After Lucien had gotten patched up, deeming the abandoned pharmacy unsafe, Theron suggested they should go back to the bar where Sebastian and him had been initially. At the very least, there was a shelter in the basement with a bed as Lucien needed to rest and the cold, tiled floor that pharmacy offered was far from ideal.

  Thankfully, on the way back, they were not approached by any unsavory people and as soon as they arrived, they brought Lucien downstairs and helped him to the bed. But as they were about to leave, Lucien spoke up.

  “Theron, stay.” he said, his voice strained. “I need to talk to you for a bit.”

  Theron’s heart skipped a beat. The familiarity he felt from this man still hadn’t stopped. In fact, through the entire time, his mind was scattered. The fact Lucien confirmed his suspicions and the fact that world around them seemed even grimmer than usual, it didn’t let Theron’s mind rest for one second. And now Lucien wanted to talk to him one more time.

  “Shouldn’t you rest?” Theron asked softly, not to seem like he was pushing him away. He just needed time to wrap his still very fragile mind around this all.

  “It’ll be brief.” Lucien assured and Theron clenched his jaw slightly. He just hoped whatever his next words would be that they wouldn’t completely rattle his brain. He was sure that if he received one more piece of information, he’d explode.

  Seth and Sebastian exchanged a brief glance before retreating upstairs, boots echoing softly against the worn wooden steps. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the world above.

  And suddenly, it was quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed against the bones. Heavy. Expectant. Theron remained standing near the doorway, arms crossed, his back tense and shoulders squared like he was bracing for a punch that hadn’t landed yet.

  Lucien lay back against the makeshift pillow, his chest rising and falling with a slightly labored rhythm, one arm still wrapped in layers of fabric. His eyes, though bloodshot, were clear. Piercing.

  “Sit,” he said gently, nodding toward the empty stool beside the bed.

  Theron hesitated for a beat, then slowly stepped forward and lowered himself onto the stool. His elbows rested on his knees. His eyes flicked down, then back up.

  “I know you’re afraid and confused,” Lucien began then his uninjured hand reached towards Theron’s and grasped it, providing slight comfort. “But you don’t have to be. I’ll be with you but I can’t take away the heaviness this purpose brings. We are meant for something greater than this mere survival.”

  Theron sighed softly, his touch being grounding almost. It felt like they had fought countless battles before and, in each one, they were side by side. And Theron knew in his heart, body, and soul, he could trust this man. He couldn’t explain it at all in a logical way and that was what scared and confused him. Everything he thought he knew was just dissolving into something unrecognizable and yet he had never felt more at home than now.

  The moment he looked into Lucien’s eyes, he knew he loved him. There was a part of him that was so intertwined with this person, it was practically impossible to recognize it as the purest form of love and kinship. This person was family.

  “When did you realize you weren’t just a mere human? That you were meant for something more?” Theron asked, his voice careful, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, only that he needed to.

  Lucien didn’t hesitate.

  “Since I was born, really.” The speed of his response caught Theron off guard. His lips parted, a follow-up question already forming, but Lucien continued before he could speak.

  “For some reason, I’ve never not known,” he said, eyes unfocused, as if he was speaking more to the past than to Theron. “I always had these… visions. Dreams. Abilities. Things I couldn’t explain. Things no kid should’ve understood. I’d see places I’d never been, feel things before they happened. And the memories…”

  He trailed off for a moment, his breath hitching.

  “It’s like, during reincarnation, whoever’s running the show forgot to hit the reset button. Or maybe they just couldn’t,” he added with a dry, humorless laugh. But the movement pulled at his bandaged side, and the laugh quickly turned into a sharp wince. He coughed, his face contorting as he reached for the edge of the bed. Theron instinctively leaned forward, ready to help but Lucien waved him off with a pained smirk.

  “Still not dead,” he muttered.

  “You don’t have to prove anything,” Theron said, settling back, though his eyes didn’t leave him. “You said abilities—what kind of abilities?”

  Lucien blinked slowly, then looked at him, really looked, like he was deciding whether or not to tell him the truth.

  “Nothing flashy,” he said after a moment. “Not like throwing fireballs or bending metal with my mind. But I… see things. Patterns. People. Sometimes memories that don’t belong to me. Sometimes emotions that don’t belong to anyone yet. It’s like time’s a thread and I just... tug on it now and then.”

  He paused again, voice lower.

  “And I always know when someone’s lying.”

  Theron’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound small.”

  Lucien gave a tired grin. “Maybe not. But anyway, I digress.” He shifted slightly, exhaling through his nose as the pain edged its way back in. “I just wanted to assure you,” he said, voice softer now, steadier despite the weariness, “that while there’s plenty to worry about… you won’t go through it alone. Trust me.”

  Theron looked up at him.

  “We’ve been through this once,” Lucien continued, his eyes holding something old, something far too knowing, “and we’ll get through it again. Together.”

  Theron looked at him for a second, and for a moment he didn’t speak. Lucien carried this calm steadiness of someone who had already lost everything once before and was still fighting. Still choosing to believe.

  “Together,” Theron echoed, firmly. He meant it this time. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, standing slowly.

  Lucien gave him a grateful look but said nothing more, letting his eyes close as the tension in his body finally began to ease. Theron stepped to the door, pausing just before opening it. And as he looked back one last time, he whispered to no one in particular—

  “I don’t remember the first time we went through this…” His hand gripped the door frame, “…but I won’t fail it this time.” Then he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Lucien to rest finally and Theron to carry the growing fire in his chest out into the dark.

  Theron went back upstairs and spotted Sebastian and Seth sitting at the bar, their voices low but unguarded. Sebastian leaned forward with his usual skeptical scowl, but there was a relaxed edge to it now—less aggression, more curiosity. Seth, animated as always, was gesturing with one hand, probably recounting some ridiculous story. And for once, Sebastian didn’t cut him off.

  They were bonding. And not out of necessity, but something closer to trust. Theron stood there for a moment, unnoticed, letting the scene soak into him.

  There was a warmth blooming in his chest—quiet, unexpected, and deeply human. For a moment, the weight in his shoulders lessened. The ache in his mind dulled. It was fragile, like light in a snow globe, but it was real. This felt like a beginning. Not the kind born from explosions or declarations. The kind born from return. From something coming back together after being broken for too long.

  It felt like family. It felt like coming home. Like he hadn’t lost everything, only forgotten it for a while. And now, piece by piece, it was finding him again. And he was finally ready to be found.

  He stepped further into the room, and both men looked up. Seth offered a grin; Sebastian gave a nod. No words were needed. Theron pulled out a stool and sat down beside them. They didn’t ask him what Lucien had said. They didn’t demand explanations or meaning. They just made room.

  And in that quiet, dusty bar, with cracked windows and the world still falling apart outside, Theron realized something else: He hadn’t found his purpose yet but he had found his people. And sometimes, that was where all revolutions began.

  “So,” Theron began after a long pause, his voice low, cautious, “what do you two think of this Silas fellow?”

  Seth shifted in his seat, but didn’t speak. Sebastian, however, leaned forward slightly, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to warm them.

  “What Lucien said…” Sebastian muttered after a beat, “for some reason, I feel it in my bones that something’s not right.”

  He wasn’t looking at Theron when he said it, he was staring at the far wall, as if trying to see through it.

  “I know I said he was hallucinating,” he went on, “and hell, maybe I was just trying to ground myself in something that made sense. But I trust you, Theron. I know you’re sane. At least saner than the rest of us.” He gave a humorless chuckle, dry and quiet.

  Then his expression darkened.

  “Despite all the promises Silas keeps throwing out—hope, direction, unity, all of it—it’s too clean. Too... orchestrated. Like someone’s arranging the world like pieces on a chessboard, and the rest of us are just standing still, waiting for a checkmate we can’t see yet.”

  Theron nodded slowly. “It’s not just you. His voice… when I heard it on the radio, it felt like something I should’ve remembered. But not from this life.”

  That silenced them.

  Seth finally spoke, his voice softer, but certain. “I haven’t met the guy, but I’ve seen enough people try to control a sinking ship. Most of them shout loud and throw smiles around like bandages. But Silas… the way he speaks… he knows something.”

  Theron looked down at the scratched surface of the bar. He didn’t say it, but the thought pulsed in his mind: Silas wasn’t trying to save the world. He was trying to remake it.

  “We need to find out more,” Theron said finally. “About him. About where he came from. About what he’s hiding.”

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  Sebastian glanced over. “And if we find out he’s not just some power-hungry bunker prince?”

  Theron looked up, his eyes dark and steady.

  “Then we stop him.”

  “Are you suggesting a revolution?” Seth asked, his voice uncertain but somehow full of hope.

  Theron turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing, studying him in curiosity. He studied Seth’s face. The sharp cheekbones. The thoughtful eyes. The way he held himself, always on edge, like someone ready to run or fight, depending on which came first.

  But beneath that was something familiar. Not like Lucien—not that deep, electric sense of kinship—but something adjacent. A shape in the fog. A proximity to another life, another time. Not a brother. Not a rival.

  Someone he used to love.

  The thought hit him like a soft gasp under water. His pulse quickened, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he looked away, steadying himself.

  Ever since Lucien, the floodgates in his mind had started to crack. Memory wasn’t coming back in clear images, but in feelings. Instincts sharper than they should’ve been. Threads tugging at him from behind his ribs. Like the past had simply been sleeping inside him, waiting for the right voice to wake it.

  Now? Now, it was screaming.

  Theron exhaled slowly and looked back at Seth.

  “I’m suggesting we don’t sit and wait for someone else to turn the world to ash,” he said, firm and clear. “If we’re meant for something more—if all of this means anything—then we don’t follow.” He paused. “We lead.”

  Seth didn’t smile, but something in his posture shifted. Like belief was beginning to fill the spaces where doubt had lived. Sebastian leaned back in his chair with a grunt. “A revolution,” he muttered. “Well. Better than dying in this bar waiting for another storm.”

  Theron looked between them. Two allies. Two people he had known for what felt like eons. It was strange and yet it felt so right.

  “Indeed, it’s better. We’ll have to wait until Lucien recovers though. We can’t do anything without him,” Theron said, his voice firmer now, edged with something decisive.

  A leader’s tone.

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow, glancing between Theron and Seth. Seth, for his part, was looking at Theron like someone seeing a prophecy unfold right in front of him. It made Sebastian’s stomach twist, just a little.

  He turned back to Theron, studying him for a beat longer than necessary.

  “Lucien seems to know quite a lot,” Sebastian said, arms crossing. His voice was even, casual but underneath was a hum of unease. “A bit more than he lets on.”

  Theron didn’t flinch. “Yeah,” he said simply. “He does.”

  Sebastian tilted his head. “That doesn’t concern you?”

  Theron’s gaze was steady, though a flicker of something passed through his eyes. “It would… if he felt like a stranger. But he doesn’t. And I don’t think he’s hiding something to hurt us.”

  Seth finally spoke. “He could’ve left me to die when we got separated. But he didn’t. He came back, even when he was bleeding.”

  Sebastian grunted, then sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright. Fine. But I’m keeping an eye on him. Too many people in this world know just enough to be dangerous.”

  Theron nodded. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “I, for one, believe he’s less dangerous than whoever this Silas guy is,” Seth said, cracking a grin. “If he is the Devil, like Lucien says he is, then I’d rather side with him than with Satan.”

  He laughed and shook his head, clearly trying to lighten the mood but the weight of what he’d just said hung briefly in the silence that followed. Theron’s eyes flicked to him, his expression unreadable. One brow arched slightly, but his stomach gave a faint, unexpected twist.

  Satan.

  The word echoed oddly in his mind, like it didn’t belong—like it didn’t fit.

  The Devil.

  Satan.

  They weren’t… the same?

  He didn’t know where the thought came from, only that it rooted itself deep in his gut with an unsettling certainty. There was a divide, ancient and veiled, and somehow—somehow—he felt like he’d stood at the edge of that divide before.

  And chosen a side.

  But which?

  “That’s fair enough,” Sebastian said, breaking the tension with a dry chuckle. “I mean, the Devil we know is better than the one who puts on a suit and promises order, right?”

  Seth smirked. “Exactly. The polished ones are always the worst.”

  Theron said nothing. He just leaned back, resting his arms on the bar, staring at the dust-dimmed city outside.

  Devil.

  Satan.

  Two sides of something older than even the end of the world.

  He wasn’t ready to ask the questions aloud yet. But he knew now- one day soon, he’d have to. There was a beat of silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled—only sat in. A shared understanding. Wariness. Trust, earned inch by inch.

  ***

  Lucien lay on the bed, Theron curled up on the floor beneath him in a sleeping bag. Sebastian was sprawled out next to Theron, and Seth occupied the second bed in the basement. The weapons were tucked away nearby, ready to be wielded at a moment’s notice should anyone trespass. If the world outside weren’t collapsing, the sight might have seemed almost sweet, like a makeshift sleepover. But the truth was far grimmer. Still, in that fragile night, they found solace in one another: a family not bound by blood, but by something deeper—a found family. And, for those few hours, that was enough.

  When the dawn broke, one by one, they began waking up. The life no longer allowed for sleep ins. Theron was the first one to wake up and as he did, he looked over at Lucien who was still soundly asleep. He looked oddly peaceful despite the circumstances. Maybe he also felt like he was at home, just like Theron did. A small smile tugged at his lips as he stood up, grabbed the crossbow and left the room.

  He carefully climbed up the stairs, his eyes scanning the corners of the room out of habit. No movement. No threats. Just the familiar scent of damp wood, rust, and the ghost of old beer.

  He sighed out in relief and made his way behind the bar, into the storage room. It was cluttered but organized: crates of water, scavenged canned goods, cloth rags, broken tools, a radio receiver sitting in the corner—something Sebastian had dragged in weeks ago, hoping they’d catch news of nearby settlements or warnings.

  Theron hadn’t turned it on in days. He hadn’t felt the need to, not until now. Now that this Silas guy used this to communicate. Theron crouched down and picked up the radio, brushing some dust off the knobs. The plastic was cracked in one corner, and the volume dial squeaked as he tested it.

  He set it under one arm, then scanned the shelf nearby and grabbed the first can of tuna he saw.

  Food and purpose. Strange how survival always came down to the two.

  Without wasting time, he turned and left the storage room, making his way back through the bar. His footsteps echoed slightly, but everything upstairs was still quiet. Almost made him uncomfortable, almost forgetting for a second that the world was ending and everything was desolate.

  He breathed out sharply as he grabbed a fork from behind the bar and went to the far corner as he sat at a table. He set the radio down in front of him with deliberate care. Then the tuna.

  The can cracked open with a soft metallic snap, and he started eating mechanically, no real appetite behind it. The salt and metal of the food grounded him just enough to stay in his body.

  But his eyes never left the radio. It sat there, silent and still, its dusty knobs like watchful eyes.

  He half expected Silas’s voice to hiss through the speaker at any second, some grand monologue or threat dressed as guidance.

  He also half feared it. Because if it did speak—if it reached out again—it meant everything was accelerating. That the time for rest was ending. And Theron didn’t know if he was ready.

  His chewing filled the silence. Then footsteps, soft, creaking up from the basement. He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Then, a figure emerged from the stairwell. Seth. Their eyes met.

  And for a moment, neither spoke.

  Theron really looked at him this time, beneath all that seemingly nonchalant and soft exterior Seth was carrying. There’s something buried there, Theron thought. Not darkness. Not danger. Seth seemed to carry something much stronger and heavier than he was letting on – or was even aware. His bright blue eyes—too bright for this world—contrasted sharply with the harshness of the life they were all trying to survive. The shaved head, the slouched posture, the cracked humor… they painted a picture of someone harmless. But, Theron thought, Seth was far from a scaredy cat. He survived this long.

  There was a fire Seth had, a familiar one, the one that Theron used to warm himself on in another life. Something old and broken and still breathing. The kind that burned low and steady. The kind you sat beside to keep warm through endless winters.

  Theron’s chest tightened slightly. Not from fear. From recognition and burning desire. The craving to remember what he once had, once held, once burned for. In another life. Another name. Another form.

  Seth looked up from the radio and met his gaze again—and for the briefest second, something flickered in his expression. A crack. A question. Like maybe he felt it, too.

  Theron quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the static. But his heartbeat had quickened, and his throat had gone dry. Seth leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

  “Well, you’re up early,” Seth grinned as he sat down across from him, making Theron chew harder on the tuna. “Or did you even sleep?”

  “I slept.” Theron responded curtly but he realized he might’ve been a bit too rude, trying to mask the rising storm inside him. “We just have to stay vigilant. You never know when someone’s going to break in and kill us, you know.” He added, trying to add humor to the grim situation and even dared to chuckle.

  “Too right,” Seth snorted and then his eyes traveled over to the radio. “You waiting for Silas?”

  “I was thinking…” Theron trailed off as he dared to lock eyes with Seth again. And once more—there it was.

  That tug in his chest. Like a tether being pulled taut. Like a name he should know but couldn’t say. The longer he looked, the louder the recognition screamed beneath the surface. It wasn’t even the face—no, it was everything else. The quiet understanding, the pulse of familiarity in Seth’s voice, the way he fit into Theron’s world too easily.

  The dreams had shown someone else—green eyes, fire-red hair, mischief like a second skin. But this man? This man with the buzz cut and calm blue eyes felt like something Theron had held. What in the world was happening?

  “I was thinking,” he said again, dragging his voice back into control, “that if Silas were to send another message… maybe we can track it. Figure out where he’s broadcasting from.”

  Seth blinked, the shift in tone pulling him out of the moment, too. “Huh. Yeah. That… actually makes sense.”

  He leaned back into the chair, rubbing his chin. “If we could find an old signal strength meter, a frequency scanner, maybe even a handheld radio with a directional antenna… we could triangulate it. Crude but doable. Do we have anything like that?”

  “Maybe,” Seth murmured, clearly turning it over in his mind. “The military outpost on the east side of Sector Eleven used to be a comms hub. It’s probably stripped down by now, but there might be scraps left. Or old logbooks. Schematics.”

  Theron sat forward, suddenly far more alert. “Can you get us there?”

  Seth smirked, cocking an eyebrow. “You offering me a date, or a death mission?”

  Theron rolled his eyes. “Both, apparently.”

  Their brief laughter broke the tension but only slightly. Beneath it all, the undercurrent still pulled tight, tying them together with something neither of them had words for. Not yet. But soon.

  “Well, then, when the others wake up, we should probably make our way to the military outpost. How far is it and do we even have a car?” Theron broke the tension quickly, his mind already racing, colliding with ideas and questions and fears, all jostling for space. The momentary softness between them had snapped back into strategy. He needed motion. A plan.

  Seth’s eyebrow twitched, clearly noticing Theron’s unusual behavior but decided to say nothing.

  “It’s about four miles east,” Seth responded before he tapped on his chin. “Six if you want to have a quick detour around collapsed roads and rogue patrols.”

  “Rogue patrols?” Theron asked, just to be sure Seth meant exactly what he said.

  “Old militia types with more bullets than brain cells. They pop up now and then. Play warlords in the skeleton of the old world.” Seth explained briefly, almost nonchalantly.

  Theron’s jaw tensed. “We can’t risk Lucien running into any of those.”

  Seth nodded. “I know.”

  “And the car?”

  Seth gave a short laugh. “You’re funny.”

  Theron raised an eyebrow.

  Seth smirked. “We don’t have a car. Not unless you count the stripped one outside that’s missing two tires and probably a soul.”

  Theron groaned, running a hand through his hair. “So we’re walking.”

  “We’re walking,” Seth confirmed. “Unless Sebastian has a miracle tucked under his coat.”

  They fell quiet for a beat, the reality sinking in.

  “We’ll need supplies,” Theron said. “Water, meds, backup weapons.”

  “I’ll get the bags ready,” Seth said, rising from his chair with a stretch. Then, with a grin, “And eat first. I’m starving. I just woke up and you’re already strategizing like we’re about to take a damn castle.”

  He laughed, shaking his head but as his eyes met Theron’s, something in his expression stilled. Shifted. The humor didn’t quite leave, but it softened. The moment stretched.

  There it is again, Theron thought. That pull. That impossible gravity between them. Like strings drawn tight, stretched across lifetimes. Neither of them fully understood it, but neither could break eye contact either.

  Seth’s smirk faded slightly. He tilted his head, almost curious. Like he felt it too, but didn’t know how to name it. Then he blinked, shook his head lightly, and glanced around.

  “Where’d you get the tuna? Storage?”

  Theron cleared his throat and quickly nodded, his gaze darting back to his half-eaten can like it had become the most fascinating object in the world.

  “Yeah,” he said curtly, a little too fast. “First thing I grabbed.”

  Seth gave a half-smile, something between amused and thoughtful. “Right. Guess I’ll go grab one before you eat the rest.”

  He turned toward the hallway, and Theron let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His heart thudded against his ribs, not like fear. Not even anticipation. Like every fiber in him had whispered I know you, and the rest of him just wasn’t ready to answer back.

  He took another bite of tuna and stared down at the radio again, the static whispering like ghosts in the room. This wasn’t just about Silas anymore. This was about what came before and what was starting to wake up again.