Sunlight cascaded over the young girl like a waterfall of molten gold, as if the sky were vomiting every ounce of mercy it had withheld until that very moment. That warm, inviting glow seeped gently through the thin membrane of her closed eyelids, bathing her dark world in a sweet, vibrating orange peace. Every mote of light grazing her skin and soaking into her pores felt like the herald of a brand-new hide, washing away the deep-seated chill, the grime clinging to her soul, and the agony that had thrashed her bones for years.

  Even the air tasted different here; the metallic, rusted, and radioactive stench of the city that burned her throat and weighed down her lungs had vanished entirely. Instead, her nostrils drew in the scent of fresh-mown grass dampened by morning dew, apple trees sagging under the weight of ripe fruit, and the sugary, resinous breath of spring. The birdsong surrounding her from every direction wasn't a chaotic mess of noise, but a flawless, unerring symphony nature had composed specifically for that moment. Everything felt so seamless, so tranquil and indulgent; it felt as if a rich piece of chocolate were slowly dissolving on her tongue, spreading its flavor to every fiber and every nerve ending.

  Serevia lay flat on her back in the heart of this green paradise, nestled among waist-high grass dancing with the wind, drifting along the sweetest, most lethargic edge of consciousness. Her body surrendered completely to gravity, sinking into the tender, maternal embrace of the earth. Time had lost its merciless grip here; the seconds flowed thick as honey, stretching and warping until they merged with eternity. The world felt fresh, spotless, and brimming with hope, as if it had shed billions of years of heavy exhaustion and started spinning for the very first time in existence. The sensation that this moment, this peace, would never end—that it would remain suspended in an eternal loop within a glass dome—washed over her soul and intoxicated her.

  Right in the center of this eternal silence, this cotton-soft dream, a familiar, longed-for voice echoed, drowning out the rustle of the wind through the leaves.

  "Abla!"

  It was the voice of a young boy, not yet stepped into adolescence, unacquainted with the grime and rust of the world, loaded with pure innocence. Small, warm fingers on Serevia's arm shook her with a gentle but persistent rhythm, as if the child feared hurting her.

  "Abla, come on..."

  The girl’s consciousness snapped out of that sweet, sticky lethargy like a bolt of lightning striking a dark sky the moment she heard that voice. That voice... that voice was more precious, more vital than every composition, every melody, and every birdsong in the world. Her heart began to flutter wildly like a sparrow desperate to shatter its ribs and break free of its cage. The wave of happiness flooding her was so vast, so intense, that her excitement radiated to her very fingertips as an uncontrollable tremor. This wasn't merely an awakening; she felt as if she were opening her eyes to a second heaven within paradise, to the sanctuary of the true heaven itself.

  "Abla! Come on, wake up already!"

  The sweet, childish impatience in his voice—the yearning for play—completely dispersed the last veil of fog from Serevia’s mind. This wasn't just a call; it was the very melody that bound her to life, her singular reason for drawing breath. Resisting the heavy drowsiness clinging to her lashes and the weight on her eyelids, the young girl opened her eyes with a slow but harmonious rhythm.

  The intense, burning golden light pouring from the sky felt like invisible needles stabbing her pupils for a moment; her vision dazzled, and she involuntarily squinted. But she did not close them. With the hunger of a century, she forced her eyes wide open. Whether from the intensity of the light or the overflowing emotion in her heart, her vision blurred, her eyes brimming with warm, joy-filled tears. And the first silhouette appearing amidst that blur, within that flood of light... it was more than enough to steal her breath and make her the happiest, most peaceful, most complete person in the universe.

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  This was Torn.

  Her big sister’s one and only, the life more precious than her own, her solitary stroke of color in that gray and merciless world, her very reason for breathing... The meaning of her life stood right in front of her in the flesh, perfectly healthy, without a single scar or bruise.

  The boy giggled as he saw his sister’s stunned, unbelieving, and misty gaze, then placed his hands on his small waist and gave an exaggerated shrug.

  "Finally! You’re awake. For a heartbeat, I truly feared you wouldn't come back to me."

  The blatant mockery in his voice was the rawest, cleanest form of a child’s innocent boredom with his sister’s slumber. It wasn't a reproach, but a loving, mischievous jab—a vibrant burst of energy shouting that he was right there, craving to play, demanding she rise and attend to him.

  Before Serevia could gather her words or find her breath, his small but stubborn hands clamped onto her wrist like a vise. He threw his weight backward, hauling with every ounce of his strength to pull her from the yielding earth. Serevia surrendered to his vibrant, life-filled effort, rising from the fragrant grass as if she were an antique porcelain doll that might shatter at the slightest touch.

  As she stood, she anchored her gaze to Torn’s face; the massive, untainted smile on his lips was so infectious that a mirroring grin spread across Serevia’s own face—sad, yet profound and torn straight from the heart.

  "Come on! I'm telling you we have to go. Can't you hear me?"

  The child’s voice rang out with a thin, unplaceable urgency that tore through the honey-sweet atmosphere. Serevia fought to peel back the cottony, enchanting haze clouding her mind, tearing her eyes away from her brother’s beautiful face to sweep the horizon. The vision before her defied human imagination—so flawless it was physically agonizing, too perfect to be anything but a lie.

  Every detail sat exactly in its place, as if positioned by a divine brushstroke. Nature didn't merely offer its splendor; it performed a crushing display of dominance.

  The clouds hung in the sky with a calculated, flawless aesthetic, suspended at impossible angles. Beneath her feet, flowers in shades of violet, crimson, and gold—hues the world had never seen—carpeted the earth like an enchanted tapestry. Each color blazed with such ferocity that Serevia’s eyes, conditioned to gray fog and corroding rust, throbbed with physical pain.

  Her lips went dry and her thoughts tangled in her mind; she stammered, her tongue stumbling over the words: "W-where? ...Where must we go?"

  A profound confusion, a sense of total displacement that clashed with the surrounding peace, settled over her features. What was the hurry? Where could they possibly flee from this serenity? Why the need to run? What could ever eclipse the beauty of this place?

  Torn offered no answer. His lips remained sealed as if stitched shut by an invisible thread.

  He simply clamped his hand around hers, squeezing tight enough to bruise the bone and choke her pulse, and began dragging her behind him. As they sprinted through the waist-high grass beneath that blistering sun, the tranquil silence began to rot, giving way to a sickening, nameless void.

  The sun scorched her skin, yet Torn’s sudden silence froze her soul. Nature’s stillness had abruptly turned interrogative, looming with a mounting threat. Why wouldn't he speak? Why wouldn't he look at her? Serevia, gasping for air and staring at his small back, asked again with a terror that clawed at her throat.

  "Torn! ...Tell me, where are we going?"

  Torn didn't even twitch his lips; he merely glanced over his shoulder, offering a serene, terrifyingly peaceful smile. It was a look that claimed everything was fine—the most elaborate, decorated lie in the universe—but Serevia was starved for it, desperate to believe.

  The young girl matched her brother’s pace, racing the wind across the infinite green, yet a dark sensation began to prick the depths of her soul like a jagged thorn beneath the surface of the paradise. The fragments of nameless unease solidified into a freezing, heavy lump in her stomach, spreading through her veins like a venomous doubt leaking from the cracks of this flawless dream.

  In a desperate reflex to draw strength from his touch, she looked down at the small child gripping her arm. Her eyes darted to the spot where Torn should have been, level with her shoulder. But what she found was a terrifying, hollow void—an absence her brain violently refused to process, a sight that stopped her heart and turned her blood to ice.

  He was gone!

  Torn was gone!