Three months had passed since the river valley explosion.
After losing an elite squad, the "Hope" base seemed to have temporarily abandoned its large-scale search for the three "defectors," perhaps assuming they had already turned to bones in the harsh wilderness. The wasteland remained vast and perilous, devouring lives while concealing secrets.
Deep within a remote canyon, dozens of kilometers from the farm, lay a natural cave formed by a landslide. Its entrance, concealed by dense vines, offered both seclusion and dry shelter.
Deep within the cavern, a flickering campfire illuminated Jiang Jin's sharply defined profile. The wound on his left shoulder blade, torn apart by the dual forces of ice and fire, had scabbed over, leaving a gruesome, twisted scar. Yet the internal damage was far from healed; even slight exertion brought piercing pain and a numbing weakness to his left arm.
He was still alive.
In that self-destructive explosion, his last instinct had driven him to use the remnants of his flames to blast open the soft earth on one side of the river valley. He buried himself within, avoiding the most lethal shockwave and the subsequent search by the base. Whether it was the will to survive or some stubborn refusal to simply turn to ash, he couldn't say himself.
He lay unconscious beneath that scorched earth for an unknown duration, awakened by a cold autumn rain. Dragging his nearly broken body, fueled by animalistic tenacity and a contempt for death, he crawled from the ruins. Like a walking corpse, he instinctively moved away from the base toward even more desolate terrain, eventually finding this cave.
These past three months had been the longest, and most... quiet, period of his life.
The relentless agony of his body tormented him constantly, yet it also forcibly suppressed the restless, fiery power within him—a flame that threatened to consume him. He could no longer squander his strength as before. Every attempt to summon a spark triggered searing pain like torn flesh and chaotic energy surges.
Stripped of his power, he felt like a beast with its fangs torn out. Weakened, he was forced to scavenge like the lowest survivors—carefully seeking out food (mostly tough roots and occasionally small rodents he managed to catch) and collecting dripping water from rock crevices.
This physical confinement paradoxically granted his mind unprecedented "leisure." No longer consumed entirely by searing rage and possessiveness, neglected and suppressed fragments of memory began surfacing uncontrollably.
He recalled the first time he saw Gu Xun on the basketball court before the apocalypse—that cool, handsome face in the sunlight that made his heart skip a beat. He remembered his clumsy attempts to approach her, what he mistakenly believed was "being good to her": bringing gifts, overprotecting her, misinterpreting her calm rejections as tacit approval or tests. He remembered the ecstasy of gaining powerful flame abilities when the apocalypse struck, believing he finally possessed strength to match—even dominate—the other. He remembered Gu Xun's repeated, cool refusals, the growing detachment in those clear, piercing eyes... and finally, that shattered light shield blocking him from behind.
"Why?"
The question echoed like a ghostly specter in the silent cavern.
Why save him? In that situation, Gu Xun could have simply watched him die, or seized the chance to flee with Lu Zhao. Why, at the very last moment, expend what little strength remained to protect someone who had constantly hurt him, pressured him, nearly destroyed him?
He found no answer.
His hatred no longer felt justified. His "love" for Gu Xun—that twisted, possessive emotion—began to reveal its ugly core at the brink of life and death, and through this long, painful reflection. It resembled extreme selfishness, a paranoia that couldn't tolerate "not being needed."
And Lu Zhao, whom he had always dismissed as "useless" and an "obstacle"... He had to admit that the boy had shown remarkable resilience during their final escape. And the look in Gu Xun's eyes when he looked at Lu Zhao—that look of complete trust and dependence, a look he himself had never received...
The crackling campfire cast an uncertain glow across his face.
He raised his right hand, his palm struggling to gather a pitifully small cluster of faint flames—orange-yellow, no longer the violent, destructive blue of before. The flames flickered, as if ready to extinguish at any moment, just like his heart at that moment.
Anger and madness still smoldered beneath, like settled ash, but beneath that ash, something seemed to be cooling, reassessing.
He didn't know what his future held. How much would his injuries heal? Would his power return? And if it did, what would he do then? Continue chasing Gu Xun? Or...
He glanced out at the boundless darkness beyond the cave—where the base lay, unknown dangers lurked, and... the traces of those two people remained.
He might seek them out. Or he might not. He might seek revenge. Or... he might just want an answer. Or perhaps he would walk a path entirely different.
Jiang Jin lowered his head, staring at the faint yet stubborn flame in his palm. For the first time, he felt an unprecedented sense of bewilderment, along with a strange, ash-like cold calm.
The road ahead lay as pitch-black as this wilderness night. But at least, that pure, all-consuming madness seemed to have been extinguished for now. What remained was cold ash, and deep within it, a faint, lingering warmth—one even he himself had yet to notice.