"Sometimes, survival doesn't feel like living. It feels like waiting to die slower than the others."
The supermarket was silent.
Not peaceful — never peaceful — but silent in the way graveyards are silent after rain.
Fluorescent lights hummed weakly overhead, some flickering, others already dead. The scent of rot and blood thickened the air, merging with something metallic — that faint, sharp sting of ozone from broken wiring. Rain leaked through cracks in the ceiling, drops tapping onto the tiles like a second heartbeat.
Kael stood among the ruins, breathing slow, controlled. His hands were steady despite the ache in his arms. Around him, dozens of people — what remained of them — lay scattered between aisles and shattered glass. Some moved. Most didn't.
He scanned the area mechanically, his eyes dull but alert — the gaze of a man who'd seen too many battlefields to flinch anymore.
Ten breathing. Four critical. The rest… gone.
His mind logged the numbers like data on a screen. Emotion was a luxury he couldn't afford yet.
He looked over at Min-Jae, who was kneeling near a collapsed display, pressing cloth against a man's bleeding arm. The boy's hands shook, but he wasn't useless. That counted for something.
"Hold it tighter," Kael said quietly, walking over.
Min-Jae flinched but obeyed. "He's losing a lot of blood— I-I don't think—"
"Then make him lose less," Kael interrupted. His tone wasn't cruel, just final. Orders were easier to follow than hope.
The man coughed, his eyes fluttering weakly. Kael checked his pulse. Shallow. He'd seen too many like this.
We need someone who can patch wounds, he thought grimly. Or we'll start burying people by morning.
He turned his head slightly — that's when he heard it.
A soft, broken sob from somewhere behind the checkout counters.
Kael's boots crunched over broken glass as he moved toward the sound.
A young woman was crouched on the floor, trembling. Her long black hair stuck to her cheeks, matted with sweat and dust. A small child cried in her arms — a boy, no older than six — his mother lying beside him with a deep gash across her abdomen. The wound was bad. Too deep.
Kael knew that kind of wound. It meant death.
But the woman — the one holding the boy — wasn't giving up.
She pressed torn cloth against the bleeding stomach, whispering something softly. "Please… please don't go. Just a little longer. Hold on, ma'am, please…"
Her voice was soft but steady — desperate, yet trained. Kael recognized the tone. She knew what she was doing.
"You're a medic?" Kael asked, stepping closer.
She looked up suddenly, startled. Her eyes were brown — clear, focused, but glimmering with exhaustion.
"I was— a medical student," she stammered. "Yuna Han."
Kael nodded once. "You're doing good work. Keep pressure."
"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But the bleeding won't stop. I don't have sutures or—"
She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze drawn to something beside the dying woman.
A faint blue glow.
It pulsed from within the woman's torn abdomen — not from the wound itself, but from something inside it. Like a dying heartbeat.
The same kind of glow Kael had seen inside the Alpha.
Another core…
But this one was small — almost delicate.
Yuna's hands trembled as she reached for it instinctively. "What is that?"
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Don't touch—"
Too late.
The moment her fingers brushed the light, it melted — turning into a liquid sheen that slithered up her wrist and vanished into her skin.
Yuna gasped. Her breath hitched. For a heartbeat, her body stiffened — eyes wide, mouth open — like electricity was running through her veins. The faint glow spread across her forearms, then faded.
Kael stepped closer, knife in hand just in case. "You okay?"
Yuna blinked rapidly, touching her chest. "I… I don't know. It felt like something went inside me."
"Do you feel pain?"
"No." Her voice was steadying now, her mind snapping back into logic mode. "Just… warm."
The dying woman beside her groaned. The child sobbed louder.
Yuna's gaze softened again. She knelt beside the woman, whispering, "Stay with me." She pressed her hands down again — and then it happened.
A soft golden light flickered beneath her palms.
It started weak, like a candle trying to catch flame, then grew stronger. The torn flesh under her touch began to close — veins knitting, skin sealing, the blood flow slowing.
Kael's eyes widened a fraction. Even he, who'd seen horrors on battlefields, hadn't seen this.
Min-Jae's voice broke the silence. "What… the hell…"
When the glow faded, the woman's breathing steadied. Her eyes fluttered open. The pain was gone.
The child let out a cry — not of fear this time, but relief.
Yuna sat back, panting, staring at her hands. They were shaking, faintly smoking from the residual glow.
"What… what did I just do?" she whispered.
Kael said nothing. His brain catalogued what he saw — power, energy transference, unknown mechanism.
She absorbed a core and gained control over regenerative bioenergy. Healing.
Out loud, he only said, "You saved her. Keep doing that."
Yuna looked up at him, eyes uncertain. "You think I can?"
Kael met her gaze, calm as ever. "You just did."
Hours passed.
The night deepened. The survivors huddled together under broken shelves and collapsed banners.
Yuna moved between them like a silent light in the dark. Each time she touched someone, that golden glow flickered faintly. Some wounds healed instantly; others took longer. Each success drained her a little more.
Kael watched her from a distance. He didn't understand how she was still standing. He respected it.
Strong under pressure, he thought. Good. We'll need that.
Min-Jae eventually slumped beside him, exhaling hard. "She's… incredible."
"She's useful," Kael said.
"Cold as ever, huh?" Min tried to grin but failed. "You really think this is happening? Like— powers? Monsters? What's next, magic swords?"
Kael's eyes shifted toward the window. Rain streaked down the glass, thunder muttering beyond the city skyline. "The world changed. We either change with it… or end up like them."
His mind flickered to the Alpha's core in his pocket. He still hadn't told anyone.
Not yet.
At dawn, the storm outside slowed to a drizzle. Kael stood by the supermarket's smashed entrance, scanning the streets. Fires burned in the distance. The air shimmered faintly, like heatwaves — reality itself trembling.
He spotted movement among the rubble — the remnants of what looked like a museum van, its back doors torn open. Crates spilled out, their contents glinting under the gray sky.
He walked over, curiosity pricking through his calm.
Inside, amid broken glass and old plaques, lay relics — bronze, silver, engraved with unfamiliar runes. Artifacts meant for display, not use. But something about them hummed.
Kael crouched, brushing off dust. His fingers hovered over one object — a small chalice, roughly shaped like a wine glass, its rim etched with ancient script.
The air around it was colder.
Strange energy signature.
He picked it up.
The instant he touched it, the metal pulsed — faintly warm. He tilted it in his hand. Empty. Then, as he watched, liquid began to fill itself from nowhere — dark, viscous, reflecting faint light.
Kael's reflection shimmered in the surface. Then it changed.
He saw himself — older, bloodied, standing amid corpses. His team — Min-Jae, Yuna, the survivors — all dead around him. And above, a shadow blotted the sky. Massive. Scaled. Breathing fire.
A black dragon.
Kael gasped softly — the sound lost in the rain.
The image shattered. The chalice went empty again.
He stood there for a long time, silent, heart hammering once, then calming again.
So that's how I die.
He tucked the chalice into his bag, expression unreadable.
Then he turned back toward the supermarket, toward his people.
"Supplies," he muttered under his breath. "We'll need everything we can carry."
Because now, he knew what was coming.