Fang Qiong woke with a low, involuntary groan.
Every muscle in her body protested as sensation returned—heavy, dull, and deep, as if exhaustion had soaked into her bones themselves. For a moment, she didn't move. She lay still on the bunk, staring at the faintly illuminated ceiling of the train compartment, letting memory catch up with consciousness.
The Core Heart.
The reckless push beyond S-Tier.
The aftermath.
Her chest tightened slightly at the recollection. Power always carried a price—but this time, she had felt it scrape dangerously close to something irreversible. The hollowed-out sensation that followed the upgrade, the soul-deep emptiness, had been unlike anything she'd experienced before. Not physical fatigue. Something deeper. As if she had momentarily burned through parts of herself she didn't fully understand yet.
Eight hours.
That was all it had taken to recover this time.
She flexed her fingers slowly, testing them. Strength returned without tremor. Her breathing was steady. Her thoughts were clear.
If this had happened before she awakened Stamina Regeneration, she would have been bedridden for an entire day—maybe longer. The realization sent a quiet shiver through her. Gratitude, sharp-edged and sincere.
Even so, the lesson was unmistakable.
She couldn't afford recklessness.
Power wasn't something to chase blindly. It was something to manage. Like food. Like stamina. Like trust.
This wasn't a sprint toward dominance. It was a long, grinding marathon through a broken world, and only those who paced themselves survived the distance.
Qiong sat up slowly and swung her legs over the side of the bunk. Outside the reinforced windows, the ruined station lay quiet. No screams. No movement. Just dust, steel, and the faint groans of the distant undead—far enough away to be irrelevant, close enough to never be forgotten.
The train was safe.
For now.
That safety was exactly why she hadn't rushed out after her breakthrough. The world beyond the station was still lethal, still unpredictable. And while the train was sturdy, it wasn't invincible—not yet.
This machine wasn't just transportation.
It was the cornerstone of everything she intended to build.
Her shelter.Her weapon.Her future.
She stood and walked toward the conductor's chair, resting her hands against the cool metal console. The thought that had been circling her mind for days finally settled into focus.
The train wasn't just a collection of parts.
It was a whole.
Instead of upgrading wheels, armor, systems—piece by piece—what if she treated it as a single, unified entity?
The idea was terrifying.
Also irresistible.
She prepared carefully.
She rested. Ate properly. Let her stamina recover fully. When she finally sat in the conductor's seat, she did so with deliberate calm, palms flat against the console, breath steady.
She closed her eyes.
And reached—not for steel or circuitry—but for concept.
Speed.Endurance.Shelter.Momentum.
The Core Heart responded.
Violently.
Energy tore out of her in a roaring surge, flooding into the train's structure all at once. Metal groaned as its density shifted. Reinforced plates tightened and layered. Systems rewrote themselves with impossible precision, shedding inefficiencies like dead skin. Aerodynamic lines sharpened, becoming sleek, predatory.
Qiong felt herself unraveling.
Her awareness stretched thin, pulled apart by the sheer scope of what she was attempting. The world dissolved into heat and pressure and blinding light. She clung to the thought that mattered most—
Hold together.
When she woke, her face was pressed against the floor.
Her mouth tasted like metal. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy. It took her several seconds to realize an entire day had passed.
She rolled onto her back and stared upward, breathing shallowly. Then, slowly, she reached inward.
The Core Heart responded.
The assessment unfolded in her mind, clean and unmistakable.
The High-Speed CR450AF Train had been elevated as a whole.
Across-the-board improvements—speed, armor, filtration, structural integrity, energy efficiency—all enhanced by nearly half again their previous limits. No single system lagged behind. No weak link remained obvious.
It was an overwhelming success.
And a terrifying gamble.
Qiong let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes again—not in triumph, but relief.
She didn't linger.
Over the following days, she ventured out carefully. Not scavenging blindly—but deliberately. She returned to the remains of the shelter she had once called home.
She didn't take everything.
Only what mattered.
A water-damaged novel that Old Chen had loved despite its terrible prose.A small wooden bird Lili had carved with clumsy hands.Captain Mei's tactical map, edges worn, annotations precise.
She wrapped each item carefully and brought them back aboard the train.
Anchors.
Reminders.
Back inside, she turned to her personal gear.
Her trench coat lay across the workbench, its fabric darker now, denser, quietly drinking in the light. Under her Core Heart's guidance, it completed its ascent—no flash, no spectacle.
An S-Tier Hooded Trench Coat.
Protection strong enough to turn lethal force into survivable impact.
The water bottle followed.
What had once been a novelty became something vital—an S-Tier Steel Water Bottle, its refill chance soaring high enough to challenge scarcity itself.
Small defiance.
Huge implications.
Exhaustion lingered beneath her skin, a warning she took seriously. She stepped to the front window and stared out at the dust-choked horizon.
Power had limits.
So did she.
That thought grounded her.
Her gaze drifted to a familiar notebook resting on the console. She picked it up gently. It was old—filled with her handwriting from before the world ended. Dreams. Thoughts. Lists.
One page caught her attention.
Names.
She smiled faintly.
The realization clicked into place.
This train wasn't just a machine anymore.
It needed a name.
She lit a candle and turned to a clean page, writing carefully at the top:
Names for the Fortress
She tested them aloud, one by one.
Discarded some. Lingering on others.
Until one rose above the rest.
She wrote it again—this time with certainty.
Aetherwing.
The name felt right.
Aether—the pure upper sky.Wing—freedom, speed, ascension.
She turned the page and wrote:
Designation: AetherwingClass: Empyrean-Class Mobile Fortress
When she spoke the name aloud, the silence seemed to accept it.
She touched the console.
"Aetherwing," she said quietly. "Your captain is ready."
Later, she painted the name along the train's side in bold, elegant strokes—a declaration to the ruined world.
As dusk fell, Qiong stood outside and looked at her creation.
The Aetherwing gleamed softly in the dying light.
Hope didn't roar.
It endured.
She turned and stepped back inside.
She was home.