The first warning came in the form of silence.
Not the peaceful kind—but the heavy, suffocating silence that presses against your chest and leaves your skin damp. The cicadas stopped chirping. The birds vanished. Even the distant wind turbines slowed, as if the air itself refused to move.
Then came the heat.
At first, it crept in gently, like an unusually warm spring day. But within a week, the mornings felt like noon, and by midday, the world became a kiln.
The second disaster had begun.
She had seen it all before.
Not in waking life, but in a dream that had changed everything.
Julyah had already lived through this once, in sleep. A vivid, terrifying prophecy she could never quite explain. She'd called it madness at first. But then it began coming true. Every detail. Every downfall.
Including the heat.
Still, she hadn't expected it to feel this cruel.
"Extreme Heat Disaster — Estimated Duration: Six Months."
The words were scrawled in her old leather-bound journal, written in a trembling hand beneath the yellow glow of a bedside lamp.
She'd written them the moment she woke, shaken and unsure—but something deep inside her had known: this was no ordinary dream.
Adrian had saved her in that dream.
Back then, she was weak. Afraid. Unprepared. But he had protected her—guided her through years of collapse, starvation, and ruin.
Now, it was her turn.
She moved slowly through the villa, draped in breathable white fabric. Curtains remained closed at all hours, and reflective foil gleamed behind every window like desperate mirrors warding off the sun. She opened doors only briefly, stepping out like a soldier crossing enemy lines.
Even the shadows felt sharp.
But her movements were steady. Intentional.
She wasn't panicking.
She was ready.
And now, as the second wave of disaster unfolded exactly as foretold, Julyah's faith in that dream had become absolute.
The sun scorched the earth like a curse.
Trees withered to ash. Metal warped and blistered if left too long in the open. Even the wind carried heat, like breath from a dying furnace. Animals vanished. Rivers thinned.
The sky turned into a pale, angry haze.
But she was prepared.
Because she had dreamed this too.
Long before the temperature reached its peak, Julyah had prepared everything she'd need to survive six months indoors.
Each dawn, she cooked in the early hours, rice, grains, root vegetables, dense and nourishing. No time for indulgence. Every drop of water mattered. Every calorie had to count.
But unlike others, she didn't need a root cellar or buried bunker.
She had her mark.
The enchanted tattoo curled across her wrist like a blooming wildflower, softly glowing, ethereal, and unerasable. An inheritance from parents. A curse, perhaps. But also salvation.
With a focused breath and the brush of her fingers, she could store anything within its petals: jars of food, purified water, fabric, batteries, weapons. She called it her Pocket Bloom.
And it had never failed her.
"Eat to survive, not for comfort," she murmured, wiping sweat from her brow with a damp cloth as she sealed another pot of food.
Still, she seasoned it.
Being practical didn't mean being cruel to herself.
The villa's central corridor had become a designated cool zone. Thick wool blankets and layered rugs insulated the walls, and her solar panels, angled with ruthless precision, charged only essential batteries: fans, one emergency light, and her backup radio (still silent).
A hydration pack became part of her daily uniform. She refilled it each evening from filtered rainwater, careful to take only what was necessary.
Every item in her kit had been revised, reviewed, and reorganized. Her checklist was exacting:
Stored Meals: 180 days' worth, vacuum-sealed
Water: Purified, portioned, backups stored in the bloom
Heat-Protection Gear: Silver-lined cloak, ventilated mask, insulated boots
Solar Fans: Aligned for maximum charge
Hydration Packs: Frozen at night, thawed by midday
Weapons: Rifle, knife, two energy stunners
Emergency Shelter: Reflective tarp tent, bloom-accessible
And she trained.
Every single day.
Even as sweat soaked her clothes. Even as the concrete burned beneath her feet. She trained with makeshift weights, practiced her aim, sharpened her reflexes, and stretched until her limbs shook.
Her body needed to survive.
Her mind needed to lead.
Because next time, when he appeared again, it wouldn't be her lagging behind.
She would be the one protecting him.
At night, she lay sprawled across the cool tiles of the villa's inner chamber, whispering the same vow to the ceiling.
"Adrian… when we meet again, I'll be strong enough. I won't just survive this time. I'll save you."
The flower on her wrist glowed softly in the dark, steady, alive, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
The world was burning, yes.
But Julyah?
She was blooming.