Yoon Hayeon opened her eyes to a chandelier.
Not a dangling LED light or cracked ceiling with wires poking out—an actual chandelier. Crystal, elegant, and sparkling.
The air was warm and weirdly clean. She never breathed in this clean air, it felt... Comfortable and it makes her uncomfortable.
The sheets hugging her body were soft and smelled like jasmine. There was also an IV line stuck on her hand and some screen that usually appeared in the lab or hospital.
But this room clearly wasn't a ward.
Her fingers twitched. 'Where's my weapon?'
Her eyes darted around the room. Velvet curtains covered the window, and the floor covered in clean wood without any stain.
There is also a set of glass doors leading to a balcony which was rare since the air usually toxic with red mist. It was too quiet and too peaceful.
She sat up slowly, ready for pain—except there wasn't any. Her wounds were gone. Not a scratch on her.
'What the hell is this,' she thought, heart pounding as she slumped on the bed again.
The last thing she remembered was the golden artifact flying into her hand, that monster roaring, and light swallowing everything.
She should be dead, or still fighting, or back in Eden Garden's ruins.
Not in some luxury hotel room.
Then the door opened, and a woman ran in.
Her hair was styled in soft waves, a natural black with silver strands near the temple. Her makeup was neat, and elegant, but her purple eyes were swollen like she'd been crying for days.
She wore a purple silk blouse, simple diamond earrings, and heels that clicked softly on the floor.
"My baby…" she whispered, voice cracking. "You came back to us—!"
She rushed forward and pulled Hayeon into a hug before she could react.
Hayeon stiffened instantly.
Her training kicked in. However, she didn't have any weapon and no artifact in reach. She almost jabbed the woman in the ribs before forcing herself to stop.
But her mind was also busy with something else, 'This, she speaks in Korean?'
Since after the Fall, all the people gathered in places called 'Citadel' with a lot of sectors.
Their origin and their race weren't important anymore as they were united, and usually each Citadel spoke in one language.
She was lucky in Eden she attended special classes about her ancestors, their language, culture, and many more.
That was why she understood Korean well.
"You're safe now," the woman whispered against her shoulder. "You're finally home…"
Hayeon didn't move. She just stared at the far wall, trying to stay calm.
'Who is this woman? Why is she calling me baby? Where am I?'
Everything here felt wrong. The softness of her touch the clear affection the way she acts and talks to her. Her fingers curled at her side, reaching for a handle that wasn't there.
Then her wrist brushed against something unfamiliar.
She glanced down.
There—on her skin—was a faint tattoo of small golden cubes. Same pattern as the artifact. Glowing slightly.
She sucked in a breath and yanked her hand away.
The woman blinked. "Hayeon?"
The name hit her like static. "I…"
Her throat felt dry. The words were hard to force out.
"I don't know you."
Everything froze.
The woman's face fell. Her smile cracked like a glass plate dropped on marble.
Before she could respond, the door opened again.
A tall man in a suit stepped in. His black suit was pressed clean, gold pins on the collar.
His face was sharp and square, the kind that looked like it never softened even for birthdays. He has steel-gray hair and dark blue eyes, and authority in his posture.
Behind him came two boys—one older and quiet, and one younger, eyes wide and already halfway sprinting toward her.
"Noona!" the younger boy cried out, throwing his arms around her before anyone could stop him.
"You're awake! You're really awake! You scared the crap out of me!"
He clung to her like she might disappear again.
He was around thirteen, skinny but full of energy, his dark hair flopping over his forehead and bright purple eyes.
He wears a hoodie with a cartoon cat on it. The kind of kid who couldn't sit still if the world depended on it.
"I told Mom and Dad you'd wake up, I did, I swear! Even when they said maybe you forgot stuff from hitting your head or something."
"Oh my god, wait, do you even remember me? You do, right?"
Hayeon blinked.
He was warm. His voice was too fast, too high-pitched from excitement and fear all at once.
"I…" she hesitated. "I don't know who you are."
The boy froze.
"Noona…" his voice broke. "It's me. Seojun. I'm your little brother."
He let go slowly, staring up at her like she'd just stabbed him in the chest.
The room got uncomfortably quiet.
The older brother—probably in his early twenties—stood stiff and silent.
He had a lean frame, eyes half-lidded with a coldness that reminded her of a blade she couldn't quite dodge. His blue eyes and dark hair were making him look even more serious.
He said, "He just tired Seojun, don't bother her like that. Let her rest."
Seojun frowned but nodded, understanding what his brother meant.
Their father finally stepped forward. "You've been missing for a week."
"The patrol found you in the restricted zone. Covered in wounds. Unconscious. Dressed like…"
He glanced at the mother, then cleared his throat. "Like a soldier with uniform... The government nearly detained you, but I pulled some strings."
"They've agreed to let this go, considering your injuries… and our family's history."
This was too much for her to process.
"A week?" she echoed. "I was only… I thought I was just…"
Her head pounded.
Nothing lined up.
She was supposed to be in the ruins. In her world. She remembered the blood and veins that shot to her chest. Also, Michael...
Where's Michael?
Her hands clenched under the sheets.
He was right there. He threw me the artifact. That light—was it a portal? A weapon?
The younger boy—Seojun—stepped back, tears clinging to his lashes. "So you really don't know me? Not even a little?"
"I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "I don't know any of you, I don't know where am I. Where is this place? Who are you all?!"
The mother covered her mouth with her hand dramatically, her expression was painful as she held her hand, "This me, your mother, Hayeon. My name is Yoon Harin." she explained in a heartbreaking voice.
"This is your father Yoon Dong-Woo and your older brother, Jaeha."
"And this is me Seojun! Come on Unnie, can you remember us just for a bit?"
Hayeon shakes her head slowly, feeling guilty but at the same time still confused. She never has parents in her life before, that concept was unfamiliar and strange to her.
He nodded, biting his lip. "It's okay. I'll remind you. I'll tell you everything. I can talk fast, you know that, right? You always told me to shut up."
She almost cracked a smile.
Almost.
But her brain wouldn't stop buzzing.
She scanned the room again. No cameras she could see. No weapons, no tech, no soldiers.
Her instincts screamed this wasn't a dream. Not a hallucination either.
But that made it worse.
'If I was brought here…' she thought slowly, 'then there must be a way back.'
She looked down at the tattoo on her wrist. It pulsed once, softly.
She didn't understand it. But it was hers now. It had chosen her.
Her mother reached out again, cautious this time. "You should rest more. The doctors said you're still recovering. If your memories come back slowly, that's okay. We'll help you."
"I'm fine," Hayeon said automatically. "I want to stand."
They hesitated, but the father nodded once. "Let her."
Her legs were solid when she swung them down. Too solid for someone who'd supposedly been in a coma. Whatever the artifact did to her body—it was fast. Precise. It hadn't just healed her. It had improved her.
She spotted a mirror across the room and walked toward it.
What she saw made her stop.
Same girl. Same long, straight black hair that fell past her shoulders. Sharp jawline. Almond-shaped eyes with blue eyes like the man claiming to be her father.
Pale skin, clean and unscarred now, but too perfect—like the pain had been erased along with the wounds.
She looked… beautiful.
Not in a polished way, but in that haunting, cold kind of beauty that never smiled right. She looked like a porcelain statue made to hold a knife.
Her expression stayed flat as she stared at her reflection.
'This is still me,' she thought. 'But this world isn't.'
She turned her head toward the glass balcony doors. Walked to them slowly. Pulled them open.
The wind hit her gently.
The sky was bright and endless and wrong.
Too blue.
Too clean.
It was just like a mirror world where the apocalypse never happened.
'I don't belong here,' she thought. 'I need to get out. I need answers. I need Michael.'
Even if she had to fake everything until then… she would find her way back.