Day 1 — Shock
The world shuddered around them like something exhaling its final breath—and then the survivors dropped into existence on a meadow of knee-high silver-green grass under a quiet sky.
Gasps tore through the field as hundreds jolted awake, bodies spasming with leftover pain from the System's evolution. Some remained locked in pain-sleep, others woke in raw, bewildered agony. The air stabbed into their lungs like ice. Colours hurt. Scents crowded in—grass, earth, distant water, something floral, something animal—too sharp, too vivid.
"Too bright… why is everything so bright?"
"My ears… it's ringing—stop—"
"Why can I smell the grass this much?"
Others tried to stand and immediately stumbled, legs shaking as if the ground pulled them down harder than before. A few whispered, "Gravity's wrong…" before blaming it on exhaustion and shock.
But their bodies were changing. Hearts beat stronger; bruises and torn muscles already tingled with slow repair. The upgraded flesh wasn't painless—just faster.
Dozens dropped to their knees. Some curled forward, panting. Some screamed without sound. Others folded silently, as if their strings had been cut. A few staggered a step or two before their legs simply gave out.
A child wailed, piercing enough to make nearby adults flinch—hearing too sharp, too new.
The world felt too clean. Too still. Too alien.
Talia hit the ground hard on one knee, breath exploding from her lungs. Every injury from the past twenty-four hours roared awake under the new sensitivity. Her thigh burned. Her ribs pulled tight. Blood pooled at the corner of her mouth.
Her vision flickered—dark at the edges, white in the centre. Tears sprang from sheer overload.
She forced her head up.
Two moons hung above—one silver, one faint rose-gold—too large, too crisp. Her enhanced sight caught details she shouldn't: faint craters, the shimmer of reflected light. It felt like someone had sharpened reality itself.
Around her, the meadow stretched endlessly. Grass brushed her thighs, silver-green blades shifting like water under the wind. Blue flowers glowed faintly in the dim light. The colours were so saturated she had to blink to steady her sight.
To the east, an ocean of towering trees swayed—trunks broader than cars, canopies deep enough to swallow the sky. Beyond them, mountains rose jagged and pale-tipped. South, the forest thickened, shadows pooling beneath massive branches. North, only rolling grass—no buildings, no smoke, no civilisation. West, distant firelight marked other Lord groups, with another dark mountain chain behind them.
Beautiful—but like a predator. Vast, wild, indifferent.
"Talia!"
Dav dropped beside her, voice tight. "You're bleeding again."
She blinked slowly. The stitches in her thigh felt like fire. The world blurred—then snapped back into focus.
"We need… check surroundings," she muttered. "Secure… first."
Her thoughts felt slow, slippery, muffled by pain and exhaustion.
Her family converged—Theo catching her elbow, Mum cupping her cheek, Brielle already crying, Cael hovering at her side while Dav scanned the horizon. No one tried to peel back bandages; the blood on her clothes told them enough. They just held her steady.
"Tay, sit," Theo urged, voice frayed.
She wanted to. Gods, she wanted to.
But past his shoulder she saw their people—her people—stumbling, collapsing, shivering in shock. Over two hundred of them. The largest cluster in the meadow. The ones who had followed her through hell because she'd told them to.
"Later," she whispered.
"Talia—"
"Later." Softer this time. "I promise. Not until they're safe."
Her vision tunnelled. Faces smeared. She blinked until they settled. Theo's hand tightened as her body swayed.
Not yet. Hold on till they're safe. Not yet.
Joel, Dom, Luke, and their teams staggered toward her—dirt-streaked, blood-spattered, hollow-eyed. Relief flickered when they saw her still on her feet.
"Orders?" Joel rasped. "We're here."
Talia inhaled carefully. "Camp. Temporary fence. Resources. Something that keeps the kids from wandering into the dark."
Cael nodded. "Perimeter and patrols, got it."
Theo caught her unfocused stare, the pallor around her mouth. "Give the order, Tay. Then stop. Let us handle the rest."
She forced herself upright, shoulders tight with effort.
"One final push," she called. Her voice wasn't loud, but people straightened anyway—shock and instinct bending toward her. "Then we rest. All of us."
Silence pressed in—fear, grief, agreement.
"Dom, Joel. Forest. Wood, poles, anything for shelter."
Both men nodded, gathering volunteers.
"Theo. Planning and tent lines. Medic tent, kitchen. Fire ring central. Latrine pit far away."
She turned toward Grandma Elene. "Labour teams. Anyone standing goes where you point."
"Of course, dear," Elene murmured, already redirecting people with brisk, quiet efficiency.
Talia's knees buckled. Cael caught her without comment.
Dav's voice rolled over the camp. "Patrol in pairs. Half rest now, switch in an hour. Stay in sightline. Shout if anything moves in the grass."
The camp moved—slow, dragging steps shifting into mechanical rhythm. No talking. No banter. Just breathing and the sound of feet through grass.
A donation pile took shape—spare tents, tarps, rope, broken tools—guarded by Theo with a shaking notebook.
Grandma Elene sorted limp-faced adults into small work groups, sending some to clear the camp site, some to the med tent, some to the makeshift kitchen.
"Clean cloths there. Water there. Sit if you can't stand," she said, her voice cutting through fogged brains.
Dale and Teagan worked with trembling hands, sorting unconscious from bleeding from shock-frozen. Teagan's words kept snagging in her throat.
A man stumbled past, muttering, "It shouldn't be this quiet…"
Another whispered, "Why isn't anyone coming?" and broke down.
Branches crashed as Dom's and Joel's teams cut saplings. Tarps snapped as they were tied. Theo's low instructions threaded through the noise.
The sun crawled across the sky. By the time the first ring of poles and tarps stood, most people moved on fumes and stubbornness alone.
Talia, Dav, and Cael trudged along the southern perimeter. She leaned on Cael when her vision blurred, but didn't stop.
"Escape routes?" Dav murmured.
"North gap," Cael replied. "Tree line's too dense here."
"Guard stations?" Talia asked.
"Four fixed, two mobile. Torches every fifteen paces."
"Good," she said quietly. Her fingers tingled with returning numbness.
"That's enough for now," Dav said. "We'll refine it later."
Launa jogged up, breath puffing. "Other camps are putting up fences too. They're drifting toward us."
Talia exhaled. "Good. Saves supplies."
The other Lord camps didn't speak to them—but their fences expanded until all eight joined, forming a single ragged circle. A fragile bubble in an endless meadow.
Dav's patrol kept moving, four on watch while four slept, swapping without words.
Talia stared at the new circle of protection. People stood in loose clumps, swaying on their feet.
"Everyone free, come here," she called.
They drifted toward her like wandering ghosts.
"We'll stay here," she said. "Until we scout a new home. Use this time to heal. Physically and mentally. Med tent's there, trauma support there. If you can't stand, sit. If you can't sit, lie down. If you can't lie down… breathe. That's enough."
Soft sobs shook the group.
"No one works unless on duty," she added. "We'll rest in shifts, leaders are on call. If something scares you or you don't know what to do, find us."
"Thank you…" someone whispered.
"Finally…" another breathed.
A teen asked quietly, "Are we safe yet?"
No one answered out loud.
A woman muttered, "Have to keep moving… can't stop…" until a worker gently steered her toward the tents, talking softly all the way.
A scream tore through the camp—sharp, raw. Then another. And another.
Bodies folded. Arms wrapped around whoever was closest. Children cried into chests and shoulders. Some people simply covered their faces and shook.
A few moved slowly among them, offering water, blankets, or just a steady presence.
Talia didn't make it three steps before her family closed around her again. Theo and Cael took her arms. Dad hovered just behind, jaw clenched. Grandpa flanked the other side, muttering, "Damn fool, wounds on top of wounds." Grandma walked with them, Jace and Lira clinging to her sleeves with wide eyes.
They guided Talia into the med tent—gently, but with zero negotiation.
When Mum and Brielle eased her armour off, the air shifted.
Her singlet couldn't cover all her wounds. Her body revealed the ferocity with which she fought, it was a battlefield.
Deep bruises. Dried blood along her ribs and shoulder. Stitches pulled loose on her thigh. Scrapes, swelling, new injuries layered over old. Front and back injuries covered her body.
Brielle gasped. "Oh my god, Talia."
"Auntie Tay… you're hurt," Jace whispered.
Lira pressed her face into Grandma's skirt.
Theo went pale. Dad raked a shaking hand through his hair. Grandpa exhaled slowly.
"You're stitched together like a used tyre, girl."
Talia didn't flinch from their horror. She stared, eyes flicking over each wound, expression almost… curious.
Dav caught it. "Why do you look like that?" he asked, stepping closer. "What are you seeing?"
She pressed gentle fingers near her thigh wound, then over her ribs, brow furrowing.
"They're healing," she murmured. "Faster than before we landed. Much faster. Even after the E-Rank med kit, they weren't like this."
Dav checked the slash on his side, then rolled his shoulder.
"…She's right," he said. "Bruising's fading already. Remodeling probably gave us accelerated healing."
Grandpa pushed up his sleeve. "Well, I'll be damned. The cut I got's half-gone."
Dad flexed his hand. "Burn on my palm too…"
Grandma's gaze softened. "Enhanced bodies, enhanced pain, enhanced healing." Her hand settled on Talia's shoulder. "A blessing. Not permission to be reckless."
Dav huffed. "Good thing with the sensory spike. Double pain, half the recovery time. We'll adjust as our brains catch up."
Theo didn't look reassured.
Dav stepped back. "Mum, Brielle, patch what you can. I'll check the perimeter."
Mum cupped Talia's cheek, brushing away dirt. "Next time, tell us before you decide you're invincible."
"I wasn't—"
"She absolutely was," Cael muttered.
Talia managed a small, tired smile. "I can rest now."
Jace sniffed. "Promise?"
She leaned her forehead to his. "Promise."
Lira tucked under her arm like a shaking kitten.
Grandpa grunted. "Kid's got good instincts. Stick close to her."
Dad smoothed her hair back. "We'll handle the camp. Let them fix you."
Grandma led the kids back a little, giving space.
While Mum and Brielle cleaned and wrapped her wounds, the rest of the family—Dad, Grandpa, Theo, Cael, Dav—stepped back out into the quiet chaos to watch over their people, all of them steadied by one truth:
Their girl was still standing. And now, finally, she wasn't doing it alone.
Kitchen fires burned low, flames reflecting off tear-streaked faces. Henna stirred pots with jerky motions; Malu laid out bowls with trembling hands.
No one spoke during the meal. People chewed slowly, swallowing food and grief together. One man turned aside to vomit. Another stared at his untouched stew.
Night fell thick and cold.
Talia tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she saw the fighting, the dead, Earth's final implosion—the flash of light, the collapsing horizon, the soundless scream of a dying planet.
She woke gasping, more than once. Each time, someone was there; a sibling adjusting her blanket, Grandma murmuring silent prayers, Theo checking the perimeter before lying down near the tent.
"It's normal," Dav told her quietly during one waking. "Shock, trauma. Seen it before in the military. We were ready as we could be, grandma and others are helping where they can."
When it became clear sleep wasn't coming, she wandered toward the central fire.
Cael shifted aside, making space without comment.
She wasn't the only insomniac. A ring of hollow-eyed figures sat around the flames, staring into them as if the dark behind held teeth.
The night dragged on, slow and heavy, while the reality of Earth's destruction quietly settled into their bones.