When I woke up, I couldn't move.
I was lying flat on the ground, my body heavy as stone. My surroundings were unrecognizable—burned, destroyed, swallowed by fire. No trees remained, no animals, no signs of life. Just scorched earth and blackened smoke rising into the sky.
The air burned my throat with every breath, and the silence pressed against my ears, broken only by the faint crackle of dying flames.
I forced my eyes down to my hand—and froze.
Blood.
It coated my palm, dripping sluggishly from cuts I hadn't even felt. My chest tightened, panic clawing up my throat. I tried to move, but my body refused me, each nerve screaming in pain.
Then… footsteps.
Through the haze of smoke, a figure emerged. Dressed in white, cloaked in what looked like a laboratory suit , the stranger approached slowly, almost carefully. Their faces were hidden behind a mask, their voice muffled and strange as they muttered words I couldn't understand.
Foreign. Cold. Detached.
They knelt beside me, their gloved hands hovering just above my chest as if examining me. I wanted to speak, to ask who they were, but my lips wouldn't move. My vision began to blur, dark edges closing in on my sight.
The last thing I heard was that strange, distorted voice speaking faster, urgent now—before everything went black.
When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I saw was a white ceiling. I tried to sit up, but pain shot through every corner of my body. My limbs were heavy, cramped, and stiff as though they had forgotten how to move. I turned my head slowly, searching for clues about where I was. At first, I thought it might be a hospital—but it didn't feel like one. The walls were plain, sterile, and too empty. No machines beeped, no nurses bustled around. Just silence.
The room itself was unsettling: nothing but smooth white walls and a single door standing in the middle of one side. I tried to move again, but a sharp pain forced me to stay still. My chest tightened with unease. Where am I?
The door clicked.
I froze.
It opened, and someone stepped inside—not a doctor, not a nurse. It was… a teen about my age. She had short, messy pixie-cut hair, wore dark pants and a sleeveless shirt, and a few piercings that carried herself with a strange confidence. Her smile was wide, almost too wide, as she hurried toward me with quick steps.
"You're awake now?" she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.
Her eyes shone like she had been waiting for this exact moment, like she already knew me—even though I had never seen her before in my life.
As she looked at me with uncontainable excitement, I tried to speak loudly enough for her to hear.
"Where… am I?" I asked, my voice shaking.
She tilted her head, as if savoring the moment, and placed her hands over her cheeks. "Hmm… how can I say this… Oh! You're in our house. Welcome."
I frowned, confused. "What… house?"
She shook her head with a thoughtful hum. "Hmm… not a house. Our base. Welcome."
I blinked at her, still trying to comprehend. "Then… why am I… still alive?" The words trembled out before I could stop them.
Her expression shifted suddenly, from excitement to something sharper, more serious. She leaned closer, her eyes locking onto mine as if trying to read my very soul.
"Do you know… that you have power?" she asked, her voice calm but insistent.
I blinked, stunned. "Power? No… I don't have a power."
Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Oh… yes, you do."
A chill ran down my spine. Something about the certainty in her voice made my stomach twist. What is she talking about?
I didn't want to think about it. It was impossible—utterly impossible—that I had powers. Ever since I was born, my parents told me I had none. Even the doctors confirmed it. Normal. Ordinary. That was who I was supposed to be.
But as the girl's words echoed in my mind, a sudden surge of panic ripped through me. My chest tightened, my breath quickened. A memory crashed back—the last moments before the explosion. The sound of the countdown, the frantic engine, the deafening blast. Hugging my friends, praying silently we would survive.
My heart pounded. My body shook. Wait… my friends.
I forced my voice out, rough and desperate. "W-where are they? Where are my friends?"
The girl's smile faltered. Her playful glow dimmed into something heavy, almost sorrowful. She hesitated, as though searching for the right words, and then spoke softly.
"I'm sorry… They're dead. You are the only one who survived."
The world seemed to crack apart at that moment. My ears rang with her words, drowning out everything else.
"No… no, that's not true." I shook my head furiously, ignoring the pain that jolted through my body. "They can't be dead. They're strong! They—" My voice broke, the denial tearing out of me. "It's impossible! They can't be gone… I'm not the only one. I can't be."
Tears blurred my vision, and I thrashed weakly against the bed, fighting against the truth she handed me. But the girl didn't argue. She didn't try to convince me further. She just looked at me with those steady eyes, full of pity and something else I couldn't understand.
Then, her tone sharpened. "The Maya Forest is destroyed. Everyone there is dead. You are the only survivor."
I stared at her, my mind tangled in confusion. Was she telling the truth? Am I really the only one left?
She held my gaze for a moment, then quietly extended a worn folder toward me.
"If you don't believe me," she said, her voice steady, "look inside."
My hands trembled as I opened it. A single sheet of paper slid into view. The image printed on it stole the air from my lungs: the Maya Forest—ruined. What once was vibrant and alive was now nothing but charred remains, swallowed by thick black smoke. The trees were gone. The earth was burnt. Everything… destroyed.
Shock rooted me in place. The silence between us felt heavier than the ash in that photo.
Her words hit harder than the explosion itself. My body went still. My mind tried to reject it, but the weight of it pressed down like chains, suffocating me.
She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Now the question is… how did you survive without powers, Lena?"
I froze, speechless. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I had no answer—only confusion, fear, and the hollow ache of loss.
The girl didn't wait for me to respond. Instead, she straightened, her serious look melting back into a sly, almost satisfied smile. She turned toward the door, her steps light and unhurried.
"Rest first, Lena Noctelle," she said, her voice echoing in the white room. "I'll explain everything… soon."
The door closed behind her, leaving me alone with nothing but silence, fire-scorched memories, and a name I hadn't heard in years—my true name.
But I ignored it.
As the door closed behind her, the emotions I'd been holding back for months finally burst out. I tried to stand, but my body was too weak—my legs gave out. Then the tears came. Hot, endless, unstoppable. I cried like a river, my chest heaving with sobs that tore at my throat. My mind flooded with confusion, sadness, anger, and unbearable grief.
Why?
Carm and Jela's faces flashed in my head—laughing, bickering, running beside me. I could almost feel their warmth still clinging to me, their arms wrapped around me in that final moment before the explosion. Why are they gone?
Chris, Mia, Andrea. Their smiles, their voices, their small quirks that made them who they were. Each name struck me like a blade.
"Why… why am I the only one who survived?" I choked out, my voice breaking, my tears falling harder.
And then, as if the wound hadn't been torn deep enough, another memory surged to the surface. My parents. The sight of their bodies, broken and bloodied. The horror I had buried resurfaced with violent force.
A sharp panic overtook me. My chest constricted, my breathing ragged and shallow. Each inhale was a battle, each exhale a cry. I clutched at my throat, gasping, unable to pull in enough air.
What's happening to me?
The room spun, the walls pressing in. My vision blurred. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might rip itself apart.
Then—three figures rushed in, their movements swift and controlled. They wore white laboratory gowns, their faces unreadable. One of them grabbed my shoulders to keep me steady as another pressed a mask over my face. Cool oxygen filled my lungs, forcing my breath to slow.
I clung to the mask like it was life itself, my body trembling as the suffocating panic began to loosen its grip. My tears didn't stop, but at least the air returned to me.
The three figures exchanged glances, whispering words I couldn't catch. All I could do was sit there, shaking, gasping, tears streaming down my cheeks, as the question burned louder in my head than ever before.
After I finally calmed down, the people in white coats began checking me over. They shined lights into my eyes, inspected my mouth, touched my arms, and scribbled down notes on clipboards. Then came the questions—so many questions about me. But I couldn't process a single one. My mind was still drowning in what the girl had told me earlier. Her words echoed so loudly in my head that everything else became noise.
They must have noticed. After a while, they exchanged looks and left the room, leaving me alone.
Alone—with my thoughts.
My head was a storm of confusion. Why am I the only survivor? I kept thinking of my new parents, my friends' parents, the faces of those who would never know what happened in that forest. And deep down, I just wanted to go home. To my own room. To the comfort of being alone with my things, where I could hide from the world.
I clung to one desperate hope—that the girl was lying. That everything she said was some cruel mistake. Please. Please let it be a lie.
Time passed—I don't know how much. At some point, I realized the tears had dried on my face. My body still hurts, every attempt to move sends jolts of pain through my arms and legs. Hours? Days? I couldn't tell.
My throat burned with dryness. I needed water. Desperately. I scanned the room—empty. No pitcher, no glass, nothing.
So I forced myself to move. My voice cracked when I tried to call out, too weak to be heard. I shifted my weight, fell back onto the bed, then tried again. Slowly, painfully, I pulled myself up, gripping the wall with trembling fingers. One step. Another. My body screamed with every movement, but I dragged myself toward the door.
Finally, when I reached out for the handle, the door opened on its own. The sudden movement knocked me off balance, and I collapsed onto the cold floor.
It was her. The girl from before. She looked down at me with a bright smile, as if finding me crumpled at her feet was amusing.
"You recovered quickly after just a few hours. That's a surprise," she said, almost cheerfully.
I blinked at her, confused. A few hours? "It's… only been an hour?" I croaked.
She tilted her head, then bent down to help me up. Her hands were surprisingly steady and gentle as she guided me back to the bed, arranging me against the pillows until I was comfortable again. Without another word, she left—then returned minutes later with a glass jar of water.
She poured it into a cup and handed it to me. I snatched it from her hands and drank greedily, gulping it down so fast I almost choked.
She laughed softly. "Slow down, or you'll choke."
Embarrassed, I lowered the cup. "S-sorry."
She leaned against the side of my bed, her smile softer now. "Are you fine now? Have you relaxed a little?"
I didn't even think. "No," I answered quickly.
Her smile didn't fade. Instead, she nodded, like she expected that answer. "Someone will bring your dinner soon. You'll need more rest. I'll come back tomorrow. Oh—and they reported to me you had a panic attack earlier. Are you alright now?"
"I'm fine," I lied, the word escaping on instinct.
"Good." She smiled again. "Be better soon, okay? And… one more thing. You should know you've been asleep for about a week. The incident was seven days ago."
My breath caught. A week…
She straightened up, still cheerful somehow. "Sleep well. If you need anything, just press the button on the side of your bed." With that, she slipped out of the room again, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Who is she? And why did she say the adults reported to her? She's just a kid like me… isn't she?
I shook the thought away. Stop, Lena. Don't dig too deep. Not yet.
Dinner arrived not long after. I was too hungry to care about anything else, so I stuffed the food into my mouth, ignoring the taste, ignoring everything. When I finished, I lay down again, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn't come. How could it, with my mind racing endlessly? I kept overthinking, replaying the explosion, the forest, the words she spoke. My curiosity burned as much as my grief.
What's outside this room? What is this "base"? And why am I here?
I couldn't stop the questions. And worse—I couldn't shake the feeling that the answers would change everything.