The gate swallowed people in mouthfuls.
One by one, in small frantic clusters, they were pulled out of the rain and into the floodlit lanes between shipping containers. The air inside the city emergency base smelled like wet concrete, gun oil, sweat, and fear that had been reheated too many times.
Luo Yan kept his head down and his shoulders tight, staying close enough to Lan Huan that strangers couldn't wedge themselves between them.
Lan Huan walked like he owned the ground even when it wasn't his. Not swagger. Control. The kind of control that made soldiers on both sides of the lane straighten their backs without realizing it.
"General Lan," a wet-poncho soldier barked as soon as he saw him. "You're—"
"Later," Lan Huan said without stopping. "Where's your commander?"
The soldier's eyes flicked toward the container command post. "Commander Zhao."
Of course.
Luo Yan didn't know Zhao Qingshan's name yet, but he recognized the type: the person holding the base together with rules and anger. Every emergency grew one. Sometimes they saved lives. Sometimes they became a problem that survived longer than the crisis.
Lan Huan's gaze sliced through the intake lanes. "Quarantine line?" he asked.
"Second lane," the soldier said quickly. "Anyone with bites, fever, or—"
"Or anything you don't understand," Lan Huan finished, voice flat.
The soldier's mouth twitched like he wanted to argue, then he didn't. "Yes, sir."
Luo Yan's pocket felt heavy with the two core crystals he'd snatched. He couldn't stop thinking about them. He couldn't stop thinking about how many cores were being lost outside the barricade every time a zombie dropped.
He also couldn't stop thinking about Lan Huan's stormlight eyes, and the shadow coiling in the clouds.
Longyang.
A dragon.
He hadn't read that part. Hadn't even known it existed. But the world had put it in the sky anyway, like it enjoyed watching him realize how far out of his depth he was.
A scream erupted to their right.
A woman in a soaked cardigan was being hauled toward the quarantine lane while she fought like a trapped cat. "I'M FINE! I'M FINE!"
A medic tried to hold her still. "Ma'am, you have a bite—"
"It's not a bite!" she sobbed. "It's— I fell— it's—"
The medic's hand slipped on wet skin. The woman twisted.
Her sleeve rode up.
Teeth marks. Clear. Deep.
Luo Yan's stomach turned.
The woman's eyes met his, wild and pleading, and for a half second Luo Yan's body wanted to step forward. Wanted to say something comforting. Wanted to pretend humans were still the kind of animals who could talk their way out of infection.
Lan Huan's voice cut in like a blade. "Restrain her."
The medic froze. The guards hesitated.
"Now," Lan Huan said, cold and absolute.
The guards moved. Two of them pinned the woman's arms. Another clipped a restraint around her wrists. She screamed until her voice broke.
Luo Yan flinched.
Lan Huan didn't look at her again. He didn't look away either. He just kept walking.
"You're ruthless," Luo Yan said before he could stop himself.
Lan Huan's gaze flicked to him. Not offended. Curious. "I'm correct," he said. "Ruthless is a moral word."
Luo Yan's throat tightened. He hated how much it made sense.
They reached a container marked INTAKE COMMAND. The door was open, light spilling out in a hard rectangle. Inside, a man stood over a folding table covered in forms, maps, and boxes of ammunition.
He had the kind of face that didn't waste expressions. Square jaw, close-cropped hair, eyes like a drill instructor's. His uniform was neater than anyone else's in the rain, which meant he'd either been lucky or he'd made neatness happen through pure spite.
Metal glinted at his fingertips.
Not jewelry. Not a ring.
A small shard of steel hovered above his palm, turning slowly, as if waiting for orders.
Commander Zhao Qingshan looked up.
His eyes flicked to Lan Huan, and something tightened in his posture—recognition and displeasure, like a door that didn't want to open but had to.
"General Lan," Zhao said. His voice was controlled. "You're in my intake lane."
Lan Huan stopped just outside the container, not stepping in. A subtle choice. He wasn't entering someone else's territory without consent.
"Commander Zhao," Lan Huan replied. "Your city is collapsing."
Zhao's jaw tightened. "Yes."
"And your gate is too slow," Lan Huan continued. "Your quarantine is inconsistent. Your soldiers are improvising different rules in different lanes."
Zhao's eyes narrowed. "We've had the outbreak for less than an hour."
"And you'll have corpses for weeks," Lan Huan said, tone unchanged.
Luo Yan stood silent, trying not to look like a civilian who'd wandered into a knife fight between commanders.
Zhao's gaze finally flicked to Luo Yan.
Just a glance.
But Luo Yan felt the weight of it immediately, like being measured and found to be clutter.
"This one with you?" Zhao asked.
Lan Huan's voice was clipped. "Yes."
Zhao's eyes stayed on Luo Yan. "Name. Age. Ability."
Luo Yan's mouth went dry.
He could say "Void." That was real. He'd already used Void Screen. But the storage… if he mentioned it, they'd treat him like a resource. Confiscate him. Assign him. Lock him somewhere "safe."
And the system wasn't something he could explain to a rules-first commander who was trying to keep his base from being eaten.
Luo Yan glanced at Lan Huan.
Lan Huan's eyes met his.
Something passed between them—wordless and sharp. A warning? A promise? Luo Yan couldn't tell.
"Luo Yan," Luo Yan said. "Twenty-five. Void element."
Zhao's eyebrows rose a fraction. "Void."
Some soldiers nearby glanced over. Whispered. The word moved through the base like a rumor with teeth. Rare. Dangerous. Not on any procedure sheet.
Zhao's mouth flattened. "You're telling me you awakened Void in the first hour of an outbreak."
"Yes," Luo Yan said, trying to sound like that wasn't ridiculous.
Zhao looked at Lan Huan again. "Your recruit?"
Lan Huan's gaze didn't move. "Not yet."
Zhao's fingers twitched. The hovering metal shard spun faster, then snapped into a perfect bullet shape midair with a soft, precise click.
Luo Yan's eyes widened despite himself.
Zhao noticed. His mouth didn't smile, but his eyes held a thin satisfaction. "Metal," Zhao said, as if introducing a law. "Bullets and blades. I keep the base armed. I keep the base orderly. And I keep liabilities out."
Lan Huan's voice sharpened. "Void is not a liability. It's a shield."
Zhao's gaze slid back to Luo Yan. "Can you prove it?"
Luo Yan's palms went sweaty.
He could use Void Screen again, maybe, if the cooldown wasn't long. He didn't even know if there was a cooldown. He just knew that when he'd used it, it had shattered, and the space behind his eyes had gone faintly numb.
"Not here," Lan Huan cut in. "Not in intake."
Zhao's eyes narrowed. "Your dragon is circling my airspace."
Lan Huan didn't blink. "My dragon is keeping the streets from turning into a feeding frenzy while you process paperwork."
The temperature in the container lane seemed to drop. Not weather. Tension.
Zhao's metal bullet hovered over his palm, perfectly still.
Luo Yan's heart hammered. He had a vivid image of Zhao deciding Lan Huan was too disruptive, and ordering him detained "for base stability." This base was built on rules. Rules could be used like weapons.
Then Lan Huan spoke again, more controlled.
"I'm not taking your base," he said, voice low enough that it sounded like a private agreement rather than a challenge. "I'm passing through. I need a staging point and supplies. Then I move toward the capital."
Zhao's eyes held his. "Capital is not open to everyone."
Lan Huan's gaze hardened. "I know."
Zhao took a slow breath. "Then follow my rules while you're here."
Lan Huan nodded once. "Fine."
Zhao finally looked at Luo Yan again. "Void boy stays under your supervision. If he causes an incident, he goes to quarantine."
Luo Yan's stomach tightened. Quarantine in this world didn't always mean medical care. It meant "we don't have time to debate."
Lan Huan's voice was clipped. "Understood."
Zhao's attention snapped back to his table. "Next lane. Intake check. Don't slow my gate."
Lan Huan turned without another word and walked, and Luo Yan had no choice but to follow.
They moved through an intake corridor of containers lit by harsh white lights. Medics checked bites. Soldiers confiscated obvious weapons from panicked civilians and handed them back sometimes, depending on the soldier's mood and the civilian's face.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't kind.
It was survival with uniforms.
Lan Huan led Luo Yan toward a quieter side lane where the sound of the crowd dulled.
"Why did you show him Void?" Luo Yan asked quietly. "Wouldn't it be safer to say nothing?"
Lan Huan glanced at him. "Safer to who?"
"To me," Luo Yan said honestly.
Lan Huan's expression didn't soften. But his voice dropped. "If you say nothing, they assign you to civilian holding. You'll die there when the fence breaks."
Luo Yan's throat tightened.
Lan Huan continued, "If you show a rare power, they fear you, but they also watch you. Watched people get fed."
It was a grim logic.
It was still logic.
Luo Yan's fingers clenched around the cores in his pocket. "You believed me about the cores," he said. It wasn't a question.
Lan Huan's eyes flicked to Luo Yan's pocket again. "I believe in information that arrives too early," he said. "It's either a trap or a gift."
Luo Yan's heart stuttered.
Lan Huan looked away, scanning the base perimeter, watching soldiers stack more barriers, watching medics carry someone limp toward quarantine. "Either way," Lan Huan said, "it's useful if you handle it correctly."
Luo Yan swallowed. "And if it's a trap?"
"Then I'll know who set it," Lan Huan replied.
They reached a small covered area where soldiers were stripping wet gear and reloading magazines. Lan Huan stopped and finally turned fully toward Luo Yan.
"Show me," he said.
Luo Yan blinked. "Show you what?"
"The cores," Lan Huan said. "And tell me everything you know."
Luo Yan hesitated. He had so little. Just scraps from one chapter and his own instincts.
But those scraps were still more than most people had right now.
Luo Yan pulled out both core shards and held them in his palm. Under the floodlight they looked like dirty ice.
"Zombies drop these," Luo Yan said. "At least some of them. The chapter I read—" He caught himself and corrected quickly. "The rumor I heard. It said they help awaken and upgrade. People will start fighting over them soon."
Lan Huan's eyes narrowed. "Rumor."
Luo Yan forced a tight smile. "Yeah."
Lan Huan watched him for a long second.
Then, instead of demanding more, Lan Huan reached out and closed Luo Yan's fingers over the cores.
"Keep them," he said.
Luo Yan blinked, stunned. "You don't want them?"
"I want your method," Lan Huan replied. "Not your first two stones."
Luo Yan's throat tightened in a way that wasn't fear.
Lan Huan continued, voice low, "Here's what you do. You do not show those to anyone in intake. You do not trade them. You do not gamble them. You keep them until I tell you what to do."
Luo Yan nodded, pulse loud.
Lan Huan's gaze held his. "In exchange, you stay where I can see you."
Luo Yan's mouth went dry. "That sounds like an order."
"It is," Lan Huan said simply. Then, after a pause, he added, "And it's protection."
Protection. From the base. From the crowd. From people like Zhao Qingshan deciding he was too unpredictable to keep.
Luo Yan exhaled shakily. "Okay."
Lan Huan turned his head as a commotion rose from the civilian holding lane. Shouting. A crack of gunfire. Then screaming again.
Lan Huan's jaw tightened. He started walking.
Luo Yan hurried after him. "Where are we going?"
"To get our first teammate," Lan Huan said.
Luo Yan's heart jolted. "Already?"
Lan Huan's voice was flat. "This base will be full of desperate awakened by morning. If I don't choose first, the base chooses for me."
They moved toward a side enclosure marked TEMPORARY HOLDING: AWAKENED. Inside, a cluster of people sat on the ground, wet and shaking, watched by two soldiers with rifles.
Most were ordinary-looking. Too ordinary. Like their powers were hiding under skin.
Luo Yan scanned faces, not knowing what he was looking for until his eyes landed on a man leaning against a container wall, knees drawn up, head tilted back as if he were listening to something no one else could hear.
Pretty, Luo Yan thought immediately, in the way a face could be pretty even when exhausted and dirty. Soft features, long lashes clumped with rain, lips pressed tight like he was swallowing a headache.
His eyes were open, but unfocused, staring at a point just beyond the floodlights.
A soldier barked at him. "Hey. You. Stand up for evaluation."
The man didn't move.
The soldier stepped closer, irritated, and reached out as if to grab him.
Lan Huan's voice cut in. "Don't touch him."
The soldier froze. "Sir?"
Lan Huan stepped into the enclosure without waiting for permission, and Luo Yan followed because his body had already accepted the new rule: stay with Lan Huan.
Lan Huan looked down at the pretty man. "Name."
The man blinked slowly. His gaze slid to Lan Huan's face, and something like recognition sparked—recognition of threat, not fame.
"Qin Yi," he said softly. His voice was calm, but his forehead was damp with more than rain. Sweat. Pain.
Lan Huan's eyes narrowed. "Ability."
Qin Yi's mouth twitched, faintly, like he wanted to laugh at the question. "Illusion," he said. "Multi-sensory."
The soldier scoffed. "Illusions don't kill zombies."
Qin Yi's gaze flicked to the soldier. For half a second, the soldier's face shifted—his eyes widened, and he flinched backward as if something snarled inches from his nose.
The soldier's hand jerked up to his rifle. "What the—"
Lan Huan's voice was cold. "Stand down."
The soldier swallowed and lowered his rifle, face pale. "Yes, sir."
Luo Yan's skin prickled.
So Qin Yi wasn't useless. Not even close. He was the kind of ability that turned crowds into weapons and fear into leverage. The kind of ability that could save lives or start riots depending on who held the leash.
Lan Huan watched Qin Yi for a long moment. "You have a headache," Lan Huan said.
Qin Yi's lips parted slightly, surprised. "Migraines," he admitted. "When I push too hard."
Lan Huan nodded once, as if ticking a box. "Good. That means you have a limit."
Qin Yi's expression went blank, then faintly amused. "That's what you call good?"
Lan Huan crouched in front of him, bringing their eyes level. "I call it predictable," Lan Huan said. "And predictable is safe."
Luo Yan felt his heart beat harder, not because of attraction, but because he was watching Lan Huan recruit like a man buying weapons: testing the edge, testing the handle, checking for cracks.
Lan Huan continued, voice low. "If you stay here, the base will use you as a crowd-control tool and discard you when you break."
Qin Yi's eyes narrowed. "And if I go with you?"
Lan Huan's gaze didn't waver. "Then you belong to my unit."
The words landed heavy.
Belong. Unit. Ownership and protection braided together, the way it often was in crisis.
Qin Yi's gaze flicked past Lan Huan to Luo Yan, taking him in—wet hair, trembling hands, a civilian face pretending to be brave.
"You already have one," Qin Yi said quietly.
Lan Huan didn't look back. "Yes."
Qin Yi's lips curved faintly. "Is he your leash, or your weakness?"
Luo Yan's stomach dropped.
Lan Huan's voice turned even colder. "He's information."
Qin Yi blinked, then laughed once, soft and surprised. "That's a terrifying answer."
Lan Huan stood. "Can you walk?"
Qin Yi inhaled slowly, as if measuring his own body. Then he pushed himself up, a little unsteady but stubborn. "Yes."
Lan Huan nodded. "Then you're coming."
Qin Yi tilted his head. "Do I get to refuse?"
Lan Huan's gaze was level. "Yes."
Qin Yi's smile faded. He looked around the enclosure—the other awakened staring, the soldiers bored and wary, the base lights harsh and unforgiving.
Then he looked back at Lan Huan.
"No," Qin Yi said softly. "I don't refuse."
Lan Huan turned toward the gate line again, already moving.
Luo Yan followed.
Qin Yi fell into step on Luo Yan's other side, close enough that Luo Yan could feel the heat of his body through wet clothes.
For a moment, Luo Yan felt something almost absurdly human: the beginning of a team.
Outside the enclosure, the rain hit harder.
Somewhere in the clouds, a low thunder rolled, as if the dragon heard the new addition and approved.
Luo Yan clutched the core shards in his pocket and told himself not to hope too hard.
Because in apocalypse stories, teams formed right before the world tested how much losing would hurt.