Nana had lost count of how many days she'd been following him.
Two weeks? Three? Time blurred together when you spent every waking moment tracking someone who didn't want to be found.
She'd gotten good at it—staying far enough back that he wouldn't notice, using her motorcycle only when absolutely necessary, moving through the ruins like a shadow.
She'd learned his patterns: how he scouted areas before entering, how he always kept multiple escape routes in mind, how he moved camp every three days without fail.
She'd learned that he was efficient and careful and smart enough to have survived six months alone in this hellscape.
And she'd learned that he was lonely. She could see it in the way he sometimes paused on rooftops, staring at the horizon like he was looking for something hequite remember. In the way his hand would drift to his chest, fingers tracing that Roman numeral VI without conscious thought.
Today, she'd been following him across the rooftops of District 15. He was checking buildings for supplies, moving with that same cautious precision that made her heart ache with recognition.
She kept her distance—fifty meters back, using rubble and ventilation units for cover. She'd done this dozens of times now. He never turned around. Never noticed.
Until today.
Zayne stopped mid-step on a flat rooftop section. Just stopped, his whole body going still in a way that made Nana's instincts scream.
Then he spun.
Nana barely had time to register the movement before he was on her. His speed was incredible—enhanced by muscle memory and six months of survival training his body had absorbed even without conscious recall.
Her back hit the rooftop with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. His hands pinned her wrists to either side of her head, his body weight keeping her immobilized. One of his knees pressed between hers, preventing her from kicking.
They stared at each other.
Hazel eyes—forest in morning light—boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. He was close enough that she could see the flecks of gold and green in his irises, could feel his breath on her face, could count the small scars on his jaw from fights and near-misses.
"You been following me," Zayne said, and his voice was cold. Clinical. The voice of someone who'd learned to trust no one. "For days. Maybe weeks. Why?"
Nana's mind raced. What could she say? How could she possibly explain without sounding completely insane?
I've been searching for you for six months because I love you across lifetimes and you keep dying and being reborn and I can't stop trying to save you even though you don't remember me.
Yeah, that would go over well.
"I..." she started, then stopped. His grip on her wrists was firm but not painful. Professional. Like he'd done this before. "I was... looking for someone."
"And you found them?" His eyes searched her face, looking for deception.
"Yes."
"Me." It wasn't a question.
Nana nodded slowly. "You."
"Why?" He didn't release her, didn't move. Just kept studying her like she was a puzzle he needed to solve. "What do you want from me?"
What did she want? Everything. His memories back. His trust. His love. A chance to escape this nightmare together and build a life in the real world where death didn't keep tearing them apart.
But she couldn't say that. So instead, she went with something simpler. Something that might not get her killed.
"A friend," Nana said quietly. "I want... do you want a friend? To escape this nightmare together?"
Zayne's expression didn't change. "I don't need a companion."
The words cut deeper than they should have. Rejection from someone who didn't even remember loving her.But before Nana could respond, Zayne released her wrists and stood, putting deliberate distance between them.
He moved to the edge of the rooftop and sat, dangling his legs over the side like the drop didn't bother him at all.
Nana sat up slowly, rubbing her wrists. Not injured, just... aware of where he'd held her. Where his hands had been warm against her skin.
"I've known you were following me for almost a week," Zayne said without turning around. He pulled off his shirt—unselfconscious, practical—to reveal the injuries on his arms that needed bandaging. Fresh cuts from a fight, by the looks of them.
"I was surprised you didn't approach sooner. Most people who track someone either want to rob them or kill them. You just... watched."
Nana moved closer cautiously, settling a few feet away from him on the rooftop edge. Close enough to talk, far enough not to seem threatening.
"I needed to make sure," she said. "That you were... who I thought you were."
"And am I?" He was wrapping his arm with practiced efficiency, tying off the bandage with his teeth. "The person you were looking for?"
"Yes."
"Why?" He finally turned to look at her, and his expression was genuinely curious rather than hostile. "What makes me so important that someone would track me for weeks?"
Because you're everything. Because I've watched you die twice and held you while you dissolved into mist. Because your soul knows me even when your mind doesn't. Because I love you so much it feels like it's killing me.
"Because you're seem like you know how to survive," Nana said instead. "Like you'd be a good partner for getting out of here. When the blood moon comes again."
Something flickered in Zayne's eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or just acknowledgment that she knew about the Wish Bridge.
"The blood moon," he repeated. "You know about the Ancient Tree? The vampires?"
"I've been here before," Nana admitted. "Fell through. Survived. Escaped. Came back."
"Came back?" Now his attention was fully on her, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing.
"Why would anyone come back to this hell voluntarily?"
For you. I came back for you. Because I promised to bring you home.
"Unfinished business," she said quietly.sat in silence for a moment, both of them staring out at the ruins of Avalon.
The city stretched before them—broken and dying, but still somehow beautiful in its devastation. The grey sky above, the red-stained buildings below, the eternal twilight that never quite became day or night.
"I'll consider it," Zayne said finally. "Being friends. Partners, whatever you want to call it. But..." He turned to face her fully. "I need you to promise something."
"What?"
"No more watching me sleep." His ears turned slightly red—that telltale flush that meant he was embarrassed.
"It's... unsettling. If we're going to work together, you approach during the day when I'm awake. Deal?"
Nana couldn't help it—she smiled. Actually smiled for the first time in months.
"Deal. No more creepy stalking. I'll be appropriately sociable."
"Good." He nodded, apparently satisfied. "We can—"
The air changed.
That was the only warning they got—a subtle shift in pressure, a whisper of wind that smelled wrong. Chemical. Toxic.
Nana's head snapped up just as the sky began to fill with them. Deer spirits—massive, ethereal creatures with antlers like bare tree branches and bodies that leaked poison gas from every orifice.
"POISON GAS!" she shouted.
The gas was already spreading, seeping through cracks and gaps, turning the air itself into a weapon. Around them, Nana could hear screaming as other survivors—the reborn, the desperate—began succumbed to the toxin.
Zayne was on his feet instantly, but Nana was faster. Her hand grabbed his, fingers interlacing automatically, and she yanked him toward the rooftop access door.
"This way!"
They ran as green mist spread behind them like a living thing. Nana's mind was racing, cataloging buildings, calculating distances, searching for somewhere—anywhere—that might have intact walls and sealed doors.
There. Three buildings over. An old office complex that looked like it had weathered the apocalypse better than most. Windows intact. Doors that might actually close.
"Jump!" Nana didn't give Zayne time to question. She leaped across the gap between buildings, pulling him with her.He followed without hesitation—trusting her in that moment even though he'd known her for less than an hour. They landed hard, rolled, came up running.
Behind them, the poison gas consumed everything. People who couldn't find shelter fast enough were already dropping, their screams cutting off as their lungs filled with toxin.
Nana kicked in a door—her aether core flaring blue for just a second to enhance the strike—and they tumbled inside. She slammed the door shut behind them, grabbed a desk and shoved it against the entrance. Not a perfect seal, but better than nothing.
"Windows!" Zayne was already moving, finding cloth—old curtains, abandoned jackets, anything—to stuff into the gaps. Working together, they sealed the room as much as possible.And they stood there, breathing hard, watching green mist swirl outside the windows like malevolent fog.
Zayne turned to stare at Nana, and his expression was something between shock and assessment.
She'd fought like a machine getting them here. No hesitation. No wasted movement. Just pure efficiency and determination that had kept them both alive.
And she was small—barely came up to his shoulder—but she'd dragged him across rooftops and kicked through doors like she was made of steel rather than flesh.
"Who are you?" Zayne asked quietly.
Nana met his eyes. "Someone who's very good at staying alive. And at keeping people alive."
"A hunter." He said it with certainty, like something in his soul recognized what she was even if his mind didn't remember.
"Yes.I was a hunter. In Linkon City. Before... this."
Zayne's hand moved unconsciously to his chest, fingers tracing the Roman numeral VI through his shirt. "How many times have you died here?"
"Never." Nana's voice was fierce. "I've never died in Avalon. I've escaped and come back, but I've never let this place kill me."
Something in his expression shifted. Respect, maybe. Or just recalculation of how dangerous she actually was.
"And you want me as a partner," he said slowly.
"I want you alive," Nana corrected. "I want both of us to make it to the next blood moon. To reach the Wish Bridge together. To escape this hell and never come back."
"Why me specifically?" His eyes searched hers. "Out of everyone trapped here, why track me for weeks?"
Because I love you. Because your soul is bound to mine. Because I've held you while you died and promised to bring you home.
"Because you're strong," Nana said. "Because you've survived six months alone, which means you're smart and capable. Because when I watched you fight that hybrid, I saw someone who moves like they've done this a thousand times before."
She paused, then added softly, "Because I think your soul remembers things your mind has forgotten. And that makes you special. Worth saving."
Zayne was quiet for a long moment. Outside, the poison gas continued to swirl, claiming more victims. They could hear distant screaming, then silence as people succumbed.
"Okay" he said finally.
"Okay?"
"I'll be your friend. Your partner." He held out his hand formally. "We work together. Watch each other's backs. Share supplies and information. And when the blood moon comes, we both reach that bridge. Both escape. Deal?"
Nana looked at his outstretched hand—those long fingers, those warm palms that had held her so many times in other lifetimes—and felt something crack open in her chest.
He was choosing her. Choosing to trust her. Even without his memories.
She took his hand, gripping firmly.
"Deal." Nana hand shook, and in that moment, something passed between them. Not recognition—not quite. But a sense of rightness. Like two puzzle pieces that had been searching for each other across time and death and endless suffering had finally clicked back together.
Even if one of them didn't understand why it felt that way.
"I'm Zayne," he said. "I don't know if that's my real name, but it's what feels right when I wake up."
"Nana," she replied. "Angelina Wang, but everyone calls me Nana."
"Nana." He tested the name, and something in his expression softened. "It suits you. Small. Fierce. Impossible to ignore."
She laughed—actually laughed—for the first time since his sixth death.
"Most people just think I'm reckless."
His lips twitched in what might have been an almost-smile. "We should wait here until the gas clears. Could be hours."
"Then we wait." Nana settled against the wall, her weapons within easy reach. "And maybe you can tell me about your base. The medical clinic in District 15."
Zayne's eyes narrowed. "You know about that."
"I told you. I've been watching you for weeks. I know where you sleep, where you hunt, what routes you prefer." She grinned at his expression. "Don't worry. I promise to stop being creepy now that we're friends."
"Somehow that doesn't reassure me."
But there was warmth in his voice. Almost fondness.
They're sat together in the sealed room, listening to the poison gas claim victims outside, and talked. About survival strategies. About the blood moon. About the best ways to find food and water in a dying realm.
They didn't talk about the past. Didn't mention that Zayne had died six times or that Nana had held him through two of those deaths.
Not yet.
That conversation would come later. When he was ready. When he trusted her enough to believe the impossible.
For now, they were just two survivors. Making plans. Building partnership.
Starting over.
Again.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.