Jett stirred from a restless sleep, the pain that had driven him into unconsciousness still lingering in his body. As his eyes adjusted, he cast a quick glance around, a vague unease blooming in his chest. What happened? he wondered.
The world he had known was gone—replaced by an unfamiliar stretch of green land. The air was crisp and invigorating, filling his lungs and shaking off the last remnants of sleep. Everything looked almost as it should, yet carried a subtle strangeness, as if reality had shifted just enough to feel wrong.
"Where is everyone...?"
He finally gathered the strength to explore the town he once called home—now nothing more than a memory erased from the earth. The streets were gone, the buildings vanished, as if the place had never existed at all. He was the only one left.
The only known survivor of what people had come to call the Incident—the term given to the cataclysmic shift that had rewritten reality.
Everyone he knew, everyone he loved, was simply... gone.
Why had he survived when no one else had? Why had he been spared in the wake of this strange, emerging world?
"Where is everyone? What happened here? Why are all the houses gone? Why does it feel like this place was never real to begin with...?"
He stood alone in an empty landscape that echoed the memory of his hometown—familiar, yet hollow. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, his body trembling with the weight of grief and confusion.
The people he loved, the friends he'd grown up with—what had happened to them? Deep down, he knew he couldn't stay. He had to leave.
Somewhere out there, people still existed, and with them, perhaps, answers to the questions that haunted him since the moment he woke. Everything had been fine the night before. So why did the world feel like a dream torn apart?
Summoning what resolve he had left, Jett turned his back on the shattered remains of his home and wandered off into the unknown. His first instinct was vengeance—but against whom? Who could possibly be responsible for something so vast, so inexplicable?
The pain in his body still lingered, though dulled now, as if it had settled into his bones. Where do I go? he wondered.
Hours passed beneath a gray sky until, at last, a faint light shimmered on the horizon. A village, maybe? Whatever it was, it offered hope—hope for shelter, for food. He hadn't eaten in days. For all he knew, he had been unconscious for that long, maybe longer.
It was a miracle he was even alive, though he had no way of knowing that the mysterious energy pulsing quietly within him—nexus energy—had kept his body from failing. He didn't yet understand what this new world meant for someone as human as he was.
As he approached, his guess proved right: it was a village—or at least part of one. Modest in size, likely enough to house fifty or sixty people. But beyond its borders loomed something else: towering structures, silent and strange. A city. Why the separation? Why build a village at the foot of a city?
He didn't have the strength to finish the thought. Hunger gnawed at his mind, clouding it, dulling his senses. He had no energy left to second-guess himself. All he needed to do was knock on a door and ask for food. Normally, he would have agonized over that—but not now. Not like this.
"Come on," he muttered to himself. "You'll thank yourself later."
Knock, knock.
It took a moment, but soon Jett heard footsteps approaching from within. Just as his thoughts began to drift, the door creaked open—revealing a striking girl with snow-white hair and vivid, almost lime-green eyes. Her figure was slender, her posture wary yet poised.
Perhaps she hadn't eaten recently either. Jett, ever the meticulous observer, took note of every detail instinctively. She looked to be around his age—maybe older.
"May I help you?" she asked, her voice soft but edged with caution.
Jett hesitated. "Um… I hope so. Look, I'm starving. It feels like I haven't eaten in days. I was hoping you might have something to—"
"Who is it?!"
A man's voice thundered from somewhere inside, cutting Jett off mid-sentence. Maybe her father, Jett guessed.
"Just some homeless-looking guy asking for food," the girl called back, eyes still fixed on Jett.
"Let him in," the man replied without missing a beat. "We just whipped up a fresh batch—there's plenty to go around."
The girl paused, clearly taken aback by the man's generosity. Her expression flickered—surprise, suspicion, resignation. She knew Jett had heard it too. After a long moment of silent scrutiny, she finally stepped aside with a sigh.
"You heard him. Come in," she said, the annoyance in her voice barely concealed. Maybe that man's kindness caused more problems than it solved, Jett wondered, but he wasn't in a position to argue. He stepped inside.
The warm, savory aroma of cooked food hit him like a wave, making his mouth water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten—but that was about to change. A meal was being offered, and he wasn't going to let pride get in the way.
"Thank you for allowing me to join you, sir," he said sincerely, looking toward the older man already seated and eating. "I'm truly grateful—I'll repay this kindness however I can."
The man looked up. His white hair matched the girl's, though clearly the result of age. His green eyes, however, held the same piercing clarity. He was thin too, though not quite emaciated.After taking another bite, he spoke. "No need, kid.
It's the first proper meal we've had since the Incident… Took my wife's life and left us in a bad way. We know what it means to suffer."
He set down his spoon and gestured to the girl. "I'm John Starwyn. And this beauty over here," he said with a proud smile, "is my daughter, Lillian. What's your name, young man?"
Jett hesitated for a moment, still catching his breath.
"Jett Storm," he finally said. "And I'm honored to be sharing this meal with you, Mr. Starwyn."
There was so much more he wanted to ask—about this Incident, about whether it was the same thing that obliterated his town—but his body refused to keep up. Hunger muted his curiosity, and for now, all he could do was eat.
He finally sat down, his eyes locked on the food before him. Though he'd already been invited, he hesitated, glancing around the room as if waiting for a second confirmation. But hunger overruled his doubts. He picked up the spoon and took his first bite—and was immediately overwhelmed.
The flavors lingered far longer than expected, rich and complex even after swallowing. The stew melted into the rice in perfect harmony, a balance of warmth and spice that felt almost… healing.
"This is incredible," he murmured, still chewing. "I've never had anything like it before. It's a masterpiece."
Lillian blushed at the compliment. She'd always known she was a good cook, but hearing someone call it a masterpiece stirred something deeper. It reminded her of her mother—of those quiet mornings spent learning beside her, of the pride in her mother's eyes whenever she got a dish just right. A flicker of grief passed through her, but she hid it behind a small, grateful smile.
"Well, Lillian's always had a gift for cooking," John said, beaming at his daughter. "Learned from the best—her mother. She'll make a fine wife one day, that's for sure."
Then, turning his attention back to Jett: "So, how did you end up in our little corner of the world, if you don't mind me asking?"
Jett's face darkened. The warmth of the room, the kindness of these strangers—it all made the contrast with his own loss feel sharper, more surreal. The memory of his town returned like a tide. No matter how far he traveled, it followed. It was home. A place now erased from everything but his memory.
"I… I came from a small town," he began slowly. "Or, I guess, I used to. It's gone now. I don't know how. One night, I fell asleep like always… and when I woke up, there was nothing left. No houses. No people. Just land. As if it had never existed."
He paused, the words catching in his throat. Speaking it aloud helped, even if it hurt.
"I started walking, hoping to find food—or someone, anyone. Then I saw a light in the distance, and it led me here. I took my chances." John listened in silence, his expression softening with understanding. When Jett paused again, he gently stepped in.
"That must be incredibly hard. I'm sorry, son. Sounds like you were caught in the midst of the Incident too." He exchanged a glance with Lillian before continuing. "If you're looking for somewhere to stay, you're welcome here—for as long as you need. We'd be glad to have you."
Lillian gave a quiet nod in agreement, her eyes kind.
"How old are you, Jett?" John asked.
"Nineteen," he replied, trying to blink away the tears welling in his eyes. There was a fragile hope rising in his chest. He barely knew these people, yet something in their voices, their gestures, whispered of belonging. A possibility of calling this place home.
"Ah, one year younger than Lillian," John said with a grin. "Perfect. She could use someone her age around here. Everyone else in the village is old, and that's no fun for a girl her age, you know?"
Lillian rolled her eyes but said nothing, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"I don't mind it, Father," Lillian said softly.
She truly didn't. Maybe that was why she seemed older than her years—surrounded by elders all her life, shaped by loss, by necessity. Her maturity was not just a trait, but a reflection of survival.
Jett hesitated, caught between curiosity and caution. But he couldn't ignore it any longer. The question had been echoing in his mind since the first mention, and now it demanded to be answered.
"You've brought up the word Incident twice," he said, looking between them. "What exactly is it?"
Both John and Lillian turned to him, expressions shifting to confusion.
"You don't know?" John asked, surprised.
Jett shook his head, more puzzled than ever. "No. I've only heard of it here, from you."
John fell silent. The air grew still. His eyes met Jett's, and behind them was something heavy—something broken but buried beneath layers of composure. This wasn't just a story. It was a scar.
"The Incident," John began, voice lower now, "is the term the national government gave to what happened on March 2nd." He paused, as if the words themselves were too heavy to carry all at once. "A day that changed the world forever."
Jett leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed. "March 2nd? But… today is March—wait… Is it?"