Chapter 14
Avery POV
The beeping is relentless.
My eyes crack open, face smushed against a pillow I barely remember falling into. I groan and slap at the alarm clock until it shuts up. The air in the room is still warm, the faint hum of the mana-powered generator in the background like a lullaby I was too wired to appreciate last night.
I drag myself to the bathroom and take a quick shower, letting the lukewarm water rinse off the last of sleep. When I check the level in the water tank, I frown. Lower than I'd like. I'll need to refill it soon—either collect more rain or find a mana pond to siphon.
Another chore to add to my mental list.
I toss on a fresh pair of cargo pants and not my usual crop top, that one is still drying before stepping out into the garden.
It's more impressive than it has any right to be. A patchwork miracle grown out of apocalypse and necessity. Tomatoes dangle in heavy clusters, onions peek out of soil beds, and garlic flourishes in neat little rows. They all came from scraps—rotten pieces scavenged from abandoned stores or traded for in desperate barters.
The fruit trees stand taller than last time I looked. Apples, oranges, watermelon vines sprawling into corners, and even grapes clinging to an arched trellis. There's a damn coconut tree too. How did that even take root?
I know how. Mana beast poop.
Specifically Sparkle's.
Apparently, radioactive mana beast fertilizer is a godsend for over-farmed or corrupted soil. I remember accidentally planting something too close to one of her "deposits," and the thing mutated into a four-foot-tall daikon. Since then, I've leaned in. Carefully.
I glance toward the edge of the garden where I've spread a layer of sand over one of her recent gifts. It's still fresh. Still too smelly. I wrinkle my nose and back away.
"Later," I mutter.
For breakfast, I cut up a quick fruit salad. Apple, orange, and watermelon chunks. I eat standing up in the kitchen, looking down at my plate like it offended me. It's healthy. Naturally grown. No artificial sugar. No preservatives.
I sigh.
"I didn't ask for this lifestyle," I grumble.
Between the scavenging, constant travel, running from things with too many legs and glowing eyes, and all the battle-conditioning, I now have a body that could model for a magazine.
A win is a win, I guess.
After eating, I pack up quickly. Nothing elaborate. Just a small black backpack, my mana gun holstered at my thigh, a few emergency tools, and a metal water bottle I carry for show more than need.
"Come on, Sparkle," I call.
She saunters over from the far side of the lawn, already knowing what's next. With a ripple of space, I open the rift and we both step out, back into the waking apocalypse.
The sky above is unnaturally tinted again. Streaks of purple and orange ripple across clouds that look like smoke. It's beautiful in that tragic, 'this is not how weather should behave' sort of way.
We arrive at the edge of the cliff, just above the canyon, and I immediately note the shift in movement below.
People are stirring. The caravan is already waking up. Makeshift tents collapse into packs, vehicles start up with distant hums, and the cluster of hundreds—thousands—moves like an organism. I scan the crowd, uninterested in most of them, until my gaze lands at the front of the convoy.
Commander Mercer.
Already in place. Already armed. Back straight, eyes sharp.
Of course.
He probably hasn't slept. The man's a machine.
I sigh.
"Let's go, sweetheart," I murmur, patting Sparkle's side. She growls softly and begins the descent.
Rather than sit upright, I sprawl across her back, cheek pressed to her fur as we move down the canyon edge. The rock shifts beneath her paws, but she's sure-footed. Always.
I stare up at the sky as we move, the colors swirling gently in a slow mana dance.
This world is ruined.
And somehow, I'm still here.
Still watching the man who forgot me
lead an army toward something resembling hope.
Funny how that works.