Six months.
One hundred and eighty days of searching, fighting, surviving in a realm that seemed determined to break her.
Nana had lost count of how many hybrids she'd killed. How many demons she'd put down. How many desperate humans she'd been forced to fight off when they tried to take her supplies.
The motorcycle had been a gift from the universe—or maybe just luck. She'd found it in what had once been a luxury apartment building's underground garage, covered with a tarp and miraculously still functional.
The owner had probably been wealthy in whatever life they'd lived before Avalon claimed them.
Now the motorcycle was hers. Her lifeline. Her way to cover ground faster than walking ever could.
She set up a base in that same building.
The penthouse apartment on the top floor had secure doors, multiple escape routes, and a view that let her see three districts from the balcony. She'd stockpiled food and water there, hidden weapons in strategic locations, created a space that was as close to safe as anything could be in Avalon.
But she never stayed long. Couldn't afford to. Because every day she wasn't searching was another day Zayne could die.
A man with hazel eyes. Dark hair. Tall—around 186 centimeters, she'd estimated from memory. A man who moved with calculated precision, who spoke like each word was measured and weighed before delivery. Who looked calm even in chaos.
That's what she searched for. That's what she asked every survivor she encountered who didn't immediately try to kill her.
"Have you seen a man with hazel eyes? Dark hair? Tall? Moves like a fighter but thinks like a doctor?"
Most of them looked at her like she was crazy. Some ignored her completely. A few tried to lie, hoping she'd trade supplies for false information.
Those ones learned quickly not to lie to her.
Nana wasn't the same person who'd first fallen into Avalon. That cheerful, slightly reckless hunter who'd fought with enthusiasm and protected people because it was the right thing to do—that person was gone.
What remained was something harder. Colder. More dangerous.
She learned from Mina's death that caring made you weak. Had learned from Jisu's death that attachment was a liability. Had learned from Zayne's sixth death that love was the cruelest curse of all.
But she couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.
So she became what she needed to be.
A hunter in the truest sense—tracking prey with single-minded determination, eliminating anything that got in her way.
The twin axes had been a necessity. Her iron pipe was good for close combat, but she needed something with more range, more stopping power. She'd found them in a sporting goods store—camping axes, really, but with sharpened edges and reinforced handles they'd become lethal weapons.
The crossbow she'd made herself. Salvaged parts from three broken bows, painstaking hours of trial and error, and finally a weapon that could drop a hybrid from fifty meters away.
She'd become efficient. Deadly. Strong enough to survive alone in this nightmare.
Strong enough to bring Zayne home when she finally found him.
The broken parking lot had become one of her regular rest stops—a place where she could eat and maintain her weapons while keeping an eye on the surrounding area.
Nana sat on her motorcycle, legs stretched out, finishing the last of a protein bar that tasted like cardboard mixed with artificial sweetener. Around her, the ruins of District 14 baked in Avalon's oppressive heat.
Movement caught her eye. Two figures—a demon and what looked like a newly reborn human, maybe a month old at most. The girl was running, panicked, with the demon closing in fast.
Nana sighed. Not her problem. She needed to conserve her strength for—
The girl tripped. Went down hard. The demon lunged.
"Dammit." Nana was already moving, her hand reaching for one of her axes.
The weapon left her hand in a perfect throw, spinning end over end before burying itself in the demon's skull. Black mist began rising immediately.
The girl scrambled to her feet, eyes wide.
"Thank you! Oh god, thank you! I thought—"
Nana retrieved her axe, wiping black blood on her pants. "You're welcome. Now move along. Find shelter before something else finds you."
"Wait!" The girl moved closer, her expression shifting from grateful to calculating. "You have supplies. Food. Water. I can see it on your bike."
Warning bells went off in Nana's head.
"Back off."
"I just need a little. Please. I'm starving and—"
The girl lunged, not for Nana but for the motorcycle's storage compartment. Her hands grabbed at the straps, trying to tear them open.
Nana's axe was at the girl's throat before she could blink. "I said back off."
"Just a little food! Please!"
"I warned you." Nana's voice was flat, emotionless. "I helped you. That should have been enough."
"But I'm hungry! You have so much and I just need—"
The axe moved. Quick. Clean. Merciful in its efficiency if not its intent.
White mist began rising as the girl's body dissolved.
She cleaned her axe again and mounted her motorcycle. She didn't feel guilty. Couldn't afford to feel guilty. In Avalon, mercy got you killed. Hesitation got you killed. Caring about anyone except the one person you absolutely had to protect—that got you killed.
She'd learned that lesson too many times.
The engine roared to life, drowning out the whisper of dissolving mist behind her. Nana kicked the bike into gear and took off, heading toward District 16.
She been riding for maybe an hour when she saw him.
At first, it was just movement in her peripheral vision—someone fighting in the ruins of what had once been a shopping district. But something made her slow down, made her pull the bike into the shadow of a collapsed building and kill the engine.
A man. Fighting a hybrid with the kind of controlled precision that spoke of training or natural talent or both. He moved like water—flowing around the creature's attacks, striking at vulnerable points with calculated efficiency.
Nana's heart stuttered in her chest.
Dark hair. Tall frame. Those movements—surgical, economical, wasting no energy.
It couldn't be.
After six months of searching, she couldn't just stumble across him like this.
The man dispatched the hybrid with a final strike, then stood there for a moment, catching his breath. His hand moved to his chest—a habitual gesture, like checking a wound that was no longer there.
Or checking a scar that marked how many times he'd died.
Nana's hands tightened on the handlebars. She needed to see his face. Needed to be sure.
The man turned, scanning the area with eyes that were cautious and calculating. And even from this distance, even in Avalon's dim light, Nana could see them.
Hazel. Like a forest washed in morning light.
It was him.
Six months of searching. Six months of hope and despair cycling through her like a disease. Six months of refusing to give up even when giving up would have been there he was.
Zayne.
Alive. Fighting. Surviving on his own in this hell.
Nana's first instinct was to run to him. To call his name. To throw her arms around him and never let go.
But something stopped her.
He looked... different. Not physically—he was still the same height, same build, same hazel eyes that made her heart ache. But there was something in the way he moved, the way he held himself, that was harder than before.
More dangerous.
As she watched, Zayne's eyes swept across the ruins, stopping on every shadow, every potential hiding spot. His hand rested on a weapon at his belt—crude but effective. His entire body was coiled, ready to fight or flee at a moment's notice.
He wasn't the Zayne from Linkon City who'd carried strawberry candies and blushed when she smiled at him. This wasn't even the Zayne from their last timeline together, who'd protected her while struggling to understand feelings his soul remembered but his mind didn't.
This was someone who'd survived six months alone in Avalon. Who'd died six times and been reborn to face this nightmare over and over. Who'd learned that trust was dangerous and caring was a liability.
This was someone who might see her as a threat.
Nana made a decision. She would follow him. Learn where he was staying, how he survived, what his patterns were. Make sure he was actually capable of surviving before revealing herself. she approached wrong—if she scared him or made him think she was trying to hurt him—he might run. Or worse, he might fight.
And she couldn't risk losing him again. Not after six months of searching.
So she waited until Zayne started walking, heading east through the ruins with that same careful, measured pace. Then she started her motorcycle—quietly, staying far enough back that the engine noise wouldn't alert him—and followed.
He moved like a ghost through the district, sticking to shadows and covered areas. Avoiding open spaces where he'd be visible. Taking routes that had multiple escape options.
Smart. He'd learned fast.
Or maybe his body remembered. Muscle memory from previous lives bleeding through even without conscious recall.
She followed about twenty minutes, Zayne approached what looked like an abandoned medical clinic. He paused outside, scanning the area one more time, then slipped inside through a side door that Nana wouldn't have even noticed if she hadn't been watching him specifically.
She gave him five minutes, then carefully dismounted her motorcycle and moved closer.
The clinic was small—probably a neighborhood facility before Avalon consumed it. The windows were boarded up from the inside, and someone—Zayne, she assumed—had reinforced the doors with scavenged metal and debris.
Secure. Hidden. Smart choice for a base.
Nana circled the building quietly, noting all the exits, checking for weaknesses. She found a window on the second floor that had a gap in the boarding just wide enough to see through if she climbed up.
The drainpipe was sturdy enough to support her weight. She scaled it carefully, ignoring the protest from her leg—the wound had healed months ago but sometimes still ached—and positioned herself to peer through the gap.
Inside, Zayne was moving around what looked like an exam room he'd converted into living space. He had supplies stacked against one wall—food, water, medical equipment salvaged from the clinic. Weapons hung within easy reach. A sleeping area in the corner that was just a pile of blankets but looked surprisingly organized.
He done well. Better than well.
He'd created a functional base that would keep him alive.
Pride swelled in Nana's chest. Even without memories, even without anyone to help him, Zayne had survived. Had thrived. Had become exactly the kind of survivor who could make it in this nightmare.
As she watched, Zayne pulled off his shirt to check injuries—a fresh cut on his shoulder from the hybrid fight, some bruises that were already healing. And there, on his chest, right above his heart.
VI.
The Roman numeral carved into his skin. Six deaths marked like tally marks in flesh.
Nana's hand pressed against the wall, her throat tight with emotion. Six times he'd died. Six times he'd been reborn. And she'd only been there for two of those deaths.
How many times had he died alone?
Confused? Terrified?
How many times had he faced this nightmare without anyone to help him?
The guilt was crushing. But beneath it was something else—determination harder than steel.
She'd found him. Finally, after six months of searching, she'd found him.
Now she just needed to figure out how to approach him without getting herself killed.
Because this Zayne—this survivor who'd learned to trust no one and fight everything—he wasn't going to just accept her help. Wasn't going to believe that she was here to protect him.
She'd have to be careful. Strategic. Patient.
She'd have to win his trust slowly, prove that she wasn't a threat before revealing who she really was.
And then—only then—could she tell him everything. Could explain why she'd come back, why she'd searched for six months, why she'd refused to give up even when giving up would have been easier.
Nana climbed back down the drainpipe and retreated to her motorcycle. She'd set up camp nearby—close enough to keep watch, far enough that he wouldn't notice her immediately.
Tomorrow, she'd make contact. Carefully. Strategically.
Tomorrow, she'd begin the long process of bringing Zayne back into her life.
Even if he didn't remember her. Even if he fought her at first. Even if it took weeks or months to rebuild what Avalon had torn apart.
She'd do it.
Because she'd promised to find him.
And she always kept her promises.
.
.
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.
To be continued.