Chapter One: The Wall
Rainy jolted awake, her body shuddering as the cold air bit into her sweat-drenched skin. The metallic tang of blood stung her lips. She reached up, trembling, to feel the warm rivulet dripping from her nose. Her fingers came away smeared red, and her chest tightened with dread.
She had been on the path for countless days now, the endless rhythm of her footsteps carrying her farther from the world she once knew. Behind her lay the home where she had grown up, the comforting embrace of her family, and the faces of those she had cherished more than anything. They were not just distant in miles but fading like a dream she could no longer grasp, the details slipping through her memory like grains of sand.
Rainy had left them all far behind, their voices now echoes in her mind, the warmth of their presence a hollow ache in her chest. The path stretched on, unyielding and unfamiliar, winding through landscapes she could neither name nor fully comprehend. She was utterly alone now, her only companions the whispering wind, the rustle of unseen creatures, and the ever-present weight of solitude pressing against her heart.
And yet, even in the aching void of her solitude, something stirred within her—a fragile ember that caught the breath of her longing and flared into a defiant flame. It was not merely resolve but a deep, unspoken yearning that drove her onward, a spark of purpose entwined with the restless pull of destiny. The path seemed alive beneath her feet, a silent force beckoning her forward, as though it knew secrets she could only begin to fathom.
It gave no promises, whispered no reassurances, and yet it held her captive, a lover whose touch was both tender and unrelenting. She was beyond the life she had known, severed from the warmth of all she had loved. And still, with every step, she felt something shifting within her—a slow, inevitable awakening to the unknown. It was as though the boundaries of her heart and mind were unraveling, opening to the vast, wild promise of what was to come.
Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the hum of the night. The stars glittered coldly above, a dispassionate audience to her confusion. She was sprawled in the dirt, her skin streaked with mud, and only a tattered loincloth clung to her. Around her, the dark forest pressed close, the towering redwoods like silent sentinels.
"What happened?" Rainy’s voice was hoarse, her throat dry from an unnamed terror. She scanned the shadows, her eyes darting toward every faint rustle. The fireflies danced near the creek, their pale light mocking her disarray.
Then, she saw it—a faint glimmer in the tree above. The owl stared down at her, its head twisting with impossible precision. Its glassy eyes reflected the moonlight, unblinking, questioning. Who? it called, its voice low and haunting. The word reverberated in Rainy’s chest, a demand that clawed at her already frayed nerves.
Rainy wanted to answer, to explain, but what could she say? The question wasn’t about her name—it was about her. What was she now, reduced to this raw, trembling thing in the wilderness?
The owl called again, sharper this time. Who!
She dragged herself back to her makeshift bedding, her limbs aching, every motion a labor. The blanket was damp with the scent of soil and sweat, her only comfort against the night’s chill. Her body trembled as she lay down, curling into herself. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would have to face it.
That dream had always been there, lingering at the edges of her consciousness like a haunting melody she could never forget. Once, she had feared it, recoiled from its presence as if it were a shadow waiting to devour her. But not anymore. Now, it was her guide, a beacon pulling her steadily toward the inevitable, as irresistible as the tide meeting the shore.
Yet the dreams were not her only companion. The voice—low and calm—had become her constant companion. It spoke with a softness that made it feel like an extension of her own mind, a whisper that carried both command and comfort. "Go to the Children," it would insist, weaving its threads of persuasion deep into her soul.
Rainy had learned to trust it, to let it lead her when all else crumbled to dust. The voice was her light in the unyielding dark, her purpose when the weight of despair pressed against her chest. She didn’t know his name, the one behind that voice, but his face—oh, his face—was seared into her very being.
He was a torment she could barely endure, a burden so heavy it seemed to crush her fragile frame beneath its weight. And yet, he was also her salvation. That face, his face, was not merely an anchor but a blade, sharp and unyielding. It was her weapon, the thing that drove her forward, through agony and shadows alike.
The battles of her mind spilled into her body. She sat up suddenly, her breath ragged, the blanket falling away to expose her sweat-soaked skin to the icy air. “I am listening,” she whispered, a vow etched into the solitary night.
She lay back, her mind racing. The voice clawed at her, promising oblivion, but she clenched her teeth and forced herself into uneasy sleep.
She dreamed of him again.
The man was perfect, his beauty too profound for mortal comprehension. His face wasn’t just seen—it was felt, radiating through her. His essence filled her with a warmth so intense it bordered on agony. Rainy’s heart ached at his presence, at his kindness. Why are you here? she thought desperately. You should be safe, far away from this madness.
But he wasn’t. He was here, in the heart of her turmoil, and his love was her salvation.
In the dream, she wasn’t a woman anymore. She was a spear tip. A silver, gleaming shard of intent. The battlefield stretched infinitely before her, a vast and pulsating ocean of minds. Her comrades floated beside her, millions strong, all waiting for the call.
The enemy was near, their presence a dark vibration in the air. The line began to move, slowly at first, then faster. The hum of her comrades filled her ears, but she focused inward, pushing every stray thought aside. Focus. Focus. The mantra was her shield.
The battle exploded around her. Voices screamed, cut short by death. The enemy surged, a tide of silver lightning tearing through their ranks. Rainy felt the loss of her comrades like pieces of herself being ripped away. The line faltered, buckled, and then rallied.
And then, the wall appeared.
It was a stream of enemy bullets, relentless and impenetrable, cutting through her line. She was next, her turn to face the slaughter. The row ahead of her met the wall, one by one, and were obliterated. Red mist filled the void where they had been.
Focus. She pressed forward.
His face appeared in her mind, luminous and serene. He smiled at her, a smile so filled with love it took her breath away. For him. Rainy pushed harder, her resolve sharpening into a lethal edge.
The wall loomed closer, a torrent of destruction. She felt the pressure building inside her, every fiber of her being screaming in defiance. For him, she thought again, and then she struck.
The impact was instant, violent. Her silver form shattered, obliterated in the collision.
And then, again, there was nothing.
She had been on the path for countless days now, the endless rhythm of her footsteps carrying her farther from the world she once knew. Behind her lay the home where she had grown up, the comforting embrace of her family, and the faces of those she had cherished more than anything. They were not just distant in miles but fading like a dream she could no longer grasp, the details slipping through her memory like grains of sand.
Rainy had left them all far behind, their voices now echoes in her mind, the warmth of their presence a hollow ache in her chest. The path stretched on, unyielding and unfamiliar, winding through landscapes she could neither name nor fully comprehend. She was utterly alone now, her only companions the whispering wind, the rustle of unseen creatures, and the ever-present weight of solitude pressing against her heart.
And yet, even in the aching void of her solitude, something stirred within her—a fragile ember that caught the breath of her longing and flared into a defiant flame. It was not merely resolve but a deep, unspoken yearning that drove her onward, a spark of purpose entwined with the restless pull of destiny. The path seemed alive beneath her feet, a silent force beckoning her forward, as though it knew secrets she could only begin to fathom.
It gave no promises, whispered no reassurances, and yet it held her captive, a lover whose touch was both tender and unrelenting. She was beyond the life she had known, severed from the warmth of all she had loved. And still, with every step, she felt something shifting within her—a slow, inevitable awakening to the unknown. It was as though the boundaries of her heart and mind were unraveling, opening to the vast, wild promise of what was to come.
Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the hum of the night. The stars glittered coldly above, a dispassionate audience to her confusion. She was sprawled in the dirt, her skin streaked with mud, and only a tattered loincloth clung to her. Around her, the dark forest pressed close, the towering redwoods like silent sentinels.
"What happened?" Rainy’s voice was hoarse, her throat dry from an unnamed terror. She scanned the shadows, her eyes darting toward every faint rustle. The fireflies danced near the creek, their pale light mocking her disarray.
Then, she saw it—a faint glimmer in the tree above. The owl stared down at her, its head twisting with impossible precision. Its glassy eyes reflected the moonlight, unblinking, questioning. Who? it called, its voice low and haunting. The word reverberated in Rainy’s chest, a demand that clawed at her already frayed nerves.
Rainy wanted to answer, to explain, but what could she say? The question wasn’t about her name—it was about her. What was she now, reduced to this raw, trembling thing in the wilderness?
The owl called again, sharper this time. Who!
She dragged herself back to her makeshift bedding, her limbs aching, every motion a labor. The blanket was damp with the scent of soil and sweat, her only comfort against the night’s chill. Her body trembled as she lay down, curling into herself. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would have to face it.
That dream had always been there, lingering at the edges of her consciousness like a haunting melody she could never forget. Once, she had feared it, recoiled from its presence as if it were a shadow waiting to devour her. But not anymore. Now, it was her guide, a beacon pulling her steadily toward the inevitable, as irresistible as the tide meeting the shore.
Yet the dreams were not her only companion. The voice—low and calm—had become her constant companion. It spoke with a softness that made it feel like an extension of her own mind, a whisper that carried both command and comfort. "Go to the Children," it would insist, weaving its threads of persuasion deep into her soul.
Rainy had learned to trust it, to let it lead her when all else crumbled to dust. The voice was her light in the unyielding dark, her purpose when the weight of despair pressed against her chest. She didn’t know his name, the one behind that voice, but his face—oh, his face—was seared into her very being.
He was a torment she could barely endure, a burden so heavy it seemed to crush her fragile frame beneath its weight. And yet, he was also her salvation. That face, his face, was not merely an anchor but a blade, sharp and unyielding. It was her weapon, the thing that drove her forward, through agony and shadows alike.
The battles of her mind spilled into her body. She sat up suddenly, her breath ragged, the blanket falling away to expose her sweat-soaked skin to the icy air. “I am listening,” she whispered, a vow etched into the solitary night.
She lay back, her mind racing. The voice clawed at her, promising oblivion, but she clenched her teeth and forced herself into uneasy sleep.
She dreamed of him again.
The man was perfect, his beauty too profound for mortal comprehension. His face wasn’t just seen—it was felt, radiating through her. His essence filled her with a warmth so intense it bordered on agony. Rainy’s heart ached at his presence, at his kindness. Why are you here? she thought desperately. You should be safe, far away from this madness.
But he wasn’t. He was here, in the heart of her turmoil, and his love was her salvation.
In the dream, she wasn’t a woman anymore. She was a spear tip. A silver, gleaming shard of intent. The battlefield stretched infinitely before her, a vast and pulsating ocean of minds. Her comrades floated beside her, millions strong, all waiting for the call.
The enemy was near, their presence a dark vibration in the air. The line began to move, slowly at first, then faster. The hum of her comrades filled her ears, but she focused inward, pushing every stray thought aside. Focus. Focus. The mantra was her shield.
The battle exploded around her. Voices screamed, cut short by death. The enemy surged, a tide of silver lightning tearing through their ranks. Rainy felt the loss of her comrades like pieces of herself being ripped away. The line faltered, buckled, and then rallied.
And then, the wall appeared.
It was a stream of enemy bullets, relentless and impenetrable, cutting through her line. She was next, her turn to face the slaughter. The row ahead of her met the wall, one by one, and were obliterated. Red mist filled the void where they had been.
Focus. She pressed forward.
His face appeared in her mind, luminous and serene. He smiled at her, a smile so filled with love it took her breath away. For him. Rainy pushed harder, her resolve sharpening into a lethal edge.
The wall loomed closer, a torrent of destruction. She felt the pressure building inside her, every fiber of her being screaming in defiance. For him, she thought again, and then she struck.
The impact was instant, violent. Her silver form shattered, obliterated in the collision.
And then, again, there was nothing.