Rosalia — POV
We finally arrived at our destination, now standing before a massive iron gate.
The mont my feet touched the cracked earth, a cold gust of wind swept across my face, carrying with it the tallic scent of rust, dust, and the faint echo of distant screams—reminders of a world that had devoured itself long before we reached this place.
The massive iron gate towered above us like the ribcage of so ancient beast, silent and nacing, casting a long shadow over everyone who stood too close. Its surface was covered in scrapes, dents, and layers of dried mud, as if it had weathered countless battles—and survived only out of spite.
Those few minutes in the car had been pure torture.
Pure, unfiltered torture, the kind that made silently reconsider every life decision that had led to be trapped inside a suffocating tal box while the world outside fell apart. The air inside the car had grown hot and thick, the windows fogging slightly as if even the glass wanted to escape.
Every bump in the road rattled my spine, and every passing second felt like it stretched into a minute.
I an, who could possibly endure sitting with Henry, that walking radio? He didn’t stop talking the entire ride.
His voice ca in relentless waves—never-ending, unstoppable—like a malfunctioning broadcast station that couldn’t be shut down.
He talked about supplies, about rumors, about nonsense, about things no one asked about.
He even comnted on the shape of the clouds at one point. If I closed my eyes for a mont, I could swear I heard static mixed into his babbling.
No matter how many tis I scolded him or told him to be quiet, he refused.
My patience had been chewed apart long before we even reached the gate.
I tried glaring, hissing threats, even kicking him lightly, but Henry was the kind of person who could cheerfully walk into a zombie nest and complint the monsters on their teeth.
I would’ve hit him if I didn’t know my punches wouldn’t even cause a light tickle.
And that was the sad part—my frustration was useless, completely powerless. I could threaten, I could complain, but at the end of the day, Henry would continue talking, oblivious to the storm he was causing inside my skull.
"Hurry up, empty all the cars!"
The mont the vehicle doors flew open, chaos broke loose.
Voices clashed in the air, heavy footsteps thudded against the ground, and the dry dust of the ruined earth rose around us like smoke.
Soone shouted, soone dropped a box, soone else cursed as they nearly stumbled.
"You, carry the dical supplies. And you—go help unload the vegetables from that truck!"
The orders cut sharply through the noise, each one more urgent than the last. Everyone moved with the frantic energy of survivors who knew ti was precious—who knew danger lurked behind every delay.
Everyone was working hard to unload the vehicles, since we couldn’t drive them through the gate.
The gate acted like a wall between two worlds: outside was chaos, inside was supposed to be safety—or what passed for it.
But the gate refused to let any vehicle pass through, as if it wanted to strip us of the last bit of comfort or protection we carried.
I an, I really hate this base.
And the people in it.
They treat their own kind coldly and won’t accept anyone unless they pay a tax.
Just rembering that fact made my blood boil.
Survival taxes.
Entry taxes.
Breathing taxes, probably.
Everything here had a price, even humanity.
People who had lost everything were being squeezed again by those who had clawed their way into power.
You would think, after the apocalypse, compassion would rise from the ashes.
But no.
Greed survives everything.
In a world devoured by the apocalypse, they didn’t think about sticking together to overco their misery. Instead, they thought of their own personal gains, exploiting humanity’s tragedy to gather power and crown themselves as rulers.
They turned despair into currency. They turned suffering into a throne. While others starved or died or begged for shelter, these people collected favors, built empires on top of broken bodies, and pretended they were doing the world a service.
And let’s just say... their plan was successful.
This base has four generals.
And except for General Zan—the brave and kind one—the remaining three are all power-hungry bastards who care about nothing but themselves and their families.
Three tyrants and one decent man—that was the balance of power here. And it showed. People walked through the base with bowed heads, as if afraid their shadow alone might offend soone important. Every wall, every tower, every corridor carried the stench of oppression.
What a headache... joining this base ans that, because of Cassel’s strength and his team, we’ll beco targets the mont we enter.
Cassel was strong—too strong. Strong enough to inspire fear, jealousy, and hate.
People like him didn’t enter a base quietly.
They entered like a storm.
And storms changed everything, whether they wanted to or not.
In front of the gate, I saw Cassel talking to the guards.
Cassel stood tall, unwavering, his presence cutting through the commotion like a blade. Even in the middle of the noisy chaos, he drew attention effortlessly. His shoulders were broad, his posture composed, his voice low as he dealt with the guards with a politeness that didn’t soften the chill beneath his words.
Naturally, the guards were ability users—nervous ones.
Their hands twitched near their weapons. Their eyes never left Cassel’s face. They weren’t just nervous—they were intimidated, wary, ready to bolt or kneel depending on how he breathed.
A beautiful ponytailed girl and a strong, dark-skinned man stood speaking with Cassel.
The girl had an elegance to her—weapon slung over her back, her hair tied neatly, confidence radiating from her posture.
The man stood firm beside her like a tower, broad-shouldered, alert, with the look of soone who had survived too many battles and didn’t trust strangers easily.
The woman looked at Cassel with flirtation and amusent.
Her eyes sparkled just a bit too brightly, her lips curled just a bit too easily.
Every gesture she made seed to pull toward Cassel—like a plant seeking sunlight. Except she wasn’t a plant. She was sothing else entirely.
Wait... what the hell is wrong with this woman?
No... I think I know her.
Who is she? Who—?
Aaah!
"Rosalia, why are you—"
I didn’t listen to whatever Henry was about to say. I rushed toward where Cassel was, not caring about Henry’s frozen expression.
I didn’t have ti to play with foxes.
My body moved on instinct, fueled by irritation, jealousy, panic, and the fierce protectiveness that swelled in my chest before I could stop it. My feet pounded the ground, dust lifting beneath each hurried step.
I needed to get that shaless, seductive vixen away from Cassel.
When I reached Cassel’s side, I heard the last thing the woman said.
"Handso man, how about becoming my lover?"
My blood boiled instantly—the kind of heat that burned the throat and tightened the fists.
"HUSBAND!!"
I scread loudly as I threw myself into Cassel’s arms.
He turned toward with a confused expression.
The world fell silent for a mont—shock rippling through the guards, the surroundings, even the air itself.
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