The fire had long burned out when dawn's first light crept across the hills. In the faint morning haze, Hoa Tu opened her eyes to a silence so perfect it felt sacred. The sky was pale gold, and the wind rustled the grass with a whisper that seemed to say: begin again.
Hoai Trach was still asleep beside her, head tilted back against the cracked wall of the observatory, his breathing steady, his expression calm for the first time in—she didn't know how long. Maybe ever.
For a moment, she simply watched him.
Here, in this unfamiliar world where neither of them had a name nor a past, he looked like a stranger. And yet, every line of his face, every memory buried in her bones screamed: home.
When he stirred, opening his eyes slowly, she offered a tired smile.
"We're really here," he said hoarsely.
"Yes," she replied. "We made it."
But as the sun rose, the joy of freedom gave way to a new realization—they had no idea where they were.
After scavenging through the observatory's remains, they found some useful things: a map, old canned food, a flask of clean water. The map, yellowed and torn, showed a vast region with no recognizable borders. The language was strange, the markings even stranger. Cities they didn't know. Symbols that pulsed oddly when touched.
"It's not the world we came from," Hoai Trach said, tracing one of the glowing lines. "Not even close."
"It's not any of them," Hoa Tu whispered. "We're not in a reset. This is something new."
They set out by foot, following the rivers marked on the map, hoping they'd lead to civilization. The further they walked, the more they realized that this place, though real, was far from normal.
The wildlife watched them too intently. Trees shifted subtly when no wind blew. At night, the stars moved.
And every now and then, they came across ruins—old buildings half-swallowed by the land, machines long dead, paintings on stone walls of people with glowing eyes and golden veins.
Hoai Trach didn't speak much during the journey. But his eyes were always scanning, calculating. Protecting.
One night, as they made camp beneath a cliff that jutted like a blade into the sky, he finally asked the question they'd both been avoiding.
"What are we now?"
She turned, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"
"In the other timelines… you were the villainess. I was the hero. Or the cold-hearted CEO. Or the vengeful prince. There were roles."
She frowned. "You think we need to define ourselves by that again?"
"I think we need to know who we are… when there's no script. No fate."
Hoa Tu looked up at the sky. "I don't want to be the villain anymore."
"You never were," he said quietly. "They made you into one."
She met his gaze. "And you? What do you want to be?"
He hesitated, then said, "Yours."
The words hit harder than she expected.
She didn't reply. Instead, she reached out and took his hand.
And for now, that was enough.
They reached the first settlement on the seventh day. A city built into the bones of a massive ancient creature—something dragon-like, fossilized into the mountainside. Its ribs had become arches. Its spine, the main road.
The people here were strange. Not unfriendly, but cautious. They wore clothing made from woven metals and silk, and their eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
When Hoa Tu and Hoai Trach arrived, they were taken in but kept under watch. A woman named Sira, the head of the settlement, questioned them with the calm authority of someone who'd seen too many travelers fall apart.
"You don't belong here," she said.
"No," Hoa Tu agreed. "We don't."
"But you came through the Rift."
"Yes."
Sira leaned back. "Then you're marked. And you're not the only ones."
That night, Hoa Tu learned that others had crossed into this world before—people from broken timelines, erased simulations, shattered stories. Survivors.
But not all were peaceful.
Some tried to remake the world in their own image. Some brought chaos. Some couldn't accept freedom and tried to rebuild cages.
And a few… were hunted.
"There's a group called the Shadows," Sira warned. "They were once villains in their own worlds. They still believe they have to be."
Hoa Tu felt a cold weight settle in her chest.
"Do they… look like us?" she asked.
Sira gave her a long look. "They were like you. Once. Until they decided this world owed them everything they lost."
Later, when she repeated this to Hoai Trach, he was quiet for a long time.
"Do you think we'll become like them?" he finally asked.
She shook her head. "Not if we remember who we were. And who we chose to become."
Still, unease settled in the air.
That night, she had a dream.
She stood in a hall of mirrors—each reflection showing a different version of herself. One in a crimson gown, sneering. One weeping in chains. One with a knife in her hand. One lying dead.
In the center stood the last mirror—blank. Waiting.
She reached out to touch it.
And it shattered.
She woke up gasping, the dream already fading, but the feeling clinging to her skin like cold water.
Outside, Hoai Trach stood by the edge of the cliffs, watching the dark forest.
"We're being followed," he said without turning.
She stiffened. "Who?"
"I don't know. But someone else came through the Rift. And they're not just wandering."
She joined him, eyes scanning the horizon. "Then we'll be ready."
He looked at her then, something fierce in his expression. "I won't let anything take you from me again."
And for the first time, she didn't argue.
The next morning, they left the settlement with Sira's blessing—and a warning.
"Freedom is dangerous," she said. "Especially for those who were never given a choice before."
As they walked into the mist that swallowed the path ahead, Hoa Tu whispered under her breath, "Then we'll make our own choices. All the way."
And the wind carried her words forward—into the unknown.