Snow floated in the murk of unconsciousness, her body broken and bruised, yet her mind alive with vivid recollections. Dreams twisted and turned, unraveling the threads of her past. They began at the heart of her coldest memories, where blood and instinct were her only companions.
I wasn't always like this, her dream-self murmured, though there was no one to hear. The words formed a jagged confession, echoing in the hollow corners of her mind.
She saw herself as she once was: a shadow slipping through the shattered carcass of the Once-World, surviving by wit and blade. Snow moved like a feral predator, springing traps on scavengers and outlaws alike. It didn't matter if they were armed or innocent—she couldn't afford to care. A few sharp strikes, a looted pack, and she would melt into the ruins before her victims hit the ground.
Her hands itched at the memory, the phantom sensation of blood sticky on her skin. Snow's eyes narrowed, watching her younger self from above like an outsider.
I told myself it was survival, she whispered, the words tasting bitter now. But really, I wasn't so different from the people I killed.
She had lived by the mantra of survival of the fittest, clinging to the belief that the strong deserved to endure and the weak were only prey. The world didn't allow room for weakness.
But even then, the face of every victim lingered in her memory. Eyes wide with fear, mouths twisted in anger or pleading. She buried those memories deep, convincing herself it was just survival.
They would've done the same to me, she rationalized, though the faintest flicker of guilt gnawed at the edge of her resolve.
That was until the day she met Rain.
The dream shifted, dark ruins dissolving into a different kind of decay. A dilapidated road, the one that she frequently traversed till she knew the inside out. She sat in one of the corners, silent and steady, waiting for anyone unfortunate to pass on the path. She didn't have to look at the road: the voice of wind and the chattering of unexpected prey was all she needed to pinpoint her target.
Then she heard the thud, and when she finally emerged from her hiding place, she saw her: a girl, pale and motionless, sprawled across a sea of books.
Another body, Snow thought in the dream, hearing the thought as clearly as she had felt it then. But something about the girl made her pause. Her clothes were patched but clean, her pack oddly bulky. Snow's instincts sharpened.
What kind of idiot carried so many books? What was she hiding?
She'd crept closer, her machete drawn, expecting an ambush. But there was no one else—just this odd, pale-haired girl with a pack full of books and an almost comical lack of survival gear.
Snow crouched down, nudging her with the blade. "What are you packing?" she muttered aloud. She wasn't sure why she didn't just kill her outright. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was boredom.
When Rain stirred, blinking blearily at Snow, the first words out of her mouth weren't fear or confusion but gratitude. "Finally...a person" she murmured, her voice weak but genuine "Thanks, you... saved me."
Snow had frozen, utterly baffled. Saved her? From what? She is startled by the assumption, but she doesn't have to correct her.
In her dream, Snow followed the thread of that strange encounter as it unfurled. Rain, as it turned out, wasn't injured—just starving. Too weak to move after trading her last scraps of food for a hand-drawn map.
Snow had snorted at the ridiculousness of it all. A map? In this world? It was more likely the seller had been laughing all the way to their next meal.
"A map?" Snow had said incredulously at the time, crouching by the fire they'd lit in a crumbling hallway that night. "You traded food for some idiot's sketch of nothing?"
Rain had shrugged, her mismatched eyes glinting in the firelight. "It's not nothing. The map leads to a warehouse. Preserved food, they said—supplies enough to last for months. Probably once owned by a prepper who may or may not exist anymore. If someone finds it, it can be a fortune, don't you think?"
Snow had scoffed, but something about the girl's earnestness had stopped her from walking away. Besides, if it was true, if there really was a cache out there… it would be worth the trouble.
"Then I will help you," Snow said, her tone flat to not show her real intention.
Rain perked up, eyes brimming with anticipation "Really!? Thank you so much, I know you are a good person when you found me!"
Snow didn't reply, but her expression slightly twisted with those words.
"I am Rain, by the way." The girl introduced herself, her voice filled with excitement, like a child meeting with a new friend.
"Snow," she simply said, not particularly caring about this whole introduction thing.
After all, she only agreed to go with her, if deciding that the supplies would be hers alone once she figured out the girl's secrets.
But Rain was a magnet for trouble. Snow's dream-self smirked bitterly as she watched the memories play out. She always tripped over exposed roots, got distracted by the ruins they passed, and made naive deals with shady merchants.
It wasn't just incompetence that frustrated Snow—it was Rain's reckless kindness. Snow remembered standing at the edge of a ruined market, watching as Rain handed over half her meager rations to a starving family huddled in a rusting car. Snow had felt the familiar twist of anger and disbelief.
"That was your food," she had snapped when Rain returned.
"They needed it more than I did," Rain had replied simply as if that were a perfectly reasonable excuse. "Besides, I have you already, right?"
Snow's lip curled even now in the dream, remembering how infuriating it had been. And yet… she also saw the way the children's faces lit up when Rain handed them an old, tattered book she'd found. Saw the quiet dignity in the father's nod of thanks.
Something about those moments began to chip away at Snow's defenses.
Someone who is not good at surviving like Rain, why does she care so much about some strangers? The question also makes her reflect on herself, on how she has always lived, a life of stealing and killing, a world of 'survival of the fittest'.
Why does someone good at surviving like me, don't care to help others like her?
The dream sped forward, skipping over countless small moments until it landed on the one she could never forget.
They had found it: the rumored "house of food".
————————————————————————————————————————————
The warehouse doors groaned as Snow shoved them open, the rusted hinges protesting against years of disuse. The stale, metallic air rushed out to meet them, carrying with it the faint scent of decay and the sharp tang of old chemicals. Snow held her machete tightly, scanning the dim interior as her heart pounded—not with fear, but with anticipation.
"Is this it?" Rain asked, stepping in behind her. Her voice echoed faintly in the cavernous space.
Snow didn't answer. She was too busy taking in the sight before her. Row upon row of shelves stretched into the shadows, each laden with crates and metal containers. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the cracked ceiling.
This was it. Months—maybe years—worth of supplies, untouched, waiting to be claimed.
Rain let out a small gasp as she wandered deeper into the space. "There's so much here," she said, running her hand over the dusty surface of a nearby crate. Her mismatched eyes sparkled, and Snow felt a familiar flicker of annoyance.
Rain always looked at the world like it was something worth marveling at, even when it was rotting around them. Snow didn't understand it, but she didn't have to. All she needed to do was wait for the right moment.
She tightened her grip on her machete, her gaze flicking to Rain's back.
She'll get in the way, Snow reminded herself. She couldn't risk sharing this place, couldn't let Rain leave and tell anyone else about it. This was survival, plain and simple. It wasn't personal.
And besides, it wasn't as if Rain was cut out for this world. Someone as weak as her, both body and mind. Better to end her quickly.
Rain crouched by a crate, prying it open with the crowbar she carried. Inside were neatly stacked cans, their labels faded but still legible. She picked one up, brushing away the dust with her sleeve. "Peaches," she said softly, almost reverently. "Can you believe it, Snow? Real peaches."
Snow's jaw tightened. She stepped closer, silent as a shadow.
Then Rain looked up at her, smiling. "You can have it," she said.
Snow froze.
"What?" she asked, the word sharp and uncomprehending.
"All of it," Rain said, gesturing to the warehouse around them. "You found this place. It's yours."
Snow stared at her, her mind scrambling to make sense of the words. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. "You've been looking for this place for weeks. Why would you just give it away?"
Rain shrugged, her expression as open and guileless as ever. "I didn't intend to take anything in the first place. I only wanted to know if the rumor was real," she said simply. "And now that we've found it… well, it could help so many people. You can stay here if you want—use it as a safe place. You can have a good life here, Snow, for a while, at least. Still better than living at the side of the road like you have to before, right?"
Snow's grip on her machete loosened. "You're not taking anything? All of this?" she asked, her voice low and disbelieving, almost like she was trying to dissuade Rain herself from doing this.
Rain shook her head. "No. I've still got places to go, and things to learn. This was never about me." She smiled again, bright and unguarded. "If it is up to me, then I still ought to give all of this to others, but you saved me back then, and after that and those too...So, you deserved it, even more than I do actually."
Then, she said the magic words, that unforgivable quote
"You are the only person that willing to put up with me this far. This is the least I can do for you. For me, helping others...helping you, is a reward enough in itself."
Snow's stomach twisted, a strange, unfamiliar feeling spreading through her chest. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to respond to the girl in front of her—the girl who was offering her everything and asking for nothing in return.
For the first time in years, Snow felt small. She had spent so long clawing and fighting to survive, telling herself it was the only way to live in this broken world. But here was Rain, defying all of that—risking herself not for survival, but for something greater.
It's like she has been hit with a moment of clarity, like she finally understands the truth of the universe.
All I ever done is try to survive, she thought, feeling both ashamed of herself, and admiring the girl next to her, while she always living all this time.
Snow's machete slipped from her hand, clattering to the ground.
Rain blinked at the sound, tilting her head in confusion. "Snow?"
"Take what you can carry," Snow said abruptly, her voice rough. "We'll split it."
Rain's eyes widened. "What? But—"
"We'll split it," Snow repeated, cutting her off. "And then we'll keep moving. Together. Wherever you go, I will go with you."
Rain stared at her, and for a moment Snow thought she might argue. But then a smile broke across her face, wider and brighter than any Snow had seen before.
"Really? You mean it?" Rain asked, her voice trembling with emotion.
Snow nodded. "Someone's gotta keep you alive, don't they? And maybe, having company once in a while isn't that bad either."
Rain laughed, the sound echoing through the warehouse like a song.
After they leave the warehouse, both she and Rain are like the two polarities of a magnet: inseparable, absolutely contrasted but also attracted to each other.
She gets to see Rain's bright smile, her cheerful words, and her blabbering about what she has learned all day without being bored. But someone needs to look after her. That girl is really insufferable when it's about taking care of herself.
And so, she had vowed to herself: she would protect Rain. Not because Rain needed her, but because the world needed Rain.
Or rather, she needed Rain. The girl has become everything to her.
The dream began to fade, the warehouse dissolving into mist. Snow's voice echoed softly in the void.
I'll keep you safe. I promise.
Snow's eyes fluttered open, the world coming into focus. She was lying on a cot in a small, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of antiseptic. Shelves lined the walls, filled with dusty bottles and rusted medical tools.
"Ah, you're awake," a voice said.
Snow turned her head sharply, her muscles protesting the movement. A man stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and his expression wary. He was middle-aged, with graying hair and a weathered face that spoke of years spent surviving.
"Where am I?" Snow rasped, her throat dry.
"Safe," the man replied. "that is sure."
Snow's mind raced, piecing together fragmented memories. The ratlings, the ladder, the fall—Rain.
"Where's Rain?" she demanded, her voice rough but urgent.
The man's expression softened. "She's fine," he said. "She is outside. Go on—she's been worried sick."
Snow swung her legs over the edge of the cot, biting back a wince as pain shot through her ribs. She pushed herself to her feet, her resolve stronger than her body's protests.
Rain was waiting for her. And Snow intended to keep her promise. Whatever it takes.