The fight was over.
Their bodies ached. Clothes were torn, bruises were blooming like dark blossoms across skin, and smoke still clung to their hair. The mall had been a maze of shattered glass, twisted metal, and the lingering stench of scorched scales. But they'd won.
And as they exited through the broken side door, the cool evening air kissed their sweat-slick skin.
Arthur was carrying a blackened duffel of scavenged supplies slung over one shoulder. Gwen had sprinted ahead, scouting for threats. Penelope and Annabelle walked side by side, whispering softly, both still twitchy from the giant snake's last lunge. Anna followed behind, slightly dazed from holding so many shields at once. Her body was fine—her powers were built for defense—but her mind buzzed with spatial strain and exhaustion.
Then… she saw it.
A store, tucked between the skeletal remains of two boutiques. Intact glass, its lights dim but still flickering faintly from a battery backup. The name above had cracked, but the glowing letters still read:
CozyNest – Comfort for Every Soul
Anna stopped walking.
"Give me five minutes," she murmured to no one in particular. Her voice didn't even carry far enough for Arthur to hear.
She stepped through the shattered glass doorframe, her boots crunching softly. Inside was a different world—undisturbed. Almost dreamlike.
A rainbow of plush beanbags filled the floor. Oversized rugs lay in heaps like sleeping animals. Huge faux-fur blankets were piled against a faux fireplace display. Stuffed animals the size of armchairs lounged lazily on shelves. Towering pillows shaped like moons, stars, and animals lined the walls. There were even several portable solar heaters in boxes stacked in a corner.
For a moment, Anna just stood there. Breathing in the clean, faint scent of lavender that somehow still lingered. This space wasn't survival. It was comfort. It was warmth. It was a home waiting to be chosen.
She reached into the air beside her and pulled apart a sliver of space. Her Remote Spatial Hands extended, lifting everything she touched with gentle precision. Beanbags floated silently into her dimensional storage. Rugs folded themselves midair like obedient clouds. Blankets shimmered, vanishing into her endless pocket like falling snow.
In less than five minutes, the store was empty. And her chest felt just a little less heavy.
Back at the school, the sun was setting behind broken rooftops.
They'd chosen the third-floor classroom as their shared sleeping quarters—high enough to be safe, with a wide view of the street. Until now, it had been spartan. Just sleeping bags, a few crates, and some candles.
But tonight, Anna changed that.
She waited until the others were downstairs—eating or patching wounds—and then stepped into the room, quietly unfolding her vision.
A thick, multicolored rug spread out across the cracked tile. A deep indigo beanbag landed in the corner near the boarded window, next to a plush stuffed whale nearly as big as Arthur. Blankets—soft ones, quilted ones, one even shaped like a bear—rolled out and stacked themselves neatly in a corner like folded memories. The heaters she positioned strategically, connected to the backup solar packs they'd salvaged earlier. They began to hum softly with warmth.
She even found an old chalkboard in the hallway and dragged it in, cleaning it and writing:
Room Rules:
No starting fires indoors (Arthur).
No growing vines into people's sleeping bags (Annabelle).
Do not race around the beanbags (Gwen).
Ice powers = cold feet = murder. Wear socks (Penelope).
Blanket fort = temporary truce zone.
By the time she finished, her hands were shaking slightly from overuse of space magic. She slumped into the beanbag and stared at the flickering shadows cast by their new little heater.
The door creaked.
Arthur stepped in first, his brows raised. "Whoa…"
Penelope let out a soft gasp. "Is this—did you…?"
Annabelle sprinted forward and dove into a flower-printed beanbag, immediately swallowed in softness. "Anna! You're a goddess!"
Gwen made a high-pitched sound that might've been a squeal and did exactly what she wasn't supposed to do—raced around the beanbags like a pinball, whooping.
Anna smiled, small and tired. "I figured we deserved one room that didn't feel like the world ended."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Arthur set his duffel down. He walked over to her and tossed her one of the smaller stuffed plushies—it was a dragon, red and curled like a cat.
"You did good, boss," he said, flopping onto the carpet.
Penelope wrapped herself in two blankets like a cocoon. "I'm never leaving this room again. The apocalypse can go on without me."
Annabelle had already started making a fort out of pillows and vines.
Gwen collapsed into a beanbag and grinned at the ceiling. "This is the first time I've felt safe since we woke up."
Anna looked around at them—bruised, dirty, but smiling—and leaned her head back.
Maybe they weren't just surviving anymore.
Maybe, in this strange new world… they were starting to live.