The sky was on fire.
Flames engulfed the shelter walls, climbing rapidly and sending sparks into the darkness. The hallway cracked and collapsed behind Lin Xueying as she pulled her brother through the smoke.
"Just a little further, Zhihao—hold on!"
His breathing was rough and shallow. His small frame sagged in her arms, limp and barely conscious.
She pushed ahead, coughing, eyes watering from the thick, acrid smoke. The world had turned orange and gray, with screams echoing behind crumbling doors. The fire spread too quickly, faster than anyone had expected.
One more step. Just one more.
Then the ceiling above them cracked and collapsed all at once.
She saw it too late. Her eyes widened, muscles tensing as she tried to shield her brother but she was too slow.
The impact sent her flying back. Her shoulder slammed into the concrete wall. Pain shot through her as rubble rained down, and smoke filled her lungs.
"Zhihao!" she screamed, scrambling forward.
He lay trapped beneath a slab of debris. His face was pale. Blood oozed from his side, staining the floor beneath him.
She crawled toward him, arms shaking.
"Stay with me! Please—just stay awake!"
His eyes fluttered open. He tried to speak, but only a faint whisper escaped.
"Jie... I'm cold."
"No, no—don't say that. I'm getting us out. We're almost out, okay?"
Zhihao's fingers curled weakly around hers.
Then fell limp.
"Zhihao...? Zhihao!"
No answer.
"No!" she sobbed, holding him tightly. "No, no—please don't leave me!"
She felt it the weak, irregular rhythm in his chest... then nothing.
Gone.
Her world shattered.
The fire didn't matter anymore. The pain didn't matter.
She bowed her head, pressing her forehead to his cooling skin, tears sliding down her cheeks, mixing with soot and blood.
And then—a click.
The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
Xueying froze. Slowly, she turned her head.
Through the smoke, framed by the burning ruins, a familiar figure stepped forward.
Qin Yiran.
Her face covered in the ash and her eyes were cold, the gun was in her hand raised towards her.
"I didn't want it to end like this," Yiran said quietly. "But you would've gotten in the way."
Xueying's lips parted. "You...?"
Yiran didn't speak again.
She pulled the trigger.
A single shot echoed through the crumbling shelter.
Xueying's body fell forward still holding her brother's hand as the fire consumed everything.
Rain Tapped Gently…
A light drizzle fell over Chengdu, gently tapping against the windows of one of the older residential complexes. The sky outside was dark and gray.
Inside, tucked away in a third-floor apartment of a worn-out building, was a small room with faded light-purple wallpaper peeling slightly at the corners.
A young woman lay asleep.
Her brows were tightly furrowed, and her forehead was slick with sweat. Damp strands of hair clung to the pillow, framing a face now even paler in sleep.
Her body began to tremble, as though in great pain.
Without warning, a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Her eyes snapped open.
A soft gasp escaped her lips as she jolted upright. For a moment, she sat frozen, dazed and trembling, her fingers gripping the old quilt—one she hadn't seen in nearly seven years. Her heart thudded violently in her chest.
This couldn't be real. She was supposed to be dead.
She looked around. Her eyes scanned the small, familiar room. It was untouched by time.
Her old bedroom.
She pushed herself out of bed on trembling legs and staggered toward the window. Outside, the street was wet with rain. Streetlights glowed, and the corner shops shone with warm light. Cars passed lazily. A child in a yellow raincoat splashed through puddles, laughing. People walked beneath umbrellas, chatting on their phones.
Impossible.
Her gaze flicked to the nightstand. Her phone buzzed with a notification. With shaking hands, she picked it up and stared at the date on the screen.
**May 3, 2027.**
Her breath caught.
Three months before the world ended.
She stumbled into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and froze in front of the mirror.
A nineteen-year-old girl stared back at her.
Her face was softer, unscarred. Her hair was long and black, not streaked with sun-bleached silver. Her skin was pale—untouched by the horror of the apocalypse. Her hands weren't calloused from scavenging abandoned shelters.
And her eyes... they still had light in them.
Lin Xueying pressed her hand to the cool glass.
"I'm... back?" she whispered, touching her cheek. "I'm actually back…"
Memories surged rain turning black, flames devouring cities, hunger gnawing through her stomach, the ground splitting, and skies raining ash.
Zhihao. Her little brother.
His body going still in her arms.
Her knees gave out. She gripped the edge of the sink, forced herself upright, and stumbled into the hallway. Her heart pounded as she reached a door his door. Her fingers hovered over the knob, trembling.
She opened it slowly.
There he was.
Fast asleep. Tangled in his blanket, one arm flung over his head, mouth open in a soft snore.
Alive.
Thirteen years old again.
Her legs buckled, and she sank against the doorframe, shaking violently. Tears spilled from her eyes, and silent sobs wracked her chest.
He was alive.
She had time.
She had another chance.
For several long minutes, she cried quietly, pressing a fist to her mouth to stay silent. She didn't want to wake him. Didn't want this fragile miracle to vanish.
When she could finally breathe again, she stood slowly and backed into the hallway. Dizziness surged through her again, but she steadied herself against the wall.
This wasn't a dream.
Not a hallucination.
It was real.
She didn't know why the world had turned back. Didn't know who—or what—had given her this chance.
But it didn't matter.
She was here. Back.
And she remembered everything.
The day the rain stopped being harmless. When it turned acidic. The sun scorching too close. Snowfall. Earthquakes. Cities swallowed by the earth. Neighbors turning on each other. Governments falling apart.
And the betrayal—the shelter, her final sanctuary. The last place she saw her brother breathe.
She returned to her room and sat on the bed, staring at her phone again.
May 3, 2027.
Three months.
That's how long it took from this very day. Three months until the changes began. Quiet at first. Odd weather patterns. Then silence. Then collapse.
But now... she remembered everything.
She knew which supplies to hoard. Which streets would flood. Which neighbor's would lie. Which strangers could be trusted. Which ones would kill.
This time, she would not be helpless.
This time, she would not just survive.
She would fight and she would take her brother with her.
She crossed the room and opened the closet door. Inside were old coats, dusty shoes, and boxes she hadn't touched in years.
She smiled, tears still clinging to her lashes.
This time, she'd be ready.
She'd stockpile what she could. Build escape routes. Watch the sky.
And when the world began to unravel—and it would—she'd be waiting.
Lin Xueying took one last look toward her brother's door.
"I won't let it happen again," she whispered.
And in her chest, where despair had once taken root, something new began to bloom.
Hope.