in the pressure behind her eyes that signals the tears she’s trying not to shed.

She’s alone. In a past that isn’t hers. With a mother who, for now, hates everything she knows, everything she loves, everything that makes up her identity. What if she told her that one day… she too would become a Seed? What would happen then? Would you still look at her the same way? Would you call her a monster, too?

The thought makes something inside her falter. It leaves her shaken and lost, as if her very self were beginning to unravel. Because if here and now, her mother sees the Seeds as monsters… then what place is left for her in this world that doesn’t even recognize her yet?

A sudden, wet lick on her cheek pulls her out of the dark spiral without warning. JiJi blinks, startled, shaking her head gently, and finds herself staring into Boomer’s bright, affectionate eyes. He watches her like he can read exactly what she’s feeling, as if he knows she needed something as simple as a genuine gesture of love. Instinctively, her fingers sink into the dog’s fur, petting him with a near-desperate fervor, as if his touch anchors her to something real, something kind and solid amid the chaos of this strange, shifting time.

She doesn’t notice the way her expression softens, the smile that slips onto her face as she watches his wagging tail and hanging tongue. Boomer offers her a kind of comfort no human could give her right now.

“I saw you have a bow,” you say suddenly, in a casual tone as you shift the rifle over your shoulder and sit closer, pretending not to be watching her every move. “You into archery? Do you hunt, or is it just for style?”

The question catches JiJi off guard both the topic and your sudden tone, and for a second, she blinks in confusion, as if she had forgotten she was even carrying a bow on her back. Still, she’s thankful for the change in subject. She needed that, needed to escape the judgment, the image you just gave her of her own family.

“Uh… I think I know how to hunt,” she replies with a slightly shy smile, glancing down at her hands, now resting on Boomer’s back. “Someone important to me taught me… I just don’t remember who.” Her voice grows quieter at the end, like admitting that it hurts her. She doesn’t like lying.

You fall silent for a few seconds, humming softly under your breath, a habit of yours that, unknowingly, JiJi recognizes on a visceral level, as if it were carved into her very bones. Hearing it, watching the way you purse your lips ever so slightly as you think, a part of her settles. For just a moment, she feels safe. She feels… familiar.

“You know what?” you say suddenly, cutting through the moment with a spark of energy. “When all this mess calms down a bit, we should go to the Whitetails. It’s beautiful out there. You could practice your archery if you want… we could even bring Cheeseburger.”

JiJi frowns, curious and confused. “Me? I… don’t know where that is. And Cheeseburger?” she asks with a nervous laugh, unsure if she heard you right or if you said something strange.

“He’s a bear,” you explain with a wide grin, clearly enjoying the look of disbelief on her face. “A huge, sweet bear. He’s diabetic, but very gentle… and a total glutton.” The laugh that escapes you is genuine, and it’s contagious. JiJi can’t help but laugh too at the ridiculous but strangely endearing image of a bear named after junk food.

Then, you turn your torso and point toward the far horizon. “The Whitetails are over there, in the region that usually falls under Jacob’s control. The oldest brother.” Your tone shifts slightly, turning drier. “A real pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

“Oh…” It’s all JiJi manages to say when she hears that name. A chill runs down her spine again. That name, Jacob, is familiar. It’s the name of her uncle. She knows it well, but here, in this time, he still doesn’t know who she is.

“Yeah,” you nod, glancing at your wristwatch. “You should try to get some sleep. Really. If you have another nightmare or whatever, I’ll be right here. I’m staying in Falls End tonight. You don’t have to worry.”

JiJi stands slowly, as if the words you should sleep had triggered some kind of contradictory instinct within her. She takes a deep breath, heavy with unspoken emotion, and suddenly, without thinking it through, she bursts out with a plea that’s been simmering inside her for hours.

“Please, let me go with you!”

Her voice comes out louder than expected, almost desperate. You narrow your eyes slightly, surprised by her insistence. You’re about to say no, gently, already ready to explain that it’s dangerous, that you’re not sure, that it’s not that simple to just bring her along. But before you can even inhale to speak, she continues, talking in a rush, afraid you’ll cut her off again.

“My family might be out there. Maybe they’re hiding somewhere and I don’t even know it. Who knows? Maybe if I go with you to the Whitetails, or wherever, something will click in my head and I’ll remember more. Maybe… maybe it’s not as dangerous as it seems. Maybe it’s exactly what I need.”

There’s urgency in her voice, a near-desperate need to regain control of her life, to feel like she’s not just a passenger in this timeline. And though she doesn’t say it out loud, you can feel it, JiJi doesn’t want to be left alone again. Not tonight. Not after hearing things that shook her to the core.

You shake your head slightly, exhaling a breath that holds both resignation and compassion. She’s stubborn. She’s determined. And even though she still looks like a child, there’s something in her the same look you’ve seen in soldiers and leaders. Besides… she’s right. She isn’t a child. You can’t keep treating her like she is.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally, not promising anything, but not shutting her down either. And even though your voice is calm, you know that to her, those words are more than enough to keep hope alive.

JiJi nods, accepting your answer without pushing further, though she can’t hide the small smile of relief that forms on her lips. For now, that’s enough.

Chapter Text

When the sun is just beginning to rise over the horizon, painting the sky with soft orange tones, JiJi is already fully prepared to face a new day. Waking up early has never been an obstacle for her, since her routine in the New Eden was demanding, and if she intends to catch up to you before you get too far ahead, she cannot afford to waste a single minute. She fastens her boots with quick, mechanical movements. Her hands already know every knot by heart. She checks her backpack with little attention, collecting the few items she brought with her, since her original plan was only a brief excursion, maybe one or two days, not a journey that would span decades and force her to make choices she never imagined facing.

She steps out from the cold, dusty interior of the church with a light stride. Although the morning still feels asleep, Mr. Jeffries is already outside, sitting on the wooden porch with an open Bible on his knees, murmuring verses into the wind and watching the dawn. JiJi nods to him in farewell with a soft voice that still carries the respect she feels for those who offered her a hand when she needed it most. “God bless you,” she says politely, gripping the strap of her backpack firmly before setting off toward the Falls End bar.

At the bar entrance, you are there, sitting with a distracted look, holding what seems to be a crumpled map in your hands. JiJi stops a few steps away, ready to greet you, but her voice catches in her throat when she sees the lit cigarette between your lips. She recognizes what it is, of course, she does, but something about the image unsettles her completely, as if the smoke curling in the air is whispering that she no longer entirely knows who you are. She had never seen you smoke before, and yet here you are, completely at ease. She approaches with a hint of caution. Everything has changed, and she knows it.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Kiddo,” you joke, not looking up from the map, a crooked smile on your lips and the cigarette still hanging from your mouth. She finally sits beside you and almost immediately lets out a small, involuntary cough after inhaling the smoke. You stub the cigarette out against a rock with a motion that is casual but still considerate. “Are you sure you want to come with me?” you ask, straightforwardly, though there is something more than just doubt in your voice.

“Sure,” JiJi replies without hesitation. There is a firmness in her words that does not falter, and for the first time, it seems to convince you as well. You nod briefly and show her the map unfolded on your knees. She smiles, even if she is not entirely sure what she is looking at.

“First, we’re going to visit the Ryes,” you say, pointing to a spot north on the map. JiJi does not know who they are, but she says nothing. She simply nods, pretending to understand. Who are the Ryes? Why do you know them, and she does not?

“Then we’re going to blow up some silos,” you explain with a practical tone while standing up quickly and stuffing the map away without care. “We have to keep a low profile. John and his chosen are getting more unbearable every day, and I don’t want them finding us too early.” JiJi follows you in silence, although something continues to bother her. It is a question that has been burning behind her lips for a long time. Why is it that her Uncle John, who has always been such an important figure in her life, now seems to be your declared enemy?

She then remembered something her Uncle Jacob once told her, maybe jokingly, though with a shadow of truth in his voice. He said that you and her father got along like cats and dogs. She never imagined those words hid anything more than trivial friction. She never thought they referred to a real grudge. She never expected you would call her family dangerous.

She tries not to dwell on it too much, because if she does, she might slip back into sadness and nostalgia. Instead, she follows you with a strange curiosity, wanting to discover more about this country that is a completely new world to her.

JiJi assumes you are going to walk to the point on the map, but when she follows you to the garage near the bar, her eyes widen when she sees you getting into a sleek black car. She does not expect an invitation, but with wide eyes, she climbs into the passenger seat. Cars are rare, and there are none in her community. She marvels in silence as you start the engine and begin to drive.

You walk toward the entrance of the Rye house with a calm, unhurried pace. The rifle remains slung across your back. You have not forgotten the time the peggies tried to take the house by surprise and nearly got away with the planes. Since then, they have not dared to come close again. Probably, no matter how much John complains and demands the return of what was once his, the family has proven capable of defending themselves. You were there to make sure no one would try it again.

JiJi walks behind you. She sets her backpack down near the porch without saying a word. Her handmade bow remains strapped to her back. She looks nervous, though not too much, just enough to stay alert. She is shy but determined to follow you closely, not straying or questioning where you are going or why.

You knock on the door, and it is Kim who answers. She smiles when she sees you with a warm expression and opens the door enthusiastically. Since the very first day, she and Nick welcomed you without hesitation. It did not take long before the relationship felt more like family than a mere alliance. You fully trust that they will also be able to see in JiJi what you have seen, something worth protecting.

"Deputy. Hello!! Just in time for breakfast, please come in," Kim greets you cheerfully as she opens the door completely. She is about to say something else, but you raise your hand to speak first.

"Hi, Kim. I just stopped by to see how you’re doing. Everything all right? Any recent trouble?" you ask as she glances at the teenager with you. JiJi holds her gaze for a moment and offers a reserved, slightly awkward but sincere smile. She does not know Kim, but she feels the warmth in her expression, and that alone helps her relax just a little.

"Miraculously, no. Since the last time, they have stayed away. You and Nick scared them off," Kim replies as she crosses her arms and looks at you with a tone that carries both relief and gratitude. "And you know how he is. He is going to be mad if you do not stay for breakfast."

You let out a quiet laugh because you know it is true. You tilt your head slightly to glance back at JiJi, who is still standing stiffly behind you as if waiting for permission to move.

"Well, when you put it like that," you say, then gesture toward her with your head. "This is JiJi. Is it okay if she joins us?"

You do not wait for an answer. You are already stepping across the threshold. As JiJi moves to follow you, Kim steps closer to greet her with a kind expression, more curious than suspicious.

"JiJi? Is that your real name?" she asks, reaching out to offer a brief hug. It is one of those honest greetings with no hidden intention other than to show affection.

The teenager stiffens slightly. She is not used to people outside her family or community approaching her like that. Still, she does not pull away. She accepts the gesture, though a bit rigidly, her eyes alert as if trying to decide whether Kim is a threat or just a gentle presence.

"Nice to meet you. I am Kim," the woman adds with a smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Kim... A pleasure to meet you," JiJi replies softly, trying to be polite. She can tell there is trust between this family and you. Something in the air tells her it is okay to let her guard down, at least a little. Even though she has only been near Kim for seconds, her mind stirs. There is something about Kim’s voice, the rhythm of her words, that feels oddly familiar. She cannot remember when she heard it, but she knows she has. That voice has been there before, somewhere. She cannot place where or why.

There is no time to think further. As soon as she steps inside, her attention is drawn to the main room of the Rye house. She observes the space. It is spacious, everything well arranged, with photos on the walls and small domestic details that speak of a couple who have made this place their home. You do not stop to look at any of it. You walk straight into the kitchen and place your rifle aside. You do not need to announce yourself. You move like someone who has been here countless times. JiJi follows your lead without needing to be told. She removes her handmade bow and sets it by the wall, understanding instinctively that this is a place where no weapons are brought to the table. It is likely a rule that existed long before she was born and still holds meaning in her community.

In the kitchen, the man preparing breakfast turns around with a bright expression when he notices your presence. He is genuinely happy to see you, and his energy feels welcoming. Nick Rye, like his wife, radiates a kind of warmth that is felt even before he speaks. As he comes over to introduce himself, he offers a firm and direct handshake. JiJi accepts it, saying little, but even in that brief moment of contact, she senses that this man is no threat. He is a source of stability, something solid she cannot explain in words, but feels immediately.

After the introductions, she sits with you at the table without saying a word. She waits respectfully, and before taking the first bite, she closes her eyes for a moment and silently recites a prayer she has repeated thousands of times. She gives thanks to God for another day of life, for the food in front of her, and for being protected once again. Then she begins to eat slowly. As she chews the first piece of food, her mind drifts back to her home, to her family, to the community she left behind. In her own time, they are still alive, strong, and close-knit. She says nothing, but inside her, a soft and persistent wave of nostalgia begins to rise.

The conversation you share with Nick during breakfast pulls her out of her thoughts. She refocuses and listens closely to what you are saying without interrupting. Her eyes are fixed on you and her ears alert, trying to understand what is happening in this present that is not her own but in which she must now move carefully.

“Damn, Dep. Ever since that bastard tried to baptize you, he has not stopped with his broadcasts,” Nick says with a less cheerful expression as he sits down at the table. JiJi glances at you and watches you sigh as you bite into a piece of bread.

“I know,” you reply, your tone shifting slightly. “I do not know what they are planning this time, but for now, I am not planning on attacking an outpost. The silos should keep them busy,” you add, casting a side glance at JiJi. When she notices your gaze, she lowers her eyes back to her plate without saying a word, though her focus is no longer on the food.

You think about changing the subject, steering the conversation toward something lighter or at least less tense. But before you can, Nick turns on the television that is visible from the kitchen and the shared living space. A familiar voice immediately breaks the peaceful atmosphere that had settled around the table.

“Many sinners have tried to take from us the great power the Father has guided us to for a prosperous future.”

JiJi stops eating instantly. Her fork nearly slips from her fingers. She cannot even continue chewing. She freezes as her eyes lock on the screen. She has not seen many televisions in her life, barely remembers a few old black and white films she watched as a child in the bunkers, but none of that matters now. The only thing she sees is the man speaking.

It is her uncle. John. Or as she used to call him lovingly, Uncle Johnny. There he is, on a clear and direct broadcast, speaking with an authoritarian tone. His face appears sharp and defined. Even though he looks much younger, she recognizes him without effort. She does not need to hear more to know it is him. She does not focus on the words. She studies him. Every unchanged feature. His expressions. His movements. All of it creates a hollow feeling in her stomach, because no matter how much she recognizes him, this is not the man who taught her to build wooden airplanes, or the one who patiently corrected her handwriting, or the one who told her to always love her family above all else.

Her appetite disappears completely. Confusion takes over, and she does not understand how something as simple as a broadcast could leave her so shaken. She knows she is in the past. She understands that clearly. But seeing him like this, so different and public, so far removed from the private image she holds, makes her deeply uncomfortable in a way she did not expect.

The broadcast does not last long. You reach for the remote and turn off the television with a swift motion before it can finish. Then you stand from your chair with determination.

“Thank you for breakfast, but we have to go,” you say, leaving no room for argument. JiJi, who has not said a single word since seeing the broadcast, stands immediately and picks up her bow.

The Ryes do not question it or try to insist. They understand without needing explanation that something has stirred inside both of you. Because John’s message was not just another broadcast. It was something that made everyone tense up. Something that reignited the sense of looming danger. Something that cannot be ignored.

JiJi says goodbye to both of them politely. She tries to smile a little, though her thoughts are elsewhere. She does not know when she will see them again. She does not know if she will ever sit at that table once more. But as she steps out the door, the image of her uncle remains engraved in her mind. Not the man who just spoke on the television, but the other one. The one who still exists in her time. The one who hugged her without saying anything. The one who made sure she was warm at night. Her uncle.

No noise outside his quarters could distract Joseph Seed from his task, nothing that breaks the heavy silence that has accompanied him since he left the service the night before. He has not been able to sleep, and the sun is already high, slipping through the cracks in the curtains and casting golden lines of light across the floor of the room where he sits, his back slightly hunched, elbows resting on his knees, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Sleep has not come, not for lack of exhaustion, but because his mind has found no rest. Ever since the sermon ended, his thoughts have remained anchored to a single point, circling aimlessly, without apparent rest, caught in a state of introspection that offers no clear answer about what he witnessed, what he felt, what still shakes him from within without a name to give it.

God has been merciful to him; he knows that. Despite the punishments endured, the trials imposed, the pains inflicted like on any other man of flesh and blood, his visions have often been cruel but necessary, harsh messages that have served to ground him, to make him understand the weight of his mission, the magnitude of his role in the time he has been given to live, a time marked by the decay of sinners, by the blindness of those who still refuse to see the impending truth of the collapse.

He has been prepared. He has given everything he was and everything he had to reach this point. He has sacrificed lives, bonds, names, and himself in body and soul to serve as a vessel of divine will. He has guided his people with resolve, marked the path with the blood of the lamb, watched the seals break one by one, and you, as the leader of that resistance that grows and stirs the waters of his cause, have done nothing but confirm the prophecies, the end already proclaimed in every act of rebellion, in every bullet fired, in every doubt sown among his flock.

And yet, that night, while the service burned at the peak of its spiritual energy, while the praises wrapped around him like a sacred current, while the voice of his congregation lifted him and the power of God manifested in every fiber of his being like a pure charge, something interrupted the perfect flow of communion. Something pierced through him suddenly, paralyzed him from within, touched him with a force that did not stem from emotion but from the inexplicable. It was painful, yes, but not physical. It was a stab to the soul, as if something far too great to be understood had been revealed to him in that instant.

Amid the trance, he turned his head not by his own will, but pulled by that energy, and there, standing among the crowd that continued singing with their eyes closed, he saw her. A young woman he did not recognize, a girl who had not been there at the start of the service, a figure that seemed as present and real as the ground beneath his feet, yet at the same time as impossible as a vision.

He saw her with absolute clarity, and what unsettled him was not just her face, but her gaze, the way she looked at him, not with devotion or hatred, but with a mixture of surprise and recognition that made him doubt for the first time in a long while.

She called him Father, in a soft voice, without firmness, not like the faithful who revere him, but with a trembling question on her lips, with a disquiet that cut through the air and reached him directly. And then, without thinking, without having control over himself, he answered almost automatically.

“Daughter?”

The word came out on its own, as if it had been born from the deepest part of him without passing through judgment, without pausing to consider the weight it carried. And the moment he spoke it, he felt a sharp pain in his head, a dull throb that made him blink just once, and when he opened his eyes again, the young woman was gone. There was no trace of her among the faithful. No one else seemed to have seen her. His flock continued singing with fervor, tears in their eyes, surrendered to the ecstasy of prayer, as if nothing had happened.

He does not know what kind of message God has sent him this time. He has no certainty whether it was a test, a warning, or a future promise. But he would be lying if he said it did not move him. He would be lying if he denied that something inside him broke for a second, just a moment, but enough to leave a seed of doubt amid so much certainty.

Since then, he has not been able to stop thinking about her. He does not clearly remember her clothes, and he does not recall her voice with precision, but her face, her eyes, are engraved in his memory. They were as blue as the lakes of Montana at dawn, so bright they seemed unreal. Yet they were identical to his, and also to those of his brothers.

Now, while silence surrounds him and the daylight stretches on, he has been trying to draw her. He is not an artist, and he does not pretend to be, but he needs to put on paper what his mind refuses to release. He has failed several times. He has crumpled entire pages, wasted ink on clumsy sketches, but in the end, he has managed to trace something that comes close. The shape of the face, the curve of the nose, but above all, the eyes. Those impossible eyes that he cannot and does not want to forget.

For a moment, while he stares at the unfinished sketch between his trembling fingers, he tries to understand. He tries to fit that image into his memory, into his story. And for a moment, just a fleeting flash of thought, he dares to consider whether it might be her, his daughter, the child he lost, that small light that was torn from him too soon and whose memory was lodged so deeply in his chest that it still hurts to breathe when he thinks of her.

It would be a comfort to believe that she has returned, that God has allowed him to see her face once more, even if only for a few seconds, even if she was just a shadow among the crowd of believers, even if he cannot touch her or hear her clearly, even if she disappeared without leaving a trace. But he remembers, with that sharp memory that does not allow him to lie to himself, that his daughter did not have those eyes.

They were not blue. They were not like his or like his brothers'. They were darker, softer, like her mother’s.

He remains still, looking at the drawing as if expecting it to answer him, as if some truth might emerge from the clumsy strokes. And then, with that shiver he only feels when the presence of God envelops him, he reaches a conclusion that does not bring him peace, but at least gives him some direction.

It is a premonition sent by God.

A figure that does not yet exist in his present but that will inevitably be part of his future, of the years to come, of the stage that has not yet begun but approaches with the force of an overflowing river, dragging with it everything he has built, everything he has lost, everything he still clings to and refuses to release.

He hopes with all his being that this is what it is.

He hopes that the young woman who called him Father with a whisper of confusion is not an echo of the past, but a vision of the future, a piece of the puzzle that has not yet been placed, a soul that will come to fulfill a divine purpose, or perhaps to test him in a way he has never been tested before.

The drawing falls onto the table as he closes his eyes, presses his fingers to his forehead, and offers a silent prayer. A wordless plea for God to reveal more to him, to not leave him alone in this uncertainty that weighs heavier than any punishment, to prepare him for whatever is to come. Because now he knows that something is approaching, something he has not seen written in his previous visions, something that has slipped through the cracks of time like an underground current that has finally risen to the surface.

Chapter Text

Joshua knew right away that something was wrong from the moment he was woken up in the middle of the night, with urgency but no clear explanations. However, at first he thought it was just some minor request, like fetching water for the younger children or attending one of those improvised nighttime services that are sometimes organized within the settlement, he was surprised to find his entire family gathered near the main entrance, with tense faces and restless eyes that revealed a real and deep concern for something that had just happened and was far from being a trivial matter.

Now he walks outside the settlement, moving through the damp and uneven terrain of the forest that surrounds the area, accompanied by a pair of judges who move beside him with an imposing silence as they sniff the ground of mud and grass still fresh from the early morning dew. Although he tends to be reckless by nature, in serious moments, he knows when to speak and when to stay quiet, he cannot help but feel out of place amid such a tense situation, aware that it is almost a miracle he was included in this search, being so young and inexperienced compared to the adults around him. Still, at the same time, he understands that his presence here is not something that happens every day, and so he makes an effort to remain steady, alert, and silent, without asking unnecessary questions.

JiJi’s disappearance has disrupted the atmosphere and made even those who rarely show visible emotion feel uneasy, Joshua does not fully understand how something like this could have happened, he knows well that his sister has always been slippery, that she loves playing pranks on him and suddenly jumping out to scare him with muffled laughter, but this time it is different, this time there is something more serious, because it is not just his mother who is worried nor only his uncles who have mobilized, but also his father, and seeing them all gathered with that level of tension makes it clear to him that what has happened is not just anything, even though he has not been given all the details, he has managed to catch fragments of the conversation Ethan is having with their father right in front of him, while Jacob, his uncle, walks beside him accompanied by other older judges who seem just as focused on the trail they are following without pause, and although Joshua says nothing, the discomfort walks with him step by step, along with a growing worry for JiJi that tightens in his chest.

“I didn’t know what to say except to tell her to run, the sinners were armed and she got the idea to sneak into the exploration,” Ethan whispers with barely restrained guilt, speaking to their father, who holds a flashlight in a steady hand and, although he does not look at him directly, listens with complete attention, with that heavy silence Joshua has already learned to recognize and that only means one thing, their father is furious, or at the very least in a state of tension that always signals something serious.

“Did you see which way she went?” their father replies in a whisper as well, his voice low but full of authority, Ethan nods without hesitation, extending his arm slightly to point north, trying to confirm the direction with a compass he can barely make out under the faint light of the flashlight, while Joshua, who has never been out this late or this far from the settlement, can barely see the path ahead, feeling at times lost in the surrounding darkness.

“All right, first we need to find your mother,” says their father decisively, which makes Ethan widen his eyes in surprise, not fully understanding what he means.

“But Mom said not to look for her…” Ethan replies with some confusion, but their father neither meets his gaze nor changes his tone.

“She cannot do this alone, she does not need to do it alone, I know she prefers to work on her own but the more of us there are searching for JiJi the faster we are going to find her” he states, those words are enough to end the discussion, because once he speaks that way, there is no possible reply, Ethan knows it, so he says nothing more.

Joshua watches the entire interaction in silence, once again feeling the brush of the judges’ fur against his arm as they move through the underbrush, he tries to stay calm, but he cannot help agreeing with his father on everything, because something inside him says that JiJi could not have gotten very far on her own, but if the sinners managed to reach her, then the matter is far more serious than he dares to imagine.

At times, Joshua cannot help but think that if things were truly under control, his mother would have already given some sign, she would have responded over the radio or at least contacted one of his uncles, especially now that every attempt to reach her has proven useless, no matter how many times his father has tried with a steady voice or how many times his uncles have spoken in that tone they only use when they expect someone to answer, but the silence remains absolute, which makes it clear to him that she must be just as tense as his father, or even more so, and that thought unsettles him more than he is willing to admit, so he forces himself to focus on what is in front of him, trying to memorize every stretch of the terrain they are crossing, the rocks, the twisted trees, the edges of the paths hidden among the weeds, just in case another attack occurs and they need to run or return quickly without guidance.

But despite all that effort, the truth is he still feels protected by the presence of his uncles, who walk with determination and calm, knowing exactly what they are doing, which gives him a sense of security he does not find in himself, especially because he would never say out loud, not even under pressure, that he can barely handle a bow with any decent level of skill, he feels far more competent when it comes to survival or dealing with the judges, areas in which he has even been called the exemplary student of his uncle Jake, but when it comes to tracking, hunting or exploration, he is still a novice, someone barely taking his first steps, and that frustrates him, especially when he remembers that JiJi has always been better than him in that regard, much more daring and intuitive, which forces him to sigh as he walks, silently wondering why his sister can be so foolish sometimes, to the point of putting herself in danger like this.

They continue for a long while without stopping, so much so that Joshua loses track of time, he never stops moving in formation, with Jacob making occasional comments about the direction they are heading or the changes in the wind’s direction, which helps him stay somewhat oriented even if not completely sure of where they are, the group is small, composed of his uncles, his father, his brother Ethan and a few other men from the community that his uncle Jake usually calls the chosen ones, Joshua vaguely remembers that this name is given to them because they have been deemed worthy of protecting New Eden, a responsibility not just anyone assumes and that, for many, is something that sets them apart from the rest, he still does not know if one day he will truly be able to become part of that group.

They walk so much that his feet start to ache, a constant burning that rises through his legs, but he does not complain even once, because just when he thinks he cannot go any further, he senses something different in the air, a sign the others also pick up on, the faint but undeniable scent of campfire smoke, which causes his father to stop abruptly, and with him, the entire group halts as well, even the judges, who had been focused on the ground, now lift their heads and fix their eyes on the exact spot his father is watching with full concentration.

“Let me speak to her first,” his father says in a low voice, adjusting the flashlight in his hand and turning his head slightly to cast a single glance back at them, saying nothing else before starting to move through the bushes, gradually disappearing among the trees with silent and steady steps, so much so that for a moment Joshua nearly loses sight of his figure.

Confused, he approaches his brother, who is frowning, clearly nervous about what is about to happen. “Where is he going?” he asks softly.

Ethan, without taking his eyes off the path, answers immediately, “To Mom.”

At that response, Joshua cannot think of anything else but to sit down on a nearby rock, resigned, hoping the conversation their parents are about to have does not go on too long, because while they argue, time is being lost, and with it, the chance to find his sister.

The judges, ever alert, swivel their ears at the sound of something unexpected, and Joshua barely has time to react before Ethan grabs his arm tightly to help him get up quickly, before he can ask any questions, he already sees his uncles Jake and John moving at full speed, breaking ahead of the group, pushing forward decisively toward the source of the screams that are now audible, intense and full of emotion, prompting everyone to hurry in that direction, and Joshua, who at first cannot see anything because his uncles are blocking his view, has to shift and change position to finally understand what is truly happening.

The first thing Joshua distinguishes is the silhouette of his parents, illuminated by the light of a campfire burning nearby, but what strikes him the most is his mother's posture, her face distorted with fury as she grips the collar of his father's coat tightly, holding him in a tense position while pointing a hunting knife dangerously close to his face, and although Joshua knows his mother has a strong temperament, seeing her in that state, pushed so far to the edge, leaves him paralyzed, with a fear that is hard to ignore, something his brother senses, which is why he instinctively moves closer to stand at his side in a protective gesture.

“Do not ask me to calm down! My daughter is out there, possibly in danger, and I told Ethan explicitly that I would not come back without her,” his mother shouts with a fury that echoes through the space around the campfire, while his father remains motionless, showing not a trace of unease, wearing that same composed expression he adopts during critical moments, as if he were used to enduring confrontations like this without flinching, which only makes the contrast between them all the more striking.

“You have to set aside that anger that corrupts you, my love , I am scared for our lamb too, let me help you,” his father says in a low but steady voice, trying to get his wife to loosen the grip of her fingers that still hold onto his coat with force, and he manages to get her to release part of the collar, her face still flushed, her brows furrowed and jaw clenched, as if every word she hears is not enough to soothe the frustration boiling inside her since the moment she learned that JiJi had gone missing.

Though her hands tremble slightly, his mother continues to hold the knife with determination, her knuckles tense from the pressure, and with a firm voice still filled with rage, she speaks the words she has been holding in her chest for far too long. “ She is not ready .”

With that, she lets go of her husband’s coat in a sharp motion and steps away from him with quick and heavy strides, turning her back on him without a trace of remorse, as if she needs to create physical distance just to breathe, and once she has put some space between them, she continues speaking, this time with a mixture of anger and fear that resonates through the trees, as clear as the firelight that illuminates them. “So many things can happen to her in this place, the sinners could find her, they could take her and take it out on her, they could hurt her or… or use her as bait, she… she is lost and we are still here, doing nothing, waiting .”

“We are going to find her,” his father replies with patience, taking a step toward her and attempting to place his hands on her cheeks, an intimate and soothing gesture that she initially resists with a slight shake of her head, not quite pushing him away but still refusing the contact.

“You do not know that…” she replies, still with anger in her voice, although the tone has lowered slightly, as if she is beginning to give in to the emotional exhaustion consuming her from within, and it is then that she allows her husband to get closer, though she still does not let her guard down and keeps the knife in her hand, with no clear intention of using it, but neither of letting it go.

“Yes, I do, she knows how to find her way home,” her father insists, trying to give her some hope, and in that moment, something shifts in her expression, she no longer looks furious but drained, as though fear and helplessness have started to take the place of the anger that had overtaken her for so long, until slowly, she lowers her gaze, puts the knife away in her belt, and turns toward the rest of the group who has remained silent all this time, watching them from a respectful distance.

When her eyes move across those present and stop on her children, her expression changes once again; she frowns with disapproval at seeing them there, armed and so far from the settlement, and she directs an accusing look at her husband. “Why did you bring them?” she asks in a tone that is more a reproach than a simple question. Without waiting for a response, she begins walking slowly toward Joshua, who stays in place with his bow in hand, not moving, barely swallowing as he receives the piercing look his mother gives him while approaching.

“He helps with the Judges,” his uncle Jake responds before Joshua can say anything, speaking calmly, as if he had anticipated his sister-in-law’s reaction. Joshua nods slightly without saying a word, not letting go of the bow, feeling the warmth rise in his cheeks from the tension of the moment. His mother's gaze then shifts to Jacob, to whom she offers a cutting expression full of contained irritation, clearly not in the mood for explanations or to tolerate other people’s opinions, but even so, seeing her children in front of her, safe, allows her breathing to gradually stabilize.

Without any warning, she approaches Joshua and Ethan, finally closing the distance between them, and embraces them both at the same time, holding them tightly with the kind of urgency that is natural to her. Joshua feels the slight trembling in his mother’s body. He notices how she hides her face between their shoulders as if she does not want anyone to see her like this, vulnerable, and yet she keeps them close with all her strength, while both sons return the embrace with tenderness. Joshua understands then that his mother, despite all her fierceness, is afraid, that the fear for JiJi is overwhelming her, even if she tries to disguise it and bury it beneath a mask of rage and strictness.

JiJi keeps her eyes fixed on the landscape unfolding beyond the window, humming softly along with the melody coming from the vehicle’s radio, her voice so low it blends with the hum of the engine. Her gaze follows the swaying trees and open fields, trying to absorb every detail, as if by watching alone she could understand everything that is happening. The time she spent with the Rye family left her with a warm sensation, comforting at times, though tainted by the unsettling message she overheard from her uncle, whose words remained stuck in her mind like thorns beneath the skin. She does not quite know what to make of it; there is truth in what he said, but also a darkness that sends shivers down her spine.

Her mind does not rest, stumbling again and again over the same questions, dragging names and images through a constant whirlwind. Her parents, her uncles, the looming collapse of everything she once knew, the sinners, everything weighs on her even if she does not dare to say it aloud. This world, the world she now belongs to, still feels foreign to her, a land she has only just begun to tread. For now, she has chosen to play along with her young mother, to pretend calm, to obey carefully until the moment comes when she can slip through a crack in the routine, a moment when she might reach out to her father, because if there is anyone who can guide her, it is him. The thought of facing him commands respect, even fear. He is still the one in whom she places most of her faith, the steady stone in a land full of uncertainty.

“Do you know how to shoot?” you ask without taking your eyes off the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the door, as if you had thrown a stone into water, waiting to see the ripples. The question catches her off guard, but she does not take long to answer, gripping the bow that rests between her legs, as if that were enough.

“No, I don’t think I ever have,” she admits, with a hint of insecurity.

“Good,” you say as you turn into a curve with the same ease with which you give orders, “if you’re going to be with me, you need to know at least the basics to defend yourself, enough for when I’m not around and things get ugly.” She nods, biting her lip a little from a mixture of nerves and anticipation; touching a weapon sounds dangerous, but also thrilling, a line she is willing to cross if it means survival.

“Don’t get stuck on what happened with the Ryes. It’s not worth giving it more space in your head,” you add as you bring the vehicle to a firm stop. She lifts her gaze to see where you are and recognizes a structure on the horizon, a tall metal tower painted a vivid red. It’s a silo.

“Listen, kiddo. First lesson,” you announce as you step out of the vehicle with your rifle slung over your shoulder, and she hurries to follow, attentive like a pup trailing its guide. “That silo’s full of Bliss, the same drug that nearly dragged you out of yourself. It can’t stay there. It has to go. What do you suggest?” you ask, giving her space to think, watching her with quiet expectation.

JiJi brings a finger to her chin, trying to respond with something that makes sense. “Bring it down with something… with a…” she says, trailing off, waiting for you to complete the thought.

“A grenade would be ideal,” you reply, adjusting your rifle, “but we don’t have many, so a few good shots should do the trick.”

You take a few steps back, and she walks behind you, following your every instruction, her breathing quickening slightly. “This is going to get the peggies’ attention, so if all goes well, we’ll be gone before they get here.” She positions herself next to you, asking no questions, her muscles tight with anticipation, waiting for the first shot.

The sound comes suddenly, sharp and precise, and an instant later the silo explodes as if it had been holding back a storm for years. The blast bursts into a flower of fire, and JiJi takes a step back, startled, her heart pounding so loudly she barely hears the echo. But amid the fear, there is something else, a spark of pure exhilaration.

You laugh when you see her face, a sincere laugh that breaks through the tension in the air. “Wow! First try! Now that was a lucky shot.”

“That was… that was amazing,” she manages to say, still processing what she just saw.

“Next time, it’s your turn,” you say simply, as if it were not a warning, but a promise.

"Then I'm going to need those lessons fast," she replies, smiling as she sees the relaxed expression on your face. She's still not entirely used to this side of you, so bold and less protective, but the more she thinks about it, the more she understands that her family was never made for simplicity, that the extraordinary has always been part of the blood running through her veins.

"Mmm... well, I think you've convinced me," you say quietly as you turn around, walking with purpose toward the car, and when you reach the passenger seat, you yank the door open and quickly search beneath the seat until you find what you were looking for, a pistol you pick up naturally, with the same familiarity someone might have when picking up a lighter or a common tool, the gesture loaded with habit and intention.

While you walk away for a moment, JiJi remains still, her attention caught by what remains of the destroyed silo, watching the thick smoke still rising in uneven spirals and the sweet scent that lingers in the air, invading her senses, a dense mix of chemicals and fire that draws an involuntary grimace from her face because of the feeling it brings, that almost invisible trace that remains after something forbidden. The fire vanished faster than she expected, consuming the structure in a matter of seconds and leaving behind only black ashes, deformed fragments, and a silence that feels staged, about to break again.

When you return and stop in front of her, you show her the weapon with a look that allows for no games or doubts, a look that JiJi is starting to recognize as part of you, a part that is different from the mother she remembers from childhood and more like the survivor others used to speak of. Without leaving room for comments, you say, "This is a 9mm, it's pretty simple and you can start with it," offering it to her with a measured gesture, but just as she reaches out to take it, you pull it back just a few inches, just enough to interrupt the motion and say, "From what I gather, you're still underage and technically it's illegal for you to have this, but in this case I'm making an exception, I trust you with this, alright?" and your words do not sound harsh, only firm, like a verdict that has already been decided and now only needs to be carried out.

JiJi looks at you for a second without saying anything, her lips part to respond, and for a moment she is about to say <Yes, Mom,> as if the words were part of an automatic reflex, something learned in her childhood, but she stops herself in time and swallows those words along with a bit of saliva she didn't know had gathered in her throat, nodding slightly before saying, with more control now, "Yes, Rook."

When you finally hand it to her, she takes it with both hands, holding it firmly, though she immediately notices the weight. It is not as light as she expected, nor as comfortable as it seemed from the outside. It has a density she can feel in her fingers, in her wrist, through her whole arm, and for a moment she focuses on that detail.

On the fact that something so small can hold so much power, something she had only seen until now in her family’s stories or in the tales of the past told in New Eden, where guns were not seen as tools but as symbols of decay and sin. Although she knew there were full arsenals in the Bunkers, they had always been kept sealed, locked away in silence, covered by the dust of the years and by her parents’ decisions, because in her father’s doctrine, there was no place for firearms in the rebirth of life. However, more than once her mother and Uncle Jake had hinted, perhaps unintentionally, that they knew how to use them with skill, that they had once belonged to a time when earning respect meant knowing how to shoot.

A sudden blast cuts her thoughts at the root.

"Shit! JiJi, run and get down!" you shout suddenly, your voice bursting out with an urgency that makes the girl not hesitate for even a second, her body kicking into motion by instinct. She doesn't even ask why, she just runs the moment she feels you yank her by the arm, following you toward the edge of the forest, where both of you throw yourselves to the ground among bushes, weeds, and damp soil, her heart pounding at full speed with no pause to breathe, her mind blank and her senses focused entirely on not losing sight of you.

"What’s happening?" she manages to ask, her voice low, filled with confusion, and with the tremble of her pulse in every word.

“Those bastards,” you mutter without taking your eyes off the target, one eye pressed to the rifle scope, your shoulders tense, your breathing controlled with effort, “they almost intercepted us…”

She lifts her gaze, trying to follow your line of sight, and she sees it. Up there, breaking through the sky, a real airplane tears through the clouds with speed. It is massive, loud, and imposing. Its shadow blankets the ground, and its roar fills everything, making her chest vibrate, making the ground tremble beneath her stomach, making her forget to breathe for a second.

She can’t identify the model or fully grasp what is happening, but she knows this is normal, or at least expected, for what she had imagined, for this place that belongs to both past and present. When she senses that you’re about to speak again, she turns to you without taking her eyes off the sky.

“They’ve got eyes in the sky ,” you murmur, with restrained anger, with your brow furrowed, with that tension in your body that JiJi is beginning to understand, “and if they mark us, there’s not going to be anywhere to hide.”

She swallows hard, suddenly feeling like the pistol is burning her hands.