May 11, 2029

Walking into the main base, I head toward where I know I’ll find my parents. Already dreading the conversation.

Pre-Mana Surge, my family was a bunch of stuck-up rich people, six generations deep with ties to the military and politics, and more wealth than they could ever spend.

So when it happened, we were better off than most—guns, bombs, a reinforced bunker. We thought we were safe.

Until we weren’t.

Some of the staff turned into Corrupted. Some of the relatives too. The guns didn’t work on all of them. An earthquake caved in the bunker. Panic followed. Then the Surge took over.

I awakened.

And just like that, I ended up in charge.

Commander Mercer. That’s what they call me now.

We’ve been settled here for the last six months. It’s the longest we’ve stayed anywhere. People are getting too comfortable.

If Elias is right, we’ll have to move. Again.

I pass through the makeshift camp. There are over 3,000 of us now. What started as a few hundred has grown into a mobile city of survivors. Some have abilities. Like the woman with the plant affinity—she grows food from rubble. Others purify water with their gifts. Resource scarcity isn’t the problem anymore.

The real threat? People.

Spies from rival factions. Saboteurs. Opportunists.

Not the beasts. Not the storms. Humans.

I push aside the flap of the central tent. Inside, luxury.

Actual beds. Clean linens. Furniture. My parents’ doing.

“Jace,” my mother says. She stands. Her voice draws the attention of everyone else. My father wheels toward me. Patricia—my so-called fiancée—rises. Her mother waves lazily from a seat. Her father’s gone.

 Mana beast attack.

 I didn’t purposely look away when it happened.

This is the new world order. Accidents happen.

“You’re back,” my mother says, reaching for me. I step back. She doesn’t touch me.

“We have to move. A mana storm is approaching.”

“Again,” Patricia says, her voice high-pitched and whining. My eye twitches.

I twirl the ring on my finger, pressing it against my palm. It calms me.

“You’re free to stay here,” I say. I actually hope they do.

“I didn’t mea—” she starts.

“In four days, we leave,” I say, and walk out.

Later, I lie on the roof. During the day, the mana storms color the sky in dreamlike hues—purple, blue, sometimes red. But the night sky? It remains unchanged.

Constant.

I stare at the stars.

Below, two voices drift up.

“Can’t believe we have to move again,” one says.

“Right,” the other answers.

“Couple years ago, I was complaining about my 9 to 5,” he laughs.

“Ha! My mom tried to set up an arranged marriage for me. I skipped the meeting. Now I’m probably going to die a virgin,” the other jokes.

They snicker.

Am I a virgin?

I don’t know.

My memories start in summer 2021. I woke up in a hospital. The Surge hit the following year. I asked about my past. My parents dodged every question. Said recovery was delicate. Now? I don’t bother.

I twirl the ring on my finger. It’s all I have left.

They tried to throw it out. A nurse stopped them. Said I was clutching it like a lifeline when I was brought in.

Did I have a lover?