Nana eyes snapped open, her lungs screaming for air that didn't burn. For a terrifying moment, she couldn't remember where she was—the world was a blur of grey walls and distant sounds, her head spinning like she'd been dropped from a great height.
Then sensation returned in a rush.
The cold ground beneath her. The ache in her ribs from old injuries. The taste of copper and ash in her mouth.
And warmth. Solid, steady warmth pressed against her side.
She turned her head, and her breath caught.
Zayne was lying beside her, so still that for one heart-stopping moment she thought—
"No," she breathed, panic clawing up her throat. "No, no, no—"
Her hands moved on instinct, reaching for his face. She yanked down the turtleneck that covered his mouth and nose, fingers trembling as they searched for the pulse point at his throat.
There. Faint but steady. The rhythm of life beating beneath his skin.
Relief hit her so hard she almost collapsed. Her hands moved to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing—shallow but present.
He was alive. They were both alive.
"You stupid, wonderful idiot," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You carried me while poisoned. You could have died."
But he hadn't. They hadn't.
Nana sat back on her heels, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, and let herself really look at him.Even covered in blood and grime, even with poison still probably working its way out of his system, Zayne was beautiful.
It was an absurd thought to have in the middle of Avalon's hellscape, but she couldn't help it. His dark hair was matted and dirty, falling across his forehead in a way that made her want to brush it back. His face was angular and sharp, all defined cheekbones and strong jaw, softened only by the thick lashes that rested against his cheeks.
And those eyes—even closed, she could remember exactly how they looked.
Hazel like a forest washed in morning light, flecked with gold and green and something that seemed to see straight through her.
She found herself smiling despite everything. Despite almost dying. Despite the chaos that still echoed faintly from outside their shelter. Despite knowing they had so far still to go.was here. He was alive. And for this moment, that was enough.
Zayne stirred then, his face contorting as consciousness returned. His eyes flickered open, unfocused and confused, before a violent cough tore through his chest.
"Hey, hey," Nana said quickly, already reaching for her backpack. "Don't talk. Just breathe."
She pulled out one of the water bottles they'd stolen—stolen, she reminded herself with satisfaction—and pressed it to his lips. Zayne drank gratefully, the cool liquid soothing his raw throat. He coughed again, less violently this time, then again, until finally his breathing evened out into something approaching normal.
He looked at her, those hazel eyes still slightly glazed but focusing more with each passing second. Then, impossibly, he smiled.a small smile, barely there, but it transformed his entire face. Made him look younger. Less like the hardened survivor and more like the man she'd fallen in love with in Linkon City.
Nana smiled back, her heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did when he looked at her like that.
"We made it," Zayne said, his voice rough as gravel.
"We made it," she agreed.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, just breathing, just being alive. Then Zayne's stomach growled loudly, breaking the moment.
Nana laughed—actually laughed—and it felt foreign after so much horror.
"Guess that's our cue."
Nana pulled her backpack closer and started unloading their stolen goods. Bread, slightly stale but edible. Canned tuna. More water bottles. Canned fruits that felt like treasures. Protein bars. Even some chocolate bars that made her think of Mina and the last candy they'd shared.
"This is..." Zayne stared at the pile of food like it was a miracle. "This is more than I've seen in weeks."
"Courtesy of Tao's hoarding tendencies," Nana said with grim satisfaction. "Bastards were sitting on this while people starved."
"Were," Zayne repeated, and there was dark pleasure in his voice. "Past tense. They're all dead now. The poison got them."
They're divided the food carefully, trying to balance immediate hunger with the need to ration. The bread was gone first—they tore into it like starving animals, which wasn't far from the truth.
Then the tuna, eaten straight from the can with their fingers because utensils were a luxury they didn't have.
The canned peaches were heaven. Sweet and syrupy and so far removed from the horror of Avalon that Nana almost cried when the flavor hit her tongue.
"We should save some," Zayne said, even as he reached for another can. "For tomorrow. Next week. However long it takes to reach District 23."
"District 23," Nana echoed, the words grounding her. She pulled out her phone, already knowing what she'd find but needing to check anyway.
The screen was black. Dead. No power left after weeks of minimal charging opportunities.She tried her camera next. Same result. The battery icon mocked her with its emptiness.
"Doesn't matter," she murmured, setting both devices aside. "The phone was useless here anyway. And the camera..." She touched it gently, like it was something precious.
"I got what I needed. I found you."
When she looked up, Zayne was staring at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. His ears were turning red—that telltale flush that crept up whenever he was feeling something he didn't know how to express.
"What?" she asked softly.
"You came back," he said, and his voice was raw with something that went beyond the poison damage. "To this place. This hell. You came back looking for me."
"I did." Nana said it like it was the simplest truth in the world. "I promised I'd bring you home."
"You don't even know me. Not really. Not this version of me."
"I know enough." She reached out, her small hand covering his larger one. "I know you're brave and protective and stupidly self-sacrificing. I know you blush when you're flustered and that you fight like every movement is calculated three steps ahead. I know your soul, Zayne. Even if your memories are gone."
His hand turned beneath hers, fingers interlacing. "My soul," he repeated quietly. "That's the second time you've mentioned that. Like you believe in something beyond just... this." He gestured vaguely at their surroundings.
"I have to believe in something," Nana said. "Otherwise, what's the point? Why keep fighting if there's nothing more thansurvival?"
Zayne studied their joined hands, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin. "The blood moon," he said after a moment. "You mentioned it before. When is it?"
Nana's expression grew serious. She pulled out her dead phone, checking the date displayed on the locked screen. "If I'm right... December 28th. End of the year cycle."
"How long?"
She did the math in her head, counting backwards from when she'd fallen through the portal, accounting for the weeks they'd been together. "Maybe six weeks? Could be eight. Time feels different here, but it can't be more than two months out."
"Two months." Zayne absorbed this, his jaw tightening. "Two months to cross eight districts, survive whatever cycles come, avoid gangs and creatures, and reach the Ancient Tree in District 23."
"When you put it like that, it sounds impossible."
"Everything about this place is impossible." He squeezed her hand. "But we're still here. Still breathing. That has to count for something."
They finished eating in silence, carefully repacking the remaining supplies. Every can, every bottle, every protein bar was precious now—fuel to keep them moving, fighting, surviving.
When they finally stood to leave, Nana's legs protested, muscles stiff from lying on cold ground. Zayne steadied her automatically, his hand on her elbow until she found her balance.
They stepped out of their makeshift shelter and into a world transformed by death.
Bodies lay everywhere. Not actual bodies—those had long since dissolved into white mist—but the evidence of them. Discarded weapons. Torn clothing. Pools of blood that hadn't yet dried in the perpetual humidity of Avalon. And rising from it all, wisps of white mist that still hadn't fully dissipated, marking where human souls had left this plane.
The silence was overwhelming. Where yesterday there had been shouting, fighting, the constant noise of desperate survivors, now there was nothing.
The city had gone quiet, broken only by the distant shriek of hybrids fighting on rooftops and the heavy thud of giant footsteps somewhere far off.
Nana stared in horror at the scope of it. Dozens of people. Maybe hundreds. All gone in a single poison gas attack.
"So many," she whispered.hand found her shoulder, grounding her. "The white mist," he said quietly. "They'll be reborn. Same age, no memories, but alive again."
"To suffer through this all over again," Nana said bitterly. "To wake up confused and terrified with no understanding of where they are or how to survive. Most of them will die in their first week. Again and again, trapped in this cycle until they either escape or go mad."
She thought of all the people she'd seen choose death over another day of fighting. How many of them had been trapped here for years? For decades? Dying and being reborn in an endless loop of suffering with no memory to guide them, no knowledge to help them survive.
The white mist was for humans—pure human souls that could be recycled, reborn, trapped in Avalon's cruel game.
But the black mist...eyes tracked to where a demon's body had fallen during the chaos. The black mist that rose from corrupted creatures marked permanent death. No rebirth. No second chances. Just gone, erased from existence.
"This place," she said slowly, understanding crystallizing in her mind. "It's designed like a gladiator ring. Like the ancient Romans throwing fighters into arenas to entertain the masses. Only the strongest survive. The weak get culled. Over and over until only the most vicious, most capable, most desperate remain."
"And the Wish Bridge is the only exit," Zayne added. "Once a year. Creating artificial scarcity, forcing people to compete for the chance to escape."
"Whoever designed this realm," Nana's voice was hard as stone, "they're a monster. A sadist who gets off on watching people suffer and kill each other for entertainment".
Zayne didn't disagree. His hand tightened on her shoulder, pulling her closer to his side as they started walking.
They moved through the silent district like ghosts themselves, stepping over evidence of violence, avoiding the patches where blood still stained the ground. Around them, the ruins of what had once been a thriving city stood as monuments to Avalon's cruelty.
A hybrid shrieked in the distance—some bird-headed creature that had probably been human once, before transformation claimed them. The sound echoed off broken buildings, lonely and desperate.
"We need to keep moving," Zayne said. "This area is going to attract scavengers. And worse."
Nana nodded, forcing herself to focus on practical concerns rather than the existential horror of their situation. "Which direction?"
"East,Toward District 8. From there we can plot a route to District 23 that avoids the most dangerous territories."
"The most dangerous? As opposed to the moderately terrifying?"
His lips twitched—almost a smile. "Exactly."
They walked side by side, Zayne's hand never leaving her shoulder. It was a possessive touch, protective, like he needed the physical contact to assure himself she was real and alive beside him.
As they moved, Nana found herself cataloging the changes in Avalon. It wasn't just the silence—though that was eerie enough. It was the emptiness. The absence of humanity that had always been Avalon's most dangerous element.
Human were more deadly than any demon or hybrid. More cruel than giants, more vicious than vampires. Because humans had intelligence, creativity, and the capacity for calculated evil that monsters couldn't match.
But now, with so many dead or reborn without memories, the city felt abandoned. Like a stage after the performance ended, waiting for new actors to fill the space.
"How long do you think?" Nana asked quietly. "Before the reborn souls start appearing? Before we have to deal with confused, terrified people who have no idea where they are?"
"Days," Zayne said. "Maybe a week at most. The rebirth cycle is fast. They'll wake up in random locations, same age as when they died, with no memories of anything before Avalon."
"And most of them will die within hours."
"Yes."
The casual certainty in his voice spoke to how much he'd seen, how many rebirth cycles he'd lived through. This was his fifth life in Avalon—five times dying and being reborn, each time losing everything he'd learned, everyone he'd known, every memory he'd accumulated.
Except this time, he had her. Someone who remembered. Someone who could guide him, protect him, help him survive long enough to reach the Wish Bridge.
They walked until the sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of red and orange that looked too much like blood and fire. Zayne led them to a partially collapsed apartment building that offered multiple escape routes and a good vantage point.
They climbed to the third floor, finding a corner unit with walls intact enough to provide shelter but damaged enough that they could see approaches from multiple
directions.They settled in for the night, Nana pulled out one of the canned fruits they'd saved. She opened it carefully, trying not to waste the precious syrup, and offered the first peach to Zayne.
He took it, his fingers brushing hers, and for a moment they just sat there—two survivors in a hell realm, sharing stolen food and finding something like peace in each other's presence.
"Six weeks," Nana said softly. "Maybe eight. We can do this."
Zayne looked at her—really looked at her—and something in his expression made her heart ache. "We'll do this," he said with quiet conviction. "Together. Both of us walking through that portal this time."
"Both of us," Nana agreed, and let herself believe it might actually be possible.
The night fell over the silent city. Somewhere in the darkness, creatures stirred. Hybrids hunted. Giants roamed. Demons prowled.
But in their small shelter, Nana and Zayne sat close together, sharing food and warmth and the fragile hope that somehow, against impossible odds, they'd both make it home.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.