Day 116. 10:30 hours.
Forbes Park.
Peacock Mansion.
Ground Floor.
The Atrium.
Twenty-two degrees
Gabriel's question hung in the room like smoke that refused to clear.
"What happened to you?" Gabriel pressed, her golden eyes searching his face, her voice thick with eighteen years of not knowing.
Rico looked at Jae-min, his bandaged shoulder still seeping beneath the gauze.
"I pulled the years off them," Jae-min measured, his voice flat. "It was Day Seventeen when I found the thread of years and pulled it — Uncle went from sixty-two to thirty-seven, and Marie went from fifty-four to thirty-seven in the space of five minutes."
Gabriel stared at him, her mouth opening and then closing again as the words failed to form, her golden eyes wide with the kind of shock that does not pass quickly.
"Later," Jae-min cut, his voice firm. "We have bodies in the yard."
Rico pressed his palm against his face at the far end of the table, the exhaustion of an old man sitting in a young man's body.
"We faced sixty hostiles, and they are all dead with zero casualties on our side," Jae-min directed, his voice commanding. "But the compound is not secure until we clean the yard, repair the walls, and confirm there is no follow-up threat, so we work now."
"Copy," the household confirmed in a stagger of voices, forty-four people accepting the order and moving to their stations.
— • • • —
Day 116. 10:45 hours.
The Compound Yard.
Minus seventy degrees
The yard was red.
The frost had crystallized the blood into ruby shards — red glass on white snow, glittering in the weak starlight — and sixty bodies lay scattered across the frozen ground, sectioned by wind blades and opened by hollow points, folded by gravity slugs and torn by hands that had ripped them apart like wet paper.
Six more had been vaporized entirely, leaving only ash on frozen ground, pooled steel, and charred outlines where men had stood and ceased to exist.
The smell hit the lungs like a fist — copper and iron and the raw stench of excrement from sixty men who had died afraid, their bowels voided and their blood frozen mid-spray.
The cold preserved everything, and the cold remembered everything, and the yard smelled like a slaughterhouse because it was one.
Paolo stood at the north wall with his hand pressed flat against the ice.
"North wall: eighty-two percent," Paolo reported, his voice flat. "Three days to full compression."
"Copy," Jae-min confirmed, his voice flat, his dark eyes moving south along the perimeter. "Give me the status on the south, east, and west walls."
"South wall is intact with no RPG impacts, east wall is at ninety-one percent after a repair, west wall is fine since the six hostiles were vaporized by Black Hell Flame, and the road on the west approach is now exposed," Paolo reported, his hand still pressed against the ice, his awareness spreading through the three layers.
"Leave the road — it is a firing lane now," Jae-min directed, his dark eyes on the exposed asphalt steaming in the minus seventy.
Rico worked out in the red, his bandaged shoulder still seeping through the cloth.
"Sixty confirmed, no survivors," Rico measured, his boot nudging a torso half-buried in the snow.
"Burn them all," Jae-min directed, his dark eyes on the bodies. "Fifty meters south of the perimeter and downwind, so the smoke stays away from the compound. Mark Jordan handles the flame, and Paolo digs the pit."
"Copy," Mark Jordan confirmed, his hand settling on the katana at his hip.
"Copy," Paolo confirmed, the ice reshaping itself beneath his palms as a trench opened in the frozen ground.
— • • • —
Day 116. 11:00 hours.
Level 2.
The Command Deck.
Twenty-two degrees
[Elena Vasquez]: "Vanguard Six to Peacock Compound. Status. Over," Elena Vasquez crackled, her voice tight, the static biting through the frozen air between sentences.
[Mei]: "Peacock Compound to Vanguard Six. Compound secure. Sixty hostiles neutralized. Zero casualties. Walls intact. Over," Mei relayed, her voice steady, her fingers moving across the keyboard, the violet-blue glow of the monitor painting her face.
[Elena Vasquez]: "Confirm — sixty down, zero casualties. Copy. Vanguard Six: three groups engaged. Thirty-five down. Five wounded. Zero killed. Holding," Elena Vasquez crackled, her voice rough, the transmission crackling with ice-static.
[Commander Reyes]: "Ridge group. Two groups engaged. Twenty down. Three wounded. Zero killed. Holding. Impressive, Captain," Commander Reyes crackled, his voice carrying the particular roughness of a commander holding a perimeter with three wounded.
"Both holding, both took casualties, we did not," Mei measured, her violet-blue eyes turning to Jae-min.
"Medical support is available if you need it — Alessia is on standby at the infirmary," Jae-min directed, his dark eyes on the monitors.
Mei replied to both allies and confirmed their wounded were stable, and then the frequencies went quiet.
"Where did the five groups come from? What was their origin?" Jae-min pressed, his dark eyes on the tactical overlay.
"The common origin is the Robinsons Cybergate parking structure in Mandaluyong, two kilometers north," Mei laid out, her fingers still moving across the keys. "The approach was coordinated, the retreat scattered in multiple directions, and the staging area is most likely abandoned now."
"Log it, and we will analyze the data after the yard is cleaned up," Jae-min confirmed, his dark eyes still on the map.
— • • • —
Day 116. 12:00 hours.
Ground Floor.
The Kitchen.
Twenty-two degrees
Hua was cooking.
The kitchen smelled of ginger — the sharp, citrus bite of fresh ginger root hitting hot oil — and of garlic caramelizing in rendered fat, and of rice, the clean starch scent that meant someone was being fed.
The knife moved through the carrots with a sound like paper tearing.
Gabriel stood in the doorway, her golden eyes on the knife, on the grip, on the way Hua's wrist turned.
"Sit or leave," Hua measured, her knife not pausing. "Doorways are for passing through."
Gabriel sat — on the stool at the end of the counter, the one with the worn groove in the seat.
Ji-yoo's stool.
Ji-yoo appeared in the corridor, her dark eyes fixed on the back of Gabriel's head.
"My stool," Ji-yoo measured, her voice low and venomous.
Gabriel turned, the flirty smile already spreading across her face.
"Everything in this kitchen is yours, is it not, Ji-yoo?" Gabriel purred, her golden eyes on Ji-yoo, the flirty smile returning.
Ji-yoo's gravity spiked, and the cutting board rattled, and the carrots shifted, and the knife trembled where it lay.
"Not in my kitchen," Hua directed, her hand firm on the knife.
Ji-yoo's gravity settled.
"Outside. Later," Ji-yoo confirmed, her voice tight.
"I look forward to it," Gabriel confirmed, her voice flirty.
Ji-yoo turned and walked out, her ponytail swinging behind her.
Hua's knife resumed.
"Cut the onions," Hua directed Gabriel, her voice even. "Use your hands and not your wind — this is a kitchen, not a battlefield."
Gabriel cut — badly, unevenly, wrong.
"Your technique is terrible," Hua measured, her voice even, her knife not pausing on the carrots.
"I know," Gabriel choked, her eyes already streaming. "I watched you every Thursday. I never learned."
Hua's knife paused for one beat, then resumed.
"Watch me now — I will show you once, and you copy what you see," Hua directed, her voice low, her hand repositioning on the knife. "By the end of this week, you will cut an onion properly, or you will not eat."
"Yes, Chef," Gabriel breathed, her voice reverent.
Hua showed her once, and Gabriel copied — badly, but less badly than before.
— • • • —
Day 116. 13:00 hours.
Forbes Park.
The Compound Yard.
Minus seventy degrees
The pyre was still burning fifty meters south, its smoke black against the indigo sky.
Gabriel stood barefoot in the yard on the frozen snow, her golden eyes on the compound door.
She was waiting.
The door opened, and Ji-yoo walked out, her boots crunching on the frozen snow, her dark eyes fixed on Gabriel, her jaw set, and her fists clenched at her sides.
Behind her, the door stayed open, and the faces of the household filled the frame — Hua, Alessia, Jennifer, Yue, Mei, Mark Jordan, Paolo, Marie — all of them watching.
Rico appeared at the door, his bandaged shoulder and his dark eyes on the yard, and he leaned against the frame.
Jae-min appeared beside Rico, his dark eyes on the yard as well.
"Uncle," Jae-min measured, his voice low, his dark eyes on the yard below.
"I know," Rico allowed, his voice low, his bandaged shoulder against the doorframe.
"Should I — " Jae-min started, his hand already on the doorframe.
"No," Rico cut, low. "Let them."
Gabriel and Ji-yoo faced each other five meters apart, the snow between them stained red with runoff from the pyre.
The air was still, because this was a fist fight.
"You stole his first kiss," Ji-yoo measured, her voice low and flat.
Gabriel's golden eyes narrowed.
"I did," Gabriel confirmed, her voice steady. "He was sixteen, and I was fifteen, and I wanted it, so I took it."
The household at the door went still, and the four wives' eyes turned to Jae-min.
Jae-min's face did not change, his dark eyes still on the yard.
"That is not why you hate me," Gabriel pressed, her voice low. "You hate me because you wanted to be the one."
Ji-yoo flinched.
"You wanted his first kiss," Gabriel continued, "not because you loved him, but because you are his twin — the twin thing, the first kiss that was supposed to be yours."
Ji-yoo's fists clenched, her dark eyes blazing.
Then Gabriel's voice changed, dropping lower and harder, into the voice of a woman who had been carrying her own truth for eighteen years.
"But your first kiss was not Jae-min's, was it, Ji-yoo?" Gabriel pressed, her golden eyes sharp.
Ji-yoo went rigid, and the household at the door went stiller still.
"Min-joo Kim," Gabriel laid out, her voice low, each word landing like a stone dropped into snow. "Your first kiss was Min-joo Kim — not Jae-min, not the twin thing you keep talking about, but a boy from Portofino Alabang."
Ji-yoo's face went white.
"So do not stand there and tell me about the twin thing," Gabriel continued, her voice hard. "Do not tell me the first kiss was supposed to be yours. Your first kiss was with a boy from Portofino Alabang. Your first kiss was with Min-joo Kim. You gave that away — you gave it to someone who was not your twin — and now you hate me because I took the one you wanted to keep."
"SHUT UP," Ji-yoo fired, her voice a detonation in the frozen air.
She moved, not with gravity and not with power, but with her feet — her boots on the frozen snow closing five meters in three strides, her fist already cocked.
Gabriel did not move; she stood there and took it.
Ji-yoo's fist connected with the left side of Gabriel's jaw, and the crack of bone on bone traveled through the frozen air like a gunshot, snapping Gabriel's head to the right.
Blood sprayed from her lip — red on white snow, steaming in the minus seventy, the particular steam of warm blood meeting cold air — and her golden eyes went wide.
Gabriel hit back with the right hand, straight, into Ji-yoo's cheekbone, and the impact sent Ji-yoo sideways two steps, then three, her boots skidding on the frozen snow.
Ji-yoo came back faster, throwing a combination — left, right, left.
Gabriel blocked the first two with her forearms, but the third got through into her ribs with the crack of knuckle on bone.
Gabriel grabbed Ji-yoo's shirt, the cotton frozen stiff and stressed beyond its limit, tearing in her grip, and pulled her close and headbutted her.
Ji-yoo's nose took the impact, the cartilage crunching with the wet, grinding sound of gristle compressing, and blood sprayed — red on white, the droplets freezing in mid-arc and becoming ruby mist before they ever landed.
Ji-yoo's knee came up into Gabriel's stomach, and Gabriel doubled over; Ji-yoo's elbow came down into Gabriel's back, and Gabriel went to one knee.
Gabriel's fist came up from the knee in an uppercut that caught Ji-yoo's chin, clicking Ji-yoo's teeth together and snapping her head back so that she staggered.
They separated three meters apart, both breathing hard, both bleeding — Gabriel's lip split and Ji-yoo's nose streaming — both fists still up.
"Hypocrite!" Gabriel spat, blood on her teeth, her golden eyes on Ji-yoo. "You gave your first kiss to Min-joo. You want Jae-min's first for yourself. And you hate me for taking it. That is not the twin thing — that is jealousy."
"You do not understand —" Ji-yoo started, her voice raw, blood on her lip.
"I understand perfectly," Gabriel cut, her voice hard. "You want both. You want Min-joo, and you want Jae-min. You want the first kiss and the first everything, and you cannot have it. You gave the first kiss away, and I took the one you wanted to keep, and you have hated me for eighteen years because of it."
Ji-yoo launched again — no power, just fists and both hands reaching for Gabriel's hair.
Gabriel caught her wrist, twisted, and Ji-yoo spun; Gabriel's knee went into her back, and Ji-yoo went face-first into the snow.
Ji-yoo rolled, her boot catching Gabriel's ankle.
Gabriel went down with her, both of them in the red snow, rolling and punching with fists and knees and elbows in the particular violence of two women who had been carrying this for eighteen years and who were, now, in the frozen yard, letting it out the only way they knew how.
Jae-min stepped off the threshold, his boots on the frozen snow.
Rico's hand found his arm.
"Wait," Rico measured, his voice low, his hand finding Jae-min's arm.
Jae-min waited.
Ji-yoo was on top, her fist in Gabriel's hair, Gabriel's fist in Ji-yoo's shirt, both of them bleeding, both of them breathing in ragged, frost-fogging gasps.
"I was supposed to be first," Ji-yoo breathed, her voice cracking — not from the fight but from the truth. "I was his twin. The first kiss was supposed to be mine."
"Your first kiss was Min-joo," Gabriel choked back, blood on her teeth, her golden eyes on Ji-yoo's face three inches away. "You gave it away. You do not get to claim the twin thing when you already gave the first away."
Ji-yoo's fist tightened in Gabriel's hair, and her dark eyes went wet — not from the punch but from the truth that was now out in the frozen air between them.
The truth that she had given her first kiss to Min-joo Kim, that the twin thing was an excuse, that Gabriel was right, that she was a hypocrite, and that she had hated Gabriel for eighteen years for taking the thing she had not been able to give first.
The fight drained out of both of them.
Ji-yoo's grip loosened, and Gabriel's grip loosened, and they knelt in the snow face to face with blood on both of them and the red snow beneath.
"I did not know you wanted —" Gabriel started, her voice quiet now.
"Of course, you did not know," Ji-yoo cut, her voice raw. "You never looked at me. You only looked at him."
Silence settled over the yard — the pyre crackling, the smoke rising, the snow still falling in fine crystals.
Jae-min walked to the center of the yard, between them, his boots on the red snow.
"Enough," Jae-min measured, his voice low and commanding, his body between the two women.
Neither woman moved.
"I said enough," Jae-min pressed, his voice firm.
Rico stepped off the threshold, his boots on the snow.
"Listen to your captain," Rico directed, his voice gruff. "Both of you, inside, right now."
Ji-yoo's dark eyes went to Rico with the particular look of a woman programmed to obey that voice.
Gabriel's golden eyes went to Rico with the particular look of a woman who was going to listen.
"Inside," Jae-min confirmed. "Both of you are going inside where we will eat and talk and figure out what happens next, together."
Ji-yoo stood first, her boots on the snow, blood on her nose and blood on her lip, and she walked toward the door.
Gabriel stood, her bare feet on the snow, blood on her jaw and blood on her teeth, and she followed three steps behind.
The household parted, the doorframe cleared, and the two women walked through with blood on the threshold.
Jae-min stood in the yard with Rico beside him, Rico's hand on Jae-min's shoulder.
"Three menaces," Rico measured, his voice low and gruff, his hand on Jae-min's shoulder.
"Three menaces," Jae-min confirmed, his voice low and exhausted, his dark eyes on the blood on the threshold.
They stood in the yard, the pyre burning, the blood on the snow freezing into red frost.
— • • • —
Day 116. 16:00 hours.
The Rooftop.
Minus seventy degrees
The pyre was still burning, and Gabriel's wind carried the smoke south.
Jae-min stood at the parapet with the Surgeon Scalpel Rifle beside his hand, his dark eyes on the pyre.
Gabriel stood beside him, barefoot, her hair lifting in a breeze of its own, her jaw bruised purple from Ji-yoo's fist.
They stood in silence — the pyre, the wind, the smell of sweet charnel and burning fat drifting over them.
Gabriel's hand found the parapet, her fingers curling against the frozen concrete.
"You promised," Gabriel measured, her voice quiet, with no flirtation in it at all.
Jae-min did not look at her, his dark eyes still on the smoke.
"A star died," Jae-min laid out, his voice low, his dark eyes still on the smoke rising from the pyre.
Gabriel waited.
"Alpha Centauri — four light-years away. Something killed the primary star with a weapon, triggering a supernova that sent a gamma wave across space and into Earth's atmosphere," Jae-min laid out, his voice low, his hand on the parapet.
"That is what caused the cold — the freeze," Gabriel breathed, her golden eyes widening as the connection formed.
"Minus seventy degrees. The gamma radiation saturated every living cell on the planet, but it stayed dormant — waiting for a catalyst," Jae-min continued, his voice steady, his dark eyes on the smoke.
"Waiting for what?" Gabriel pressed, her golden eyes on his profile, her hand gripping the frozen parapet.
Jae-min's hand tightened on the parapet, his knuckles white.
"For you to die," Jae-min laid out, his voice flat, his knuckles white on the frozen concrete.
Gabriel flinched.
"The radiation needs a catalyst," Jae-min continued. "Near-death. The body hits the limit, the radiation activates, and it rewrites you."
"The Threshold," Gabriel whispered, her golden eyes on his, her fingers tightening on the parapet.
Jae-min nodded, his dark eyes still on the smoke.
Silence held between them, broken only by the pyre crackling and a rib cage collapsing in the heat.
"I died in the cockpit," Gabriel breathed, her voice cracking. "I felt the cold and the dark closing in, and then — the wind came."
"The wind was your last thought," Jae-min pressed. "What was it?"
Gabriel's golden eyes went to the indigo sky.
"You," Gabriel choked. "I wanted to fly to you. Give you — everything."
Jae-min's hand left the parapet and found her shoulder.
"The radiation gave you what you wanted," Jae-min allowed. "It gave you flight — the wind, the power to cross the distance and reach me."
Gabriel's hand went to her mouth, her golden eyes going wet, her breath stuttering in response to her emotion so that the smoke faltered before resuming.
"I did not know —" Gabriel stammered, her voice muffled.
"I know," Jae-min allowed, his voice quiet, his hand still on her shoulder.
Silence held again — the pyre, the wind.
Then Gabriel's hand dropped, and her golden eyes came to Jae-min with a different look.
"You said you pulled the years off Uncle," Gabriel measured, her voice careful. "How?"
Jae-min's dark eyes came to hers.
"I died too," Jae-min laid out, his voice flat, his dark eyes leaving the smoke and finding hers.
Gabriel's golden eyes widened.
"Before the freeze, in the first life, I was — " Jae-min stopped, his jaw working, his hand gripping her shoulder. "Eaten alive."
The words hit the rooftop like a physical blow — eaten, alive — and Gabriel's hand found his arm.
"My neighbors," Jae-min continued, his voice flat, his dark eyes on the smoke. "They were starving, and they went feral, and they came into the corridor where I was."
He stopped, his throat closed.
Gabriel did not press; she held his arm and waited.
The pyre crackled, and somewhere in the fire a skull split.
"Mrs. Dela Cruz and a child from the tenth floor cracked my ribs and tore out my lung tissue and ground my wrist to powder while I was crawling toward Alessia, and she was being eaten too — "
He stopped, and his hand tightened on her shoulder.
"We held hands while we died," Jae-min finished, his voice empty.
Gabriel's golden eyes went wet, her hand still on his arm, the wind carrying the smoke south, steady.
"And you came back from that," Gabriel breathed, her golden eyes wet, her hand still on his arm.
"I wanted one more chance," Jae-min allowed. "The radiation gave me Space. Time. The power to go back thirty days. I undid the first life."
Gabriel's grip tightened.
"What about Ji-yoo?" Gabriel pressed, her voice quiet, her golden eyes searching his face.
"She died too, in the first life. The plane crash — KE627, Incheon to Manila — went down over the Alishan Mountains. Everyone on board died except Ji-yoo, who was clinically dead for four minutes and twelve seconds before she came back with Gravity and Force," Jae-min laid out, his dark eyes on the pyre.
"She never came home," Jae-min continued. "The Taiwan Samsara Federation found her and trained her, and she became the captain of Preta — the all-female assassin group — operating across Southeast Asia for two years while believing I was dead."
Silence held between them, with only the pyre and the wind.
"In this life, I changed it," Jae-min laid out. "I told her to change the flight, and she did, and she survived."
He paused.
"Our parents did not survive the crash," Jae-min laid out, his voice quiet, his hand leaving the parapet.
Gabriel's hand tightened on his arm.
"Flight KE627 went down in the Alishan Mountains with no survivors," Jae-min laid out, his voice dropping. "Hermano Abadia Del Rosario and Eun-hae Han Del Rosario were on that plane."
Gabriel's knees buckled, and her hand went to her mouth.
The sound she made was not a word but the sound of a woman who had just heard that her uncle and aunt were gone.
Hermano, who had carried her on his shoulders when she was five, who had let her sit in the cockpit of a fighter plane when she was eight, who had told her she would be a pilot before she was ten, was gone.
Eun-hae, who had braided her hair, who had made her kimchi, who had called her little bird, was gone.
Both of them.
KE627.
Alishan Mountains.
No survivors.
The names landed on the rooftop like stones.
Gabriel's golden eyes went down to the yard below, to Rico, thirty-seven years old now, wearing the face that looked like his dead brother's.
"Uncle wept," Jae-min confirmed, his voice quiet. "When I pulled the years off. He stood in front of the mirror. Thirty-seven. The face looking back was Dad's."
"And Marie?" Gabriel pressed, her voice thick.
"Marie was fifty-four when I pulled twenty-five years off her, bringing her back to thirty-seven. Her fertility window reopened, and she is now nine weeks pregnant," Jae-min confirmed, his dark eyes on Marie's belly visible from the rooftop.
Gabriel's golden eyes went to Marie's belly, to the small bulge and the hand resting on it.
"What about the baby?" Gabriel started, her voice cracking, her golden eyes dropping to Marie's belly below.
"Jae-min Del Rosario," Jae-min laid out. "Named after me."
Gabriel's hand went to her mouth, the tears falling, the wind catching the smoke south.
Jae-min's hand stayed on her shoulder, the weight of it steady.
"Uncle Hermano," Gabriel choked, her voice breaking, her golden eyes streaming. "Auntie Eun-hae — they are gone, they are — "
She could not finish.
The tears came — not the Atrium tears, not the fight tears, but the tears of a woman who had just learned that her uncle and aunt, the people who had been her second parents, were frozen in the wreckage of a plane in the Alishan Mountains.
Gabriel crumpled, her forehead on Jae-min's shoulder, her fists in his shirt, the wind dying completely so that the smoke from the pyre stalled and rose straight up.
"I love you," Gabriel breathed, her voice muffled against his shoulder, her fists tight in his shirt, her golden eyes closed, the tears soaking into his collar.
Jae-min's hand came to the back of her head, his dark eyes on the pyre, his jaw set.
"I know," Jae-min allowed, his voice quiet and genuine, his hand on her head, his dark eyes on the smoke.
Gabriel's golden eyes came up to his — the tears, the wind, the pyre, the indigo sky all held in them.
She did not speak; she leaned into him, her forehead on his shoulder.
They stood on the rooftop, the pyre burning, the wind carrying the smoke south — two people who had died and come back, standing in the cold, together.
Day one hundred and sixteen.
The siege was over.
The story was not.