Jett stirred from a restless sleep, the pain that had driven him into unconsciousness still lingering in his body. As his eyes adjusted, he cast a quick glance around, a vague unease blooming in his chest. What happened? he wondered.
The world he had known was gone—replaced by an unfamiliar stretch of green land. The air was crisp and invigorating, filling his lungs and shaking off the last remnants of sleep. Everything looked almost as it should, yet carried a subtle strangeness, as if reality had shifted just enough to feel wrong.
"Where is everyone...?"
He finally gathered the strength to explore the town he once called home—now nothing more than a memory erased from the earth. The streets were gone, the buildings vanished, as if the place had never existed at all. He was the only one left. The only known survivor of what people had come to call the Incident—the term given to the cataclysmic shift that had rewritten reality.
Everyone he knew, everyone he loved, was simply. . . gone.
Why had he survived when no one else had? Why had he been spared in the wake of this strange, emerging world?
"Where is everyone? What happened here? Why are all the houses gone? Why does it feel like this place was never real to begin with...?"
He stood alone in an empty landscape that echoed the memory of his hometown—familiar, yet hollow. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, his body trembling with the weight of grief and confusion. The people he loved, the friends he'd grown up with—what had happened to them? Deep down, he knew he couldn't stay. He had to leave.
Somewhere out there, people still existed, and with them, perhaps, answers to the questions that haunted him since the moment he woke. Everything had been fine the night before. So why did the world feel like a dream torn apart?
Summoning what resolve he had left, Jett turned his back on the shattered remains of his home and wandered off into the unknown. His first instinct was vengeance—but against whom? Who could possibly be responsible for something so vast, so inexplicable? The pain in his body still lingered, though dulled now, as if it had settled into his bones. Where do I go? he wondered.
Hours passed beneath a gray sky until, at last, a faint light shimmered on the horizon. A village, maybe? Whatever it was, it offered hope—hope for shelter, for food. He hadn't eaten in days. For all he knew, he had been unconscious for that long, maybe longer. It was a miracle he was even alive, though he had no way of knowing that the mysterious energy pulsing quietly within him—nexus energy—had kept his body from failing. He didn't yet understand what this new world meant for someone as human as he was.
As he approached, his guess proved right: it was a village—or at least part of one. Modest in size, likely enough to house fifty or sixty people. But beyond its borders loomed something else: towering structures, silent and strange. A city. Why the separation? Why build a village at the foot of a city?
He didn't have the strength to finish the thought. Hunger gnawed at his mind, clouding it, dulling his senses. He had no energy left to second-guess himself. All he needed to do was knock on a door and ask for food. Normally, he would have agonized over that—but not now. Not like this.
"Come on," he muttered to himself. "You'll thank yourself later."
Knock, knock.
It took a moment, but soon Jett heard footsteps approaching from within. Just as his thoughts began to drift, the door creaked open—revealing a striking girl with snow-white hair and vivid, almost lime-green eyes. Her figure was slender, her posture wary yet poised.
Perhaps she hadn't eaten recently either. Jett, ever the meticulous observer, took note of every detail instinctively.
She looked to be around his age—maybe older.
"May I help you?" she asked, her voice soft but edged with caution.
Jett hesitated. "Um . . . I hope so. Look, I'm starving. It feels like I haven't eaten in days. I was hoping you might have something to—"
"Who is it?!"
A man's voice thundered from somewhere inside, cutting Jett off mid-sentence. Maybe her father, Jett guessed.
"Just some homeless-looking guy asking for food," the girl called back, eyes still fixed on Jett.
"Let him in," the man replied without missing a beat. "We just whipped up a fresh batch—there's plenty to go around."
The girl paused, clearly taken aback by the man's generosity. Her expression flickered—surprise, suspicion, resignation. She knew Jett had heard it too. After a long moment of silent scrutiny, she finally stepped aside with a sigh.
"You heard him. Come in," she said, the annoyance in her voice barely concealed. Maybe that man's kindness caused more problems than it solved, Jett wondered, but he wasn't in a position to argue. He stepped inside.
The warm, savory aroma of cooked food hit him like a wave, making his mouth water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten—but that was about to change. A meal was being offered, and he wasn't going to let pride get in the way.
"Thank you for allowing me to join you, sir," he said sincerely, looking toward the older man already seated and eating. "I'm truly grateful—I'll repay this kindness however I can."
The man looked up. His white hair matched the girl's, though clearly the result of age. His green eyes, however, held the same piercing clarity. He was thin too, though not quite emaciated.After taking another bite, he spoke. "No need, kid. It's the first proper meal we've had since the Incident… Took my wife's life and left us in a bad way. We know what it means to suffer."
He set down his spoon and gestured to the girl. "I'm John Starwyn. And this beauty over here," he said with a proud smile, "is my daughter, Lillian Starwyn. What's your name, young man?"
Jett hesitated for a moment, still catching his breath between mouthfuls.
"Jett Storm," he finally said. "And I'm honored to be sharing this meal with you, Mr. Starwyn."
There was so much more he wanted to ask—about this Incident, about whether it was the same thing that obliterated his town—but his body refused to keep up. Hunger muted his curiosity, and for now, all he could do was eat.
He finally sat down, his eyes locked on the food before him. Though he'd already been invited, he hesitated, glancing around the room as if waiting for a second confirmation.
But hunger overruled his doubts. He picked up the spoon and took his first bite—and was immediately overwhelmed.
The flavors lingered far longer than expected, rich and complex even after swallowing. The stew melted into the rice in perfect harmony, a balance of warmth and spice that felt almost… healing.
"This is incredible," he murmured, still chewing. "I've never had anything like it before. It's a masterpiece."
Lillian blushed at the compliment. She'd always known she was a good cook, but hearing someone call it a masterpiece stirred something deeper. It reminded her of her mother—of those quiet mornings spent learning beside her, of the pride in her mother's eyes whenever she got a dish just right. A flicker of grief passed through her, but she hid it behind a small, grateful smile.
"Well, Lillian's always had a gift for cooking," John said, beaming at his daughter. "Learned from the best—her mother. She'll make a fine wife one day, that's for sure."
Then, turning his attention back to Jett: "So, how did you end up in our little corner of the world, if you don't mind me asking?"
Jett's face darkened. The warmth of the room, the kindness of these strangers—it all made the contrast with his own loss feel sharper, more surreal. The memory of his town returned like a tide. No matter how far he traveled, it followed. It was home. A place now erased from everything but his memory.
"I… I came from a small town," he began slowly. "Or, I guess, I used to. It's gone now. I don't know how. One night, I fell asleep like always… and when I woke up, there was nothing left. No houses. No people. Just land. As if it had never existed."
He paused, the words catching in his throat. Speaking it aloud helped, even if it hurt.
"I started walking, hoping to find food—or someone, anyone. Then I saw a light in the distance, and it led me here. I took my chances." John listened in silence, his expression softening with understanding. When Jett paused again, he gently stepped in.
"That must be incredibly hard. I'm sorry, son. Sounds like you were caught in the midst of the Incident too." He exchanged a glance with Lillian before continuing. "If you're looking for somewhere to stay, you're welcome here—for as long as you need. We'd be glad to have you."
Lillian gave a quiet nod in agreement, her eyes kind.
"How old are you, Jett?" John asked.
"Nineteen," he replied, trying to blink away the tears welling in his eyes. There was a fragile hope rising in his chest. He barely knew these people, yet something in their voices, their gestures, whispered of belonging. A possibility of calling this place home.
"Ah, one year younger than Lillian," John said with a grin. "Perfect. She could use someone her age around here. Everyone else in the village is old, and that's no fun for a girl her age, you know?"
Lillian rolled her eyes but said nothing, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"I don't mind it, Father," Lillian said softly.
She truly didn't. Maybe that was why she seemed older than her years—surrounded by elders all her life, shaped by loss, by necessity. Her maturity was not just a trait, but a reflection of survival.
Jett hesitated, caught between curiosity and caution. But he couldn't ignore it any longer. The question had been echoing in his mind since the first mention, and now it demanded to be answered.
"You've brought up the word Incident twice," he said, looking between them. "What exactly is it?"
Both John and Lillian turned to him, expressions shifting to confusion.
"You don't know?" John asked, surprised.
Jett shook his head, more puzzled than ever. "No. I've only heard of it here, from you."
John fell silent. The air grew still. His eyes met Jett's, and behind them was something heavy—something broken but buried beneath layers of composure. This wasn't just a story. It was a scar.
"The Incident," John began, voice lower now, "is the term the national government gave to what happened on March 2nd." He paused, as if the words themselves were too heavy to carry all at once. "A day that changed the world forever."
Jett leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed. "March 2nd? But… today is March—wait… Is it?"
He looked from Lillian to John, suddenly uncertain.
Lillian's eyes widened. John's did too.
"No, kid," John said gently. "Today is May 2nd. You've been asleep for nearly two months."
Jett blinked. "Two… months?"
John nodded grimly. "Maybe your body shut down from the pain of the Incident. It happened to a lot of people. Some didn't have the luck of waking up… they died."
The room went quiet for a moment.
"The government said the Incident was caused by a dimensional collision—another dimensions being pulled into one. Somehow.… forming a conjoined, fractured planet. But the transition wasn't smooth. Most people… couldn't withstand the process.
People either vanished, died in agony. They called it a 'cosmic restructuring event,' but none of us really know what it means. Some say the government is hiding the truth."
He exhaled, his face tightening as memories surfaced.
John leaned back in his chair, studying Jett. "I'm surprised you survived. Most people didn't. The only reason I can think of is Nexus energy—it's something the scientists mentioned in passing, a kind of... stabilizing force. Maybe you were touched by it and it saved you."
Jett sat in stunned silence, thoughts swirling. Two months gone. A world changed. Dimensions fused into one. His town—his people—all lost in the cataclysm. Were they really too weak to survive? That didn't sit right. They were strong—tough, resilient from what he remembered. Why are John and Lillian still here?
It didn't make sense.
"I think I've heard enough for today, Mr. Starwyn," Jett said, voice low. "I need time… to process this. My hometown—everyone I loved—gone because of this… this Incident."
He hesitated, then added, "They were the strongest people I knew. And still... they didn't make it."
He looked down, the weight of it all catching up to him. "Would it be alright if I stayed the night?"
John offered a weary smile. "Of course, Jett. You're welcome here as long as you need."
He stood with effort, one hand resting on his lower back. "But before you turn in, would you help Lillian with the dishes? I'm not as spry as I used to be. We'll talk more tomorrow. And, Jett…"
He paused at the hallway entrance, voice soft but firm.
"Think it through. Whatever happened—it wasn't your fault."
And then he was gone, leaving Jett and Lillian in the quiet hum of candlelight and thought.
Lillian knew her father didn't need her to share the dishes—she always did them herself. He only asked Jett to help so the boy wouldn't be left to drown in his thoughts. She wasn't sure how to ease his pain, how to lift the weight he carried—but she did the only thing that felt right.
She hugged him.
It wasn't a gesture of politeness. It was quiet, raw compassion. As she wrapped her arms around him, she could feel the sorrow pressing down on him—the guilt, the grief, the confusion. It was heavy. It hurt her too. Was this what she'd looked like when her mother passed? Hollowed out and searching for something to hold onto?
Jett didn't resist. He let her embrace him. It felt… good. Grounding. The storm inside him didn't vanish, but it calmed, just a little. And with it, the tears came. Silently, steadily.
Why did I survive? he thought.
Maybe he should've let John finish explaining.
No… not tonight.
He needed rest. He needed someone who understood.
And, most of all, he needed time—to make sense of what he had learned and what he had lost.
After what felt like an eternity wrapped in warmth, Lillian slowly pulled back, meeting his eyes.
"Hey," she said gently, "everything will be okay. I know how you feel. I didn't lose a whole town, but… I lost someone just as big. My mother. She was my everything. I wish she were still here. She would've known exactly what to say to cheer you up."
Her voice cracked at the end, but she held it together. Barely.
Jett felt something shift inside him. It wasn't just his pain. Lillian was carrying hers too. He hadn't been the only one left scarred. He realized now how selfish his grief had been—how it had made him blind to others' sorrow. Her mother had meant the world to her. Just like his town had meant the world to him.
The people he lost wouldn't want him stuck in grief. They'd want him to live. To carry their memory forward—not as chains, but as a compass.
Wordlessly, Jett stepped forward and returned the embrace. It was his way of saying thank you—of telling her he saw her pain too.
She smelled of something soft and comforting, like lavender and faint woodsmoke. He noticed it now, his mind no longer buried in fog.
"Thank you, Lillian," he whispered as he pulled back. "That means more than I can say. Now… let's finish these chores. I'm ready to help with whatever you need."
Lillian let out a light laugh. "You switch moods fast," she teased, smiling. "That's a good thing."
Jett blushed faintly but grinned. He was starting to feel human again.
To his surprise, the dishes didn't take long—twenty minutes, maybe. Or perhaps it just felt short. Lillian made it easy. Truth be told, she did most of the work, but she didn't seem to mind. She liked having him there, and he could sense that. Maybe her father had been right—it did get lonely for her in this small village.
Jett couldn't quite relate. He'd grown up surrounded by people his age, laughter filling the streets. But now, as he watched Lillian humming softly to herself while wiping the last dish, he realized he was glad he could be that presence for her.
When they finished, he smiled, catching his breath.
"That was fun." Jett said, brushing a damp cloth across the last plate. "You really know how to keep a place spotless. I'm honestly impressed—I could learn a lot from you in that department."
Lillian chuckled, tucking a strand of white hair behind her ear. "It's nothing, really. Just something I've gotten used to doing. But you could pick up a thing or two from me," she teased, then added more softly, "You did help, though. Talking to you while we cleaned…made it easier. I know it's only been hours since we met, but I'm happy to call you a friend, Jett."
He blinked, surprised at how warm her words felt. She wasn't the same reserved girl who had eyed him warily at the door earlier. Well—she still looked just as stunning—but something in her demeanor had softened.
"I consider you a friend too, Lillian," he replied sincerely. "It's been a pleasure getting to know you and your father. I hope we make more memories—good ones—in the days ahead."
"I do too," she said with a faint smile as she made her way towards her room. "Goodnight, Jett. See you in the morning."
"Goodnight." He replied.
He lay down on the makeshift bed Lillian had prepared for him. It was surprisingly warm and cozy despite the deepening cold outside—cold born from the strange, fractured state of this newly formed planet. She had made sure he'd be comfortable, even as the air turned bitter.
As he stared up at the wooden ceiling, his thoughts circled like restless birds. Why did it happen?How did it happen? Are those even the right questions anymore?
Maybe not.
What happens next?
That felt more important now.
His heart turned to those he'd lost.
"Malric, Lysira, Mr. and Mrs. Standfold, Tom, Baker Tiberan, everyone else thank you," he whispered, tears sliding silently down the sides of his face. "I wish I could've spent one last night with you all… just to say goodbye. You took me in when I had no one, treated me like family. I'm safe now. I met good people, kind people—I think they're going to help me. So don't worry about me…"
He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, voice cracking.
"Rest in peace. I'll carry you with me always."
And that was it.
He had finally made the choice—the one he'd been running from ever since he opened his eyes and found the world had changed. As much as it hurt, he had to let go. Not to forget, but to move forward. It was the only way he could honor them.
Jett took a deep breath, feeling something inside him uncoil, loosen, release.
This is just the beginning, he thought, as he closed his eyes. Tomorrow, Mr. Starwyn will tell me more. I'll understand this… Incident. I'll figure out my place in this new world.
His mind spun quiet scenarios in the dark—glimpses of what might come next.
And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he fell into a peaceful sleep.