Jean sat there pondering, his tears dried up. He felt the urge to cry more—a pressure behind his eyes, a rawness in his throat—but nothing came. It was as if his body had run out of tears somewhere during those endless nightmares.
'I hate this!'
The thought was small and quiet, but it carried everything. The weight of twenty-five lost years. The absence of his brother. The sight of his parents and sister sleeping beyond his reach. All of it compressed into three words.
His uncle sat beside him, sighing. "I know this is all hard to take, but... you must. This is the world we live in now."
Jean spared him a glance. Eugene looked exhausted—not just from this moment, but from years. Decades. The dark circles under his eyes seemed permanent now, carved into his face by time and loss.
'True,' Jean thought. 'But what's the point?'
A deep frustration stirred in his chest—anger, hot and formless. He wanted to blame someone. Something. The Light figures who had started all this. The monsters that had poured through the rifts. The Witch of Tempus who had trapped them in loops for twenty-five years. But blame changed nothing. It never had.
He nodded slowly and pushed himself up. His legs wobbled, unsteady after so long without use. Eugene was there instantly, gripping his arm, supporting his weight.
"Take it easy. You've been asleep for twenty-five years."
"Thanks, Uncle."
Eugene smiled faintly—a tired expression, but genuine. "What are you thanking me for? I'm your uncle."
Jean smiled back, though it didn't reach his eyes. Inside, the thoughts wouldn't stop. 'Uncle might... no, he must have struggled so much because of this. He saved us during the monsters emergence. He protected us through countless catastrophes. He watched over us for twenty-five years while we slept. And we just... slept.'
Eugene kept an arm around him for support, and they slowly walked out of the room. Before crossing the threshold, Jean turned his head for one last look at the sleeping pods.
Three of them. Silent. Still. His mother, his father, his sister—locked in a sleep he couldn't wake them from.
'Please! Wake up soon!'
The door closed behind them.
***
Jean was still wearing a hospital gown—thin, uncomfortable things that tied in the back. Eugene explained they had been replaced regularly over the years, sometimes by him, sometimes by others when duty called him away.
As they emerged from the pod room, Jean found himself in a medium-sized apartment. It was modest but lived-in—a worn couch, a wooden table with papers scattered across it, a kitchen visible through an archway. Nothing fancy, but clean and functional.
Nothing like his old home.
His mind drifted without permission. He remembered waking up there on normal mornings, the smell of pancakes drifting upstairs. His siblings' laughter during breakfast arguments. His mother humming at the stove. His father's quiet presence, always there, always steady.
That house had been built by his father's blood and bones. Years of struggle, of overtime shifts and sacrificed weekends, until finally they had a place to call home. A place where they were safe. A place where they were together.
'Who knows if that house is still standing?'
The thought brought a fresh wave of pain, but no tears followed.
This apartment was livable, though. He could see that. Someone had made an effort here.
Eugene gestured around, almost apologetically. "Please don't mind this. I've been living here for a while now. Made a room for the sleeping pods so I could keep them close."
Jean shook his head firmly. "Please, don't apologize, Uncle. You've done so much for us. You saved us from those monsters while we were in this Somnum. You kept us alive for twenty-five years. Honestly, I'm grateful you were with us the whole time. I couldn't ask for anything more."
Eugene looked a little shocked by the words. Then he chuckled—a genuine sound, warm and surprised. "Hah... I never thought I'd hear those words from my nephew. Didn't even hear them from my brother himself."
Jean chuckled too, the sound strange after so long without use. It felt good, though. Human perhaps.
Then Eugene pressed a finger to his ear—a communication device, Jean realized. His expression shifted instantly, focus sharpening. He listened intently to whoever was on the other end, his brow furrowing.
He guided Jean to the couch and listened carefully to everything the voice had to say. Jean watched his uncle's face cycle through expressions—concern, calculation, resignation.
A moment later, Eugene sighed and looked at him.
"Sorry, son. I have to go. There's a rift about to open in an hour. I need to be there immediately." He saw Jean's concern and added quickly, "Don't worry, it's not near here. You'll be safe."
He pointed toward another room. "You can change clothes there. I kept some of your old things. Managed to salvage them from the house before..." He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.
He was already moving toward the door. "There's food in the refrigerator. Eat something—you need strength. I'll be back as soon as I can."
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Jean sat alone in the apartment, the silence pressing in around him. It was a different kind of silence than the pod room—not mechanical, but human. Lived-in. He looked around carefully, taking in the details.
Photos on a shelf caught his eye. He stood slowly, testing his legs, and walked over. Family photos—some he recognized from before. His parents' wedding. A picture of him and Ben at the beach. Julie's first birthday. Others were newer—Eugene with people Jean didn't recognize, Pathwalkers probably, standing in front of places he'd never seen.
"I miss this…."
He turned away from the shelf. The room his uncle had pointed to held a wardrobe. He opened it; the creak of old hinges sounded eerie in the quiet, but he didn't mind. Inside, folded neatly, were clothes he recognized. Shirts he'd worn. Jeans that had fit him—once.
He picked an outfit and changed slowly, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. His body felt foreign, like a machine that hadn't been used in decades.
When he looked at himself in a small mirror on the wall, he paused.
'Damn. Never in my life did I think I'd become skinny.'
The boy staring back at him had the same eyes, the same face—but thinner, sharper. His jaw had definition now. His cheeks weren't round anymore. His clothes hung loose in places, skin that would tighten up as he regained strength and maybe added muscle.
'Well, here I am. In this accursed world.'
He left the room and checked the refrigerator. A small sandwich sat on a shelf, wrapped in plastic. Simple. Bread, meat, cheese. He took it and ate standing up.
The first bite made his eyes widen.
'Damn. The taste... I can't describe it.'
After twenty-five years of nothing—after countless dream-deaths and nightmare meals that weren't real—even a simple sandwich felt like a feast. The flavors exploded on his tongue. The bread was slightly stale, but he didn't care. He ate slowly, savoring each bite, letting the physical sensation ground him in reality.
He didn't return to the couch. Instead, his eyes drifted to the balcony—its doors made of tinted glass. He walked over and pushed.
At first, it didn't budge. His muscles protested, weak from decades of disuse. He pushed harder, frustration building.
'I hate this.'
Finally, with a groan of effort, the door slid open.
He stepped out onto the balcony. The apartment was on the second floor, part of a community complex. Below him, a road stretched between buildings. People walked, jogged, chatted—going about their lives as if the world had never experienced an apocalypse.
Some wore uniforms Jean didn't recognize. But most looked ordinary. Normal. Like they were just living their lives.
Jean watched them, something strange settling in his chest. Awe? Disbelief? Acceptance?
'This is how humanity goes.'
The words of an old movie surfaced in his mind, unbidden.
'Life finds a way.'
A soft wind passed by, stirring his golden hair. He placed his elbows on the railing and leaned forward slightly, taking it all in. The sounds of the community drifted up—distant conversations, a dog barking, someone calling out a greeting.
'Can't believe this.'
He glanced up at the sky. Clear azure stretched endlessly above, the sun bright and warm. No rifts. No monsters. Just sky, like it had always been. Like it should be.
He sighed and looked forward.
The building opposite him was close enough to see clearly. On one of its balconies, on what he guessed was the third floor, a girl stood alone.
She looked around his age—maybe a little younger, maybe not. It was hard to tell. Her eyes were closed, face tilted slightly upward as if feeling the wind. Raven-black hair moved in soft waves around her shoulders, catching the light.
She was still. Peaceful. Untouched by the chaos around her.
Jean stared for a moment.
'She must have either experienced Somnum or survived it.'
She looked untouched by time, like him. But then again, no one aged anymore. She could be forty for all he knew. Still, something about her presence felt... familiar. Not in a way he could name, but in a way that made him pause.
'She looks around my age, though. I guess.'
He shook his head and turned away. He had no business staring at strangers. No business thinking about anything except surviving this new world.
'Whatever. Let's finish this sandwich.'
He went back inside, leaving the balcony door open to let the wind through. The sandwich waited on the kitchen counter. He picked it up and took another bite, chewing slowly as the breeze touched his face.
Somewhere out there, his uncle was about to fight monsters.
Somewhere out there, rifts were opening.
And here he was, eating a sandwich in an apartment that wasn't his, wearing clothes from a life that no longer existed.
'Life finds a way,' he thought again.
He just wished it didn't hurt so much.