Chapter Text
It was a window into everyone’s lives. The glass didn’t just reflect light—it reflected the choices, the pain, the ways people survived, the ways they didn’t.
Beyond the wooden walls, the forest breathed. Birds flitted from branch to branch, careless, singing as though the world hadn’t cracked open years ago. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, sharp and clean, and for a moment, it made your chest ache with something like longing.
Your vocal cords vibrated. A soft hum left your throat, trembling but steady. It was a melody no one else heard. You hummed for the birds, for the fawn that had paused at the stream last fall, for the small ghosts of a life that felt like it had belonged to someone else.
(The fawn is drinking. Then: blood and bones cracking on the rocks.)
Your eyes flicked across the window again, scanning the empty town beyond the mountain. Its silence was thick, heavy. Buildings stared like empty skulls. The streets were littered with things that should have been alive, now frozen in grotesque tableaux.
(Screams. The sickly red of torn flesh. Grey bones catching sunlight as they broke.)
And you kept humming. Because if you stopped, you might fall into it. You might let the memory of screams swallow the fragile pulse of the world that was left.
Fuck that window.
It wouldn’t let you find what you needed. The one thing you couldn’t touch, couldn’t fight for here. Not through glass. Not through walls. Not through anything that was left of this broken place.
A shadow moved behind the window. A knock. You froze, hand tightening around the sill, heart adjusting its rhythm. You knew who it was before the sound fully landed—because every person left an imprint, and this one knocked with precision, soft but deliberate, a rhythm only one person could carry.
Yuuji turned everything into a song. When he came to get you, you’d be greeted by a melody he had stuck in his head, a rhythm he drummed through the day. Since you’d witnessed his first steps, his simple joy had always been a way of bringing light back into your life, a reminder that the world could still be something other than pain.
Nobara knocked with purpose. Her whole fist hit the wood with authority, a message carved into each thump: I am here. I am calling for you. You had learned long ago that her pounding wasn’t just noise—it was a signal she couldn’t be ignored. Over a decade ago, when you four were surviving in the wild, she had woken you with exactly this same method. It had been necessary then, and it remained necessary now.
Megumi, this morning, just like every other morning, knocked twice. Soft. Precise. Deliberate. Controlled. You recognized it instantly, like a heartbeat you’d carried in your own chest for years. It was quiet but firm. You called out:
“Come in.”
The door eased open, and he stepped inside, silent as ever, eyes flicking to you. Even after all these years, even after everything, he carried that same calm certainty—the kind of certainty you wished you could feel inside yourself.
“Morning, Gumi.”
He had never been opposed to it, though now you could see him trying, little by little, to mature. His eyebrows creased at the sound of the nickname, just enough to hint at the thoughtfulness he’d always buried beneath that scowl. He stood taller now, taller than you, hair spiking like a crown of defiance, eyes holding a shadow of the woman you once knew, jaw set in the scowl of the boy you’d watched grow up.
You smiled, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to pause. In his hand, a cup of tea steamed, the warmth rising in curls like smoke, carrying the scent of fresh herbs and honey. It was the kind of thing that fixed more than just the body—it healed your mind, even if just a little.
“Morning,” he grumbled, low and controlled, but you knew there was no ill intent. Everyone here had at least five reasons not to be excited for the day ahead; this was Jackson, and this was life after the world had broken.
He tread across the small bedroom toward the bench by the window where you were sitting. The tea swayed slightly in his hand; he blew on it once before setting it down in front of you. You inhaled the mixture of honey, mint, and whatever other herbs had been tucked in—subtle, grounding, and perfect.
You took a careful sip.
“How was your sleep?” you asked, voice soft, steady.
Megumi’s gaze was already drawn elsewhere, eyes scanning the street below like he was checking for trouble even in the calm. “It was fine,” he said finally, clipped but calm. “I was going to talk to Tommy about the wiring in the dining room, a spark landed on Yuuji’s head and almost caused a fire.”
He spoke like everything had to be under control, like there was no room for chaos. You exhaled slowly, letting yourself believe it, and smiled. The small victories of this world were precious and rare, and you clung to them.
Now he looked at you. The concern in his eyes tugged at something deep inside, and you realized you didn’t know how to fix it. It wasn’t his job to worry about you—he had enough to manage.
So you smiled again, gentler this time, the kind of smile that said, I’m okay—for now. You stood, brushing your hands on your thighs, letting the warmth of the tea and the quiet morning fill you.
For a moment, you allowed yourself to just watch him—the way his posture carried the calm of someone who had survived everything and yet still bore the weight of protecting others. The boy who had once been just a child under your care was now this, and despite the years, despite the horrors you’d all endured, it felt… like home.
You stood, letting your fingers brush along your thighs as you moved. Megumi was taller now, taller than you, and the memory of the small boy you once knew made your chest ache just a little.
“Here,” you murmured, reaching up to sweep his hair out of his eyes.
He almost leaned into it, just for a fraction of a second, and you felt the years collapse between you—the child you had watched grow, the teen he had become, and the quiet trust that had always been there.
You turned toward the stairs, and he fell in step beside you, silent as ever. The world outside the bedroom didn’t intrude here; this small domestic rhythm was your anchor.
As you descended, muffled giggles drifted up to meet you, bright and unrestrained, carrying with them the kind of pure, unguarded joy that felt almost foreign in a world like this.
You reached the bottom of the stairs and didn’t pause. Before she could dart away, you swept her up into your arms.
“Mama!”
The sound of it made your chest tighten in a way that only she could. You smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek, inhaling that familiar mix of childhood warmth and innocence that made everything else—the world outside, the ghosts of the past—fade for just a moment.
She wriggled slightly, arms tightening around your neck, her small weight suddenly heavier than it had any right to be. Nine years old and full of life, she was more than just a child to protect—she was a living, breathing reminder of why you had survived everything, why you had left WLF, why you had clawed east with the other kids through a wilderness that had tried to swallow you whole. For a moment, the weight of the past, the horrors you’d seen, and the life you’d clawed to survive all softened, settling into something lighter, something you could carry.
Your eyes drifted over her hair, light and unruly, falling into soft salmon shimmered waves and spikes just like her cousin.
The same hair he had. The same hair your daughter had inherited.
Mai is his. She is yours.
And in that single, fleeting heartbeat, the world, for all its broken edges, felt a little less sharp, a little less impossible. For the first time in a long while, it felt like maybe—just maybe—there was something worth holding onto.
“Whatcha up to, sweet pea?”
The smile she gave you could’ve healed any scar you had in your mind. Her little face, bright and earnest, stretched into that wide, unselfconscious grin that only children could manage, and you felt something settle in your chest—a quiet warmth that no amount of years or bloodshed could take away.
“Me and Ara were drawing! Look!”
She squirmed out of your hands, tiny feet padding against the floor as she darted toward the kitchen. You followed, the familiar creak of the stairs beneath your boots echoing in the quiet house.
By the time you rounded the corner, you found her at the small table with Nobara, sitting cross-legged, coloured pencils scattered across the surface. Nobara’s brows were furrowed in concentration, the same intensity she carried when anything mattered, even a drawing. Yuuji sat beside her, absently nibbling at a piece of toast, one hand doodling shapes in the margin of a notebook while the other fended off stray pencil stabs.
You moved around the counter into the kitchen, reaching for a peanut butter sandwich you’d set aside earlier. You tore a bite off as you scanned the room, watching Mai proudly hold up her drawing, the edges jagged but filled with colour, a bright rebellion against the drab morning light filtering through the windows.
Chewing slowly, you let your eyes roam over her small hands, the way she gestured with triumph, the way Nobara gave her a rare approving nod, and how Yuuji’s quiet presence hovered like a buffer between chaos and calm. The smell of bread and peanut butter, the sharp tang of pencils, and the soft hum of domesticity wrapped around you like a fragile shield.
“That’s beautiful, baby. I love how you drew that puppy… with three legs.”
Mai beamed, holding the paper a little higher, completely unaware that her masterpiece was more charmingly disastrous than realistic. You crouched down, studying the crooked lines and lopsided paws, and fought the laugh rising in your throat. You wanted to laugh at it—but this was her creation, her joy, and you couldn’t.
Yuuji snorted from the table, loud enough to almost make you break.
“Yuuji!” Nobara smacked him on the arm. “Focus, idiot.”
He just grinned around a mouthful of peanut butter, utterly unrepentant, like he’d just delivered the punchline of the century.
Mai wiggled in your arms, bouncing slightly with pride. “Mama! Do you like it?”
You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “I love it, baby. Absolutely perfect. It's… unique.” You shook your head with a laugh, setting your sandwich down. “Ready for school?” you asked Mai, rising to your full height.
“Yep!” she chirped, bouncing slightly on her heels.
“Perfect. We’ll leave in fifteen minutes, okay?” you said, glancing around at everyone around the table.
Yuuji stuffed the last bite of sandwich in his mouth, wiped his hands, and headed to his room to get ready, still smirking like he’d just won some private joke. Nobara rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, turning back to her own work at the table.
Mai hopped over to you, tucking her little hands into yours as you steered her toward the counter to grab her backpack. The morning sun slanted through the windows, catching the dust in the air, and for just a moment, it all felt ordinary—a small bubble of peace in a world that had rarely allowed for it.
By the time breakfast was over, the warmth of the morning gave way to the kind of tension that always came with meetings. Patrol assignments. The council room was already crowded when you arrived, voices bouncing against the wooden walls, the smell of coffee and worn leather hanging in the air.
You’d sat in this room a thousand times before—first as a nervous newcomer trying to prove you were more than just another survivor, later as a fighter, a teacher, and now as one of the voices people actually listened to. Over the last ten years, you’d built yourself into someone the people of Jackson trusted. You’d trained half the new generation to hold a blade steady, drilled them until their hands blistered, and when they weren’t bleeding in the dirt, you’d taught them to read, to write, to hope.
It hadn’t been easy, but people remembered. And when you spoke, they listened.
You slid into a chair near the long council table, Jesse already lounging comfortably on your right. On your left sat Jane—around your age, maybe a little younger, sharp-tongued, and just enough of a know-it-all to make every meeting a headache. She’d never been on a patrol herself, but that didn’t stop her from offering opinions on how you ran things or making risky calls that forced you to rein her in. You didn’t hate her entirely—just… mostly.
Whatever, there were other things to focus on.
“Thought you broke up with Dina?” you murmured under your breath, leaning slightly toward Jesse.
“I did,” he replied, shrugging. His voice was casual, but his eyes lingered on the far side of the room anyway.
“Then why’re you starin’?” you said, nudging him lightly with your elbow.
Jesse scoffed, grinning while running a hand through his hair. “Oh, fuck off…I dunno. Habit, probably. She’s… hard to forget.”
You rolled your eyes, but your mind drifted. The ache of distance, loss, and memory lingered like smoke in your chest, but you shoved it down.
“Yeah, I get it. Young love,” you said, smiling faintly, bringing yourself back to the room.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Got any tips for getting over people?”
“Not any healthy ones,” you murmured, resting an elbow on the table. “Otherwise, you’d probably get half the town pregnant while getting banned from our alcohol supply. But there's always weed.”
“Sounds like the life,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye.
Jane rolled her eyes so hard it nearly rattled her skull. “Focus, people,” she said, voice dripping with the kind of authority you didn’t respect. “This isn’t a lounge for reminiscing about exes. Patrol is serious.”
You suppressed a groan and leaned back in your chair. Jane had always been like this—opinions without experience, always needing to be right, always needing to make things more complicated. You’d learned over the years to ignore her as best you could. Mostly.
Maria cleared her throat at the front of the room. “All right—pairings for the juniors this week. No complaints—I don’t want to hear it.”
The first name made you bite back a smile.
“Nobara—Joel.”
From your seat near the center, you didn’t have to look to know Nobara was rolling her eyes. Joel didn’t even glance her way, arms crossed, expression unreadable. You knew it’d be fireworks—Nobara’s sharp tongue against Joel’s stubborn silence. Maybe it was cruel, but a part of you thought they might actually learn something from each other.
“Megumi—Tommy.”
Megumi gave a single nod, face blank as ever, though you caught the tiny crease in his brow. He’d take it seriously. Tommy, at least, would respect that.
“Yuuji—Me.”
Maria smiled faintly, though the glimmer in her eye said she already knew what she was in for. Yuuji, bright-eyed and jittering with unspent energy, gave her a thumbs-up that earned him a sigh from across the room.
You exhaled, tension loosening from your shoulders. That was the juniors handled. Their first official week out without you shadowing them. The thought hit harder than you expected. They weren’t kids anymore, not really, but some part of you still saw them barefoot in the wilderness, clinging to scraps of safety that barely existed.
And if time kept moving this way—if spring after spring kept bleeding into years—it would be Mai’s name Maria called one day. Mai would be standing up there, her pack strapped too tight across narrow shoulders, her laughter dimming under the weight of responsibility. The thought hollowed you out.
People trusted Jackson, and you did too. You trusted Tommy, Maria, Joel. They were steady hands, hard people who softened when it mattered. But if you stripped it down to the bone, there was only one shadow you’d ever want at Mai’s back.
The name was rarely spoken in this room, but it lingered here anyway. In the questions people never asked outright, in the glances at Mai’s hair—the same unruly strands that marked her bloodline. Yuuji wasn’t yours. Megumi had a father. You found Nobara years ago. But Mai… Mai was different. Everyone knew it. Everyone wondered.
And when you talked, sometimes—late nights with Joel, coffee with Maria—you’d let slip pieces of him. How you grew up as neighbours. How he fought. How he could hold a blade like it was born in his hand. How he’d been the best you’d ever seen. The stories made him sound larger than life, a legend folded into your past. You never told them everything. You never told them enough.
The murmurs in the council room blurred, your mind stuck in the space between past and present, until Maria’s voice cut through.
“And last—” she scanned the paper, then lifted her gaze to you. “[Name] and Ellie.”
You blinked back into focus. Across the room, Ellie leaned back in her chair, boots scuffed, arms crossed. She didn’t look surprised. When your eyes caught hers, her eyebrows raised—half challenge, half acknowledgment.
It pulled you back into the now, though the shadow of him still lingered, as it always did.
You wake choking on it—that suffocating weight of wrong.
The first thing you register is the cold floor beneath your bare feet. Your chest aches, bone-deep, soul-deep. Something is missing. Something is gone. The hollow cavity pulses like an open wound, unbearable.
You stumble upright, muscles stiff, limbs protesting. The floor is hard, unyielding, and the air is sharper here, colder than you remember, seeping into your skin.
This is your room. Lower levels of the Seattle stadium. The heat from upstairs doesn’t reach this far, doesn’t care enough to.
Everything is exactly where you left it: cot shoved against the wall, duffel bag half-zipped, dog tags tucked under a chipped mug, your boots lined neatly by the door. The book you’d dragged back from a supply run, spine cracked where you’d stopped halfway. Your jacket, elbow torn, smelling faintly of rain and gun oil.
And still. Something is missing. Not them. Something else. Something vital, a hollow in your chest, a piece you can’t name.
You catch your reflection in the darkened glass of the window—hair shorter, jagged, practical for fights. You remember why. Jin had sheared it off for you in the bathroom, jaw tight as scissors snapped. Said it would keep Scars from grabbing it. Said it would keep you alive.
Alive.
The screams start almost immediately, curling from the lower levels, blood-curdling, gurgling, echoing off concrete walls. You tell yourself you aren’t listening. But you always hear them. Always.
You step into the hall. The cold concrete presses against your bare feet. Faces move past you—blurred, hollow, unnoticed. Shadows of people who were once soldiers, once kids, once something more than this. Eyes slide over you like you’re nothing.
The stadium stretches before you, cavernous, familiar, suffocating. Broken fluorescent lights flicker high above—no one bothers to fix them because they’re too far, too inconvenient. Sparks of cold white light jump in and out, casting long, jagged shadows along the walls.
You pass the water fountain in the corner. Dirt-colored water drips, pooling on the floor. You remember—learned the hard way—that you could get sick from just touching it. Your stomach twists in memory.
The hall narrows, and you catch the first signs of brutality. In a corner, three men beat another, fists and boots raining down, the victim groaning, eyes wide in pain. A debt gone unpaid, punishment exacted. The smell of sweat, blood, and desperation thickens the air.
Shadows brush past the edges of your vision—Suguru’s laugh, Yuki’s smirk—but when you turn, they vanish. Footsteps echo upstairs, deliberate, confident. You think of Toji out there, patrolling in the dark with Jin at his side, guns loaded, eyes sharp. The images flit in and out, memories overlaid with hallucination.
Shoko appears in your peripheral vision, her medic bag slung over her shoulder, moving through the chaos to patch up bodies, whispering curses under her breath. Kento’s measured steps, Satoru’s eyes scanning for threats—they are just a floor above, and yet the void between their presence and yours is infinite.
The stadium is alive with violence, fear, and hunger. Whispers behind doors. Shuffle of boots. Scrape of knives against walls. You feel eyes on you, calculating, tracking. Every step measured. Every muscle taut.
You pass the training room, and the memory hits like a punch: kids in rows, sparring, you correcting stances, shouting, the snap of wood on wood, the sting of bruises and sweat, pride in skill gained—but also the pain of watching them get hurt, of knowing there was never enough of you to go around.
The smells, the sights, the weight of the past—all pressing down, compressing your chest, clawing at your lungs.
Something is missing. Something...
And then, him.
Massive frame, shoulders tense but drooping, a gun loose in his hand. Back to you. Familiar. Wrong. Relief claws at your throat, but it catches, strangled. Something heavier presses on your chest: the warmth is gone. The thing that always tethered you to him—the fire that radiated off him.
You grab him, force him to turn.
“Ryo,” your voice cracks. Hands fist in his shirt, shaking him. “Where is she? Where the fuck is she?”
His face is blank. Hollow. And that freezes you—because you’ve known his eyes to speak in a thousand ways before: scorching anger, desperate lust, aching guilt, quiet forgiveness, playful defiance. But never… nothing. You’ve never seen him empty. Not even when the world burned around you.
Now he stares at you with nothing. No fire. No recognition. No connection.
“You left,” he says, voice flat, two words that suddenly rob the air from your lungs.
The world tilts. You scream, shaking him harder, nails clawing at his chest.
Blood begins to patter against your hands, warm, thick, impossible. Not his. You look up.
She hangs above you. Her body strung on a pipe, hair dripping, face pale, hollow. Chest gaping where Sukuna’s bullet tore through it. Eyes lock on yours—wide, pleading.
And that empty look in Sukuna’s eyes lingers behind her. The absence of everything you’d once known, the warmth, the fire, the tether you’d relied on—it makes her death more unbearable, sharper.
The infection seizes her. Lips curling back, skin mottling, veins spidering black. Convulsing, twitching. She drops into your arms. Blood smears your chest. Breath rattles in your ear. Hands claw. Not Mai. Not yours. Something hungry.
And when you look back again… he’s gone.
Your alarm cuts through the quiet too early, sharp and insistent.
You wake with your chest tight, sweat clinging to your skin, remnants of the nightmare still clawing at your chest. The screams, Sukuna’s hollow stare, the weight of loss—they linger like smoke, choking and sharp.
You swing your legs over the bed, bare feet finding the cold floor. Your muscles ache. Your stomach twists. But before anything else—coffee, breakfast, patrol prep—you go to her.
Her room is just across the hall. You push the door open silently. Light filters in from the slatted blinds, dust motes drifting lazily in the morning air. The room is entirely hers. Drawings—clumsy little stick figures, animals with too-big eyes, splashes of pink, orange, and green—tape the walls in a chaotic gallery. Stuffed animals are piled in one corner, a fortress of fur. Books are stacked on the shelves, some upright, some toppled. Her blanket is half-kicked to the floor, one corner tucked around her tiny feet. Every surface, every object, speaks of care and imagination.
You step in quietly, careful not to disturb a single toy. She sleeps curled beneath her blanket, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only motion in the room. She smells like laundry and sunshine and something that is purely Mai. It’s perfect and impossible. You almost want to freeze in the doorway, to memorize it all, but the ache in your chest—the echo of everything missing—drives you forward.
Kneeling beside her bed, you gather her into your arms. She’s warm and soft, small but fierce in the way only children are. You press your lips to her head, lingering in the tangle of her hair, inhaling the scent of innocence and safety.
Sometimes, looking at her, you feel like a disease, like the darkness you carry—your nightmares, your history, your scars—threatens to seep in, to ruin this space of light she’s carved for herself. But you push past that thought, banishing it to the corners of your mind. Right now, all that matters is her.
“Mama?” Her voice is sleepy, thick with dreams, fragile and tender.
“Go back to sleep, pea,” you murmur, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I’m going on patrol now.”
Her little arms find you instinctively, gripping you like a lifeline. She presses a soft kiss to your nose. “M’kay… be careful of the monsters.”
You smile despite yourself, the weight of the nightmare easing just slightly. You lay her back under her blankets, gently tucking the edges around her. She nestles in, eyes fluttering closed, and for a heartbeat, the world outside doesn’t exist. No predators, no darkness, no hollow stares—just her, her room, and this fragile little sanctuary.
You step back toward the door, quiet as a shadow, your feet making no sound on the wooden floor. You linger for a moment, drinking in the colours, the chaos, the life in this room that is hers and hers alone. For just a moment, all your guilt and fears feel small.
You retreat to your room, the nightmare still a weight on your chest, Mai’s warmth lingering in your arms. February has turned the world into something brittle, sharp with cold. Even here, inside, you feel it: the draft sneaking under the windowsill, the bite of winter in the floorboards that seeps through your socks.
The first thing you do is look out the small window. The glass is iced at the corners, spiderwebbed with frost, but through the blur you can see the world below. Everything blanketed in white. Roofs sagging under it, tree branches breaking beneath it, paths carved out only by boots and hooves. It’s beautiful, in its way—still, quiet, endless. But you know how easy it is for that white to be stained. You’ve seen it before. You can already imagine how much red it would take, how it spreads too fast, too bright, sinking into snow until it turns slush-dark and ugly.
You dress slow, methodical. Layers first: wool undershirt, thick sweater, heavy coat with fur at the collar. Each one adding weight until you feel insulated, but never dulled—still able to run, still able to fight. Your boots are next. The leather is cracked, stained, but they fit perfectly, molded to your feet after years of wear. You tighten the laces until they dig into your ankles, grounding you.
The gloves come last. You flex your fingers in them, leather stiff, the lining worn thin in spots. Enough warmth to keep your knuckles from freezing, enough grip to hold a blade steady.
Then—the weight you know better than anything. Your holsters. One buckled at your thigh, the other at your hip, the metal clink echoing faintly in the quiet room. You pause for a second, staring at yourself in the foggy mirror. This part has always been the same, no matter the flag above your head. The Fireflies. WLF. Now here. Different names. Different leaders. Different wars. Always the same ritual. Always the same promise that you might not come back.
Your hand finds the chain around your neck. Cold steel pressing into your fingertips, heavier than it should be. Dog tags, resting at the hollow of your throat. Not yours—his. “Ryoumen Sukuna,” etched into the surface. Yours hangs at his throat, somewhere out there. The exchange was reckless, intimate, and final.
You tuck the tags back beneath your shirt, let them lie against your heart. Then you finish packing. A sandwich wrapped in cloth, a thermos filled with tea. Little things that almost make it feel normal.
The stairs creak as you head down, the cold sharper here, biting at your face. At the bottom, the others are already gathering.
The kids. Not kids anymore, not really, but that’s how you’ll always see them.
Megumi is hunched over, adjusting Yuuji’s long-range strap with the kind of focus only he can manage. Yuuji is bouncing on the balls of his feet, bright-eyed, impatient, talking a mile a minute to Nobara. She’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, expression sharp, amusement curling her lips.
“…bet I take down at least ten today,” Yuuji boasts, puffed up with bravado.
“You couldn’t hit ten bottles last week,” Nobara fires back without missing a beat.
“You distracted me!”
“You’re just bad at aiming.”
“Both of you,” Megumi cuts in, tugging the strap one last time with a sharp jerk, “need to shut up before I shove you over the fucking walls.”
You pause at the foot of the stairs, just watching. They’re taller than you now. Stronger, in some ways. But in your eyes, they’re still the wide-eyed kids you met in a world that refused to let them be young. Still babies, even if their hands are calloused, even if they’re preparing to spill blood in the snow.
You clear your throat, and all three heads swivel to look at you. “C’mon,” you say, tone dry but fond, “save it for later. Stables are waiting.”
Their chatter doesn’t stop—it never does—but they fall into step behind you, their voices a bright hum against the cold silence that seeps in from outside.
And already, through the cracks of the door, you can feel the chill of the morning. The bite of air sharp enough to cut. The smell of snow—clean, cold, heavy. The promise of a world waiting to be broken.
The sky is wool-thick, a sagging gray blanket heavy with snow. You can smell it on the air, sharp and metallic, a promise waiting to drop. The streets are muffled by frost, the ground crusted with a thin sheet of ice that crunches beneath your boots. Your breath fogs in the dim light as you lead the way, Yuuji and Nobara bickering behind you like they don’t know how to breathe without noise, Megumi trailing quiet but watchful.
Jackson wakes slowly, like the town itself is groggy. A door creaks open. Smoke winds from chimneys, curling upward into the bleak morning. The smell of woodfire mixes with the faint sting of livestock and damp hay. Light spills through frost-fogged windows, yellow and warm. Somewhere, a kettle whistles.
The first dog finds you near the bend in the street—brown mutt with matted ears, tail thumping against a snowdrift as he barks once, sharp and cheerful. Another joins, then another, bounding over icy patches to wag at your knees, tails whipping snow into the air. Yuuji drops to ruffle one’s scruff, laughing when the mutt licks his face. Nobara groans. “Don’t let it slobber on you, that’s disgusting.”
“You’re disgusting,” Yuuji shoots back, but he’s still laughing, and for a second the sound makes the frost feel thinner.
Maren waits outside her place, shawl pulled tight against the cold, basket looped over her arm. She spots you immediately. The smile she gives you is soft, small, but it lands heavy.
“Morning,” she says, voice gentle in the quiet. “Good luck on patrol, all of you!”
“Thanks, honey.” Your voice feels thinner than hers, but you still manage a small smile.
“I’ll stop by your place in a bit,” she says, already angling toward the route that’ll take her to Mai. Toward your daughter. “Just gonna pick up that oatmeal she likes.”
You nod, but your chest aches as she walks away—her steps toward Mai, yours away.
The main strip is busier. People sweep their porches, shovel snow, and trade quiet greetings as the day begins. Lanterns sputter weak light, strung up between doorframes. A hammer rings against wood where someone mends a fence. The whole town hums, quiet but alive.
The elderly couple you helped last week—fuse box, bitterly cold, the whole house plunged into darkness—are already outside. The man leans on a cane, snow brushed off the stoop. He raises a hand to you, smiling half-toothless. His wife just nods, but her gaze lingers, weighted with a gratitude she doesn’t voice. You return both gestures before the group moves on.
“Hey!” Rick’s voice cuts sharp across the street. He’s already tossing something, and you snag it midair—a strip of jerky, wrapped in wax paper. His grin shows through his beard. “Share with the kids!”
You snort, tucking it into your pocket before Yuuji can start pleading like a stray. “Later,” you warn, but his grin says he’ll find a way to talk you out of it.
Then, the noise shifts—“Hi, Yuuji!”—and Yuji lights up like he was born for attention, waving back with both hands as though he’s famous. Nobara groans dramatically. “God, you’re unbearable.”
But her distraction arrives quickly: a boy, tall but clumsy, bounding up the street like an overeager pup. Callen. Three years younger than her at fourteen, all elbows and sharp angles, voice cracking at random. He plants himself beside Nobara and starts talking before she even looks at him.
“Hey, so I, uh—sharpened that knife you left in the workshop, it’s really sharp now, maybe I can show you how balanced it is later?” He grins, awkward and desperate. “Or maybe I can walk you back tonight—”
Nobara doesn’t even let him finish. “Told you before, not interested one bit, Callen.” She sidesteps, striding faster, but he hurries to catch up, words tumbling too fast.
“C’mon, I just thought—”
Yuuji's already laughing under his breath as he nudges Megumi hard enough to almost knock him into a snowbank. “Bet he follows her all the way to the stables.”
Megumi doesn’t break stride. “Not if she breaks his legs first.”
Yuuji barks out another laugh, earning a sharp glare from Nobara, but it only fuels him more.
You keep leading them through it all—the voices, the laughter, the quiet greetings that follow you down the strip. Every wave, every word, every face is a thread in the fabric of what you’ve helped stitch together over ten years. A fragile safety. A rhythm.
And you feel it in your bones, as heavy as your boots crunching over snow: this is your life now. These people, this town, this delicate balance. You’ve lived here long enough to see it take root, to know exactly what’s at stake every time you step through the gates.
Ahead, the stables rise out of the frost, big dark beams braced against white sky. Horses snort inside, their breath rising in clouds, the smell of hay and leather cutting through the cold. They wait, hooves shifting on straw, ready.
The stables greet you with the heavy, familiar perfume of hay, leather, and horseflesh—comforting in its own way. Other patrollers are already here, voices low as they cinch saddles and check tack. The clatter of hooves against packed dirt echoes, mixing with the rustle of straw and the muted nickers of waiting horses.
The kids dart off to their own mounts, their laughter trailing behind them. You take your time, weaving between stalls until you spot her.
Artemis.
She’s been with you longer than most people in this settlement have even known your name. You remember the first time you saw her, back in those days with the WLF—skittish, half-starved, eyes rolling white. You earned her trust one night at a time, one gentle hand at a time, until the two of you were bound together in a way no one else quite understood. She’s older now, her dark coat threaded with lighter hairs, but still proud, still sharp.
She flicks her ears as soon as you approach, a low whicker vibrating out of her chest. You press your forehead briefly to hers, breathing in that grounding smell of hay and hide. “Morning, sweetheart,” you whisper, stroking her strong neck. “Still stuck with me, huh? We’re not gettin’ younger out here.”
As you pull back, movement catches your eye—Shimmer. Ellie’s mare, bored and restless, pawing at the ground like she’s been waiting too long. You let out a snort, reaching out to rub the silvery nose that pushes eagerly against your hand.
“She’s late again, huh?” you murmur to Shimmer, who tosses her head as if agreeing.
“Stop shit talking me to my horse.”
You turn, already grinning, to find Ellie stumbling in. Her hair’s a mess even in a bun, sticking up in odd directions, and she’s mid-yawn, dragging her hand down her face. Despite the rough edges of sleep still clinging to her, Shimmer immediately perks up, ears forward, tail swishing as though her entire world just walked in.
Ellie points at you, squinting through her half-awake state. “She tells me everything, you know.”
You arch a brow, stroking Shimmer again. “Then she must’ve told you how impatient she gets waiting for you.”
Ellie huffs, shoving her hair back from her eyes. “Fuck off.” But there’s no bite to it—just that dry fondness she always has with you now.
“Yeah, right. Like you’d rather be stuck with Allen.”
Your voice carries low in the chilly stable air as you haul Artemis’s tack over the stall door. She flicks an ear at your tone, steady as always.
Ellie lets out a hoarse laugh. “God, don’t even joke about that.” She yawns, wide enough that you see the glint of her teeth in the half-light. “One more morning of him singing on patrol and I’m putting a bullet through my own skull.”
“You’re hopeless,” you mutter, shaking your head as you cinch Artemis’s girth with practiced efficiency. “Every damn time I’ve got my girl saddled before you’re even awake enough to hold onto yours.”
Ellie shoots you a look through strands of messy hair. “Yeah, well, your horse is obsessed with you. Mine likes me just fine, thank you.”
You give Artemis’s shoulder a fond pat, leaning into the warmth radiating off her winter coat. “That’s because I’ve had her longer than you’ve been alive.”
Ellie rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Either you’ve told her before, or stories have gotten around—how Artemis came with you out of the WLF, how she’s seen more blood and roads than most people. The history there Ellie respects too much to make a joke out of.
You glance around the stables, taking in the smell of straw dust and damp leather, mingling with the faint musk of horses and the crisp bite of February air that sneaks in through cracks in the wooden doors. Clouds press low over Jackson, gray and swollen with snow, and each exhale hangs like smoke in the chill.
The kids are busy, oblivious to the way the cold bites at ears and fingers. Yuuji bounces in place, scarf trailing like a comet, as Megumi fusses over his strap with precise, deliberate movements, fingers stiff from the frost. Nobara crouches low, fussing with Callen—he’s still trying to show off, chattering about every little thing, cheeks pink and eyes bright despite the cold. You catch yourself smiling faintly. They’ve grown into their roles, but in your eyes, they’ll always be the kids you pulled out of chaos.
You move Artemis forward a few steps, hearing her hooves crunch the frost-hardened straw. Her muscles flex under your touch, warm and solid against the winter chill. The years you’ve spent with her echo in every movement—the night you found her, starving and wary, the painstaking nights of trust and calm hands, earning her confidence. She shifts her head, whiskers brushing your cheek, grounding you.
Ellie finally gets Shimmer fully saddled, cheeks flushed, hair sticking in every direction. She studies you for a moment, gaze lingering on your hands and the way you handle Artemis with instinctive authority. She’s quiet for a second, and you catch it—the way she looks at you now, not like some distant figure of fear or admiration, but as someone she can emulate, someone she trusts to show the way.
“Alright,” you murmur, voice low, carrying through the stable. “Let’s get these horses to the gates. Step carefully—ice is slick, and I don’t want anyone crashing before we even start.”
Yuuji groans, Nobara huffs, but they fall in line, guiding their mounts with the careful chaos you’ve come to expect. Callen tries to insert himself near Nobara again, offering her a clumsy attempt at conversation. “I, uh… uh—look, I can carry extra supplies if you need—”
“Callen,” Nobara interrupts without even looking, “you’d literally die out there.” She nudges her horse forward. He grins anyway, undeterred, and trails a half-step behind, tail of scarf whipping in the cold wind.
The other horses snort, stamping and pawing at the frozen earth. Snow drifts through the cracks of the barn doors, powdering Artemis’s back as you lead her toward the open air. The cold hits your face sharply, burning your cheeks and nose. The quiet of the stables gives way to the muted bustle of Jackson: merchants starting their day, smoke curling from chimneys, children yelling across yards. Dogs bark, tails wagging, noses sniffing boots and pant legs. Their joyful chaos seems almost like a shield against the winter, against the history that still lurks behind your eyes.
You lead Artemis slowly, carefully, feeling her strength beneath your hands, the familiar rhythm of her breath warm against the cold air. Behind you, the kids follow, laughter and chatter mingling with the crisp sound of hooves crunching snow, voices carrying in the morning air. They are chaotic, alive, beautiful in a way that makes your chest ache with something close to hope.
The gates ahead glint with frost, waiting to be opened. Beyond them lies the white wilderness—hungry, endless, but held at bay for now by the rhythm of Jackson waking, by the steady march of hooves and the sound of life pressing against the cold. You take a deep breath, leather and straw and winter mixing in your lungs, and for the first time since the nightmare, you feel the weight in your chest shift just slightly.
Maria’s already out in front of the gates, bundled in her heavy coat, clipboard tucked under her arm. Her breath clouds in the air as she passes out walkies, her voice brisk and no-nonsense. “Check your batteries, check your channels. Stick to the routes. I don’t want anyone improvising out there. If it looks wrong, call it in. Don’t be a hero.”
You guide Artemis closer, the reins rough against your gloved palm, and watch as the kids shuffle into a line. Their horses snort and stamp in the cold, plumes of fog curling from flared nostrils. Nervous energy rolls off them—Yuuji practically vibrating where he stands, Nobara snapping her gum as though she can chew through her nerves, and Megumi steady as a stone but his eyes sharper, scanning everything like he’s cataloguing threats already.
Maria’s voice fades into the background for you. The clipboard, the orders, the routes—they matter, but not as much as what burns in your chest right now. Before they scatter off to their partners, you step in front of them, blocking their path with a small smile that aches around the edges.
“I love you guys, okay?” Your voice is soft but firm, pulled straight from the marrow of you. The words don’t come easy—never have—but you force them out anyway. “Come back to me whole. Please.”
Megumi gives a sharp nod, serious, eyes steady on yours. That’s him—silent, grounded, carrying more weight than any kid his age should’ve had to.
But Nobara and Yuuji? They explode at the same time, like they’d been waiting for it.
“I LOVE YOU TOO!” Yuuji yells, so loud half the patrol turns their heads.
“BE SAAAAAFE!” Nobara sings right after, mimicking his pitch, her grin wide and unashamed.
Before you can stop them, they’re both on you—two sets of arms wrapping you in a clumsy, crushing hug. Yuji nearly lifts you clean off the ground, Nobara shoving her cheek against yours with exaggerated force. Their coats are cold, their laughter hot in your ear.
“Alright, alright—” You laugh despite yourself, caught in the tangle of limbs. “Let me breathe, dammit.”
Over their shoulders, you catch Megumi again. He rolls his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, but there’s no mistaking the flicker of something softer in his expression. A ghost of fondness, buried deep, just for you.
Nobara and Yuuji finally peel off, still laughing, and you smooth your coat down where they’d nearly wrinkled it into oblivion. Megumi mutters something under his breath and stalks off toward his horse, trying and failing to hide the way his ears burn red.
Behind you, a dry voice cuts through the chilly air.
“The wonders of motherhood.”
You don’t even have to turn to know it’s Ellie. Still, you side-eye her over your shoulder, lips twitching.
“Shut up.”
Ellie snickers, tugging her gloves on tighter, clearly pleased with herself. Shimmer noses at her shoulder like she’s in on the joke.
Before you can retort, Maria strides over. Clipboard tucked under one arm, she presses a folded map into your gloved hand. Her eyes sweep briefly over the kids, then lock on you. “This is your route for today.”
You tuck the map into your pocket, nodding, but her voice lowers slightly—serious enough to cut through the din of horses shifting, patrollers talking.
“One thing to note. Remember what Jesse said last week.” Her breath fogs the air between you. “There was a camp set up at the old market. I don’t care if they look harmless, I don’t care if they’re waving white flags—if you see survivors, you radio in and head back. Got it? We’ll decide what to do from there.”
The words land heavy, the reminder that danger wears a hundred different faces. You nod again, firmer this time. “Got it.”
Maria studies you for a second longer—like she’s checking to make sure the weight of it sticks—before she claps your shoulder.
Ellie, tightening Shimmer’s cinch, blows out a slow breath. “Guess that means we don’t get to play hero today.”
You shoot her a sharp look, tugging Artemis’s reins into your hand. “It’s not a game.”
She meets your eyes, serious for once. “I know.”
Maria turns from you and steps closer to Ellie, voice dropping into that same no-nonsense register that makes people listen. “You — be careful. I don’t want Joel barking up my ass if you don’t come back in one piece.”
Ellie straightens, a flash of something like heat crossing her face at the mention of Joel. She opens her mouth—ready with something flippant—but closes it and only smirks instead. “Got it. I’ll bring you back a souvenir.”
Maria’s eyes narrow for half a beat, then she lets out a sound that’s almost a laugh and almost a warning. “Don’t be cute. Radio in at the first sign of anything weird. You know how to do that, right?”
Ellie gives a crisp little salute, more show than anything, but the brief seriousness afterward is real. “Yes, ma’am.”
You feel the small tension around you ease and then refill with a different kind of charge — the kind that means business. People finish tightening girths, tug on gloves, swing packs into place. A last minute check of straps, a shove of a boot into a stirrup, the scrape of leather. Jesse calls out some joke to loosen the knot in everyone’s throats; someone else hurls a last piece of jerky back toward Yuji. The patrol forms, a ragged but disciplined line.
“Radios on,” Maria calls, lifting a hand. Walkies click to life, a fleet of tiny static bursts filling the air. You check yours—channel set, battery full—then glance at the map tucked inside your coat. Route’s clear in your head, but the map’s a comfort anyway.
Ellie climbs up, fluid and quick; Shimmer shifts beneath her, steady. You mount Artemis with the same practiced motion you’ve used for years, feeling the familiar give of saddle leather and the steady thump of muscle beneath you. Megumi slides up next to Yuji, Nobara grumbling beside Callen who’s trying to look useful. The dogs weave in and out of legs, barking like they know the drill.
At the gate, Maria stands with her clipboard, watching until each kid is settled, until every breath and bit and rein is right. She gives you a final look—no fuss, just a small, sharp nod that says everything: go and come back.
The great wooden gates groan open. Cold air rushes in, sharp enough to bite the eyes. White fields press against the town edges, heavy and indifferent. You lean forward on Artemis, feel the horse shift, and then the line moves — hooves crunching, reins taut, breath steaming into the gray morning. Jackson recedes for a while into a long ribbon of roofs and smoke and wagging tails. Ahead lies the blank, waiting world.
“Stick close, kid,” you tell Ellie as you fall into the formation. Her smile is quick, bright; it’s the kind that says she’d follow you anywhere, as long as you tell her how.
You radio in once more as you clear the gates: “Jackson outbound. Route two. Ten minutes.” Static answers back, then the radio tower’s clipped, steady voice: “Copy. Keep your heads on a swivel.”
And then you’re out — Artemis steady beneath you, Shimmer beside you, the kids clustered around like a ragged guard of bright things, and the white beyond swallowing the tracks you’re about to make.