"It doesn't feel like enough," I admitted. "Every day, it feels like we're just barely surviving. Like the next attack could be the one that—"
"We'll make it," Zichen interrupted, his tone firm. "We have to."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to cling to his certainty like a lifeline. But the doubt gnawed at me, relentless and unyielding.
"We've gotten lucky," Zichen said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But luck doesn't last forever. We need a plan—a real one."
I nodded, though the thought of planning anything in this chaotic world felt almost laughable. "What kind of plan?"
He hesitated, then said, "A place to regroup. Somewhere defensible. Somewhere we can catch our breath."
"Baihe's second home," I said without thinking. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
Zichen's eyes narrowed. "You think it's safe?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But it's worth checking. It's isolated, and… it's familiar. If nothing else, it might give us a chance to rest."
He considered this for a moment, then nodded. "We'll scout it out tomorrow. Let's make sure Baihe agrees with this suggestion."
The soil crackled softly, its earthly, fragile comfort against the encroaching chill of the night. We sat in a loose circle, the weight of the day's revelations settling over us like a heavy shroud.
For a while, no one spoke, the silence stretching taut between us. Then, unexpectedly, Yike showed up and broke it.
I didn't expect Yike to join the conversation. He rarely did, preferring to hover at the edge of the group like a shadow. But tonight, as the flickering streetlights of the highway cast shadows across the street, Yike finally spoke.
"I can make electricity," he said, his voice quiet but steady. We all turned to him in surprise—Zichen, Baihe, and me—our eyes reflecting the dying embers.
"Electricity?" I repeated, leaning forward. "Like… you can power stuff?"
He nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire. "I've been testing it. It's not much yet, just sparks. But… if I focus hard enough, I think I could do more."
For a moment, the implications hung in the air. In a world where survival teetered on the edge of chaos, electricity was more than just a convenience. It was power—literal and figurative. It was warmth. It was light in the darkness.
"How?" Baihe asked, leaning closer, her curiosity overcoming her usual reserve. "How does it work?"
Yike shrugged, his shoulders stiff with the weight of uncertainty. "I don't know. It's just… there. Like a buzzing under my skin. When I let it out, it crackles."
"That's incredible," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the amazement bubbling up inside me. "Have you tried powering anything?"
"Not yet," he admitted. "I've been scared. What if I short something out—or worse, hurt someone?"
Baihe nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tracing the edge of her water bottle. The conversation shifted slightly, and Baihe's voice joined the quiet discussion.
"I can control water," she said. Her words were soft but certain, as if she had known this truth for longer than she was willing to admit.
"What do you mean, 'control'?" I asked, the disbelief palpable in my tone.
Her eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw something in Baihe that I hadn't before—a flicker of power, quiet and contained but undeniably present. She unscrewed the lid of her bottle and held her palm out over the opening.
We watched in silence as the water inside rippled, then rose—a thin, wavering strand that hovered in the air as if suspended by invisible threads. Baihe's brow furrowed in concentration, and the strand of water twisted, coiling like a serpent before descending back into the bottle.
"Holy—" I began, but Baihe interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact. "It's not much," she said. "And it takes a lot out of me. But if I practice, I think I could do more."
Silence settled over us again, heavy with awe and uncertainty. Two of us had revealed something extraordinary, and yet the revelation only deepened the mystery surrounding Zichen.
He hadn't said a word, his expression impassive as always. I glanced at him, hoping he might offer some insight, some hint of the abilities he kept hidden. But Zichen was an enigma, and he guarded his secrets like a fortress.
"What about you, Zichen?" I asked, my voice hesitant. "Do you… have anything?"
His gaze snapped to mine, and for a moment, I regretted asking. There was something in his eyes—a darkness that seemed to swallow the flickering light of the fire. He didn't answer right away, and the silence stretched thin and taut like a wire about to snap.
Finally, he said, "Nightmare." The word fell from his lips like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples through the air.
"What?" Baihe asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"My power," he said, his tone clipped and devoid of emotion. "Nightmare."
We exchanged uneasy glances, the fire crackling softly in the background. "What does that mean?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts to keep it steady.
Zichen's gaze shifted to the fire, his eyes reflecting the embers. "It means I can show people their worst fears. Make them live it. Feel it. I don't know how or why—it just happens."
The implications hit me like a physical blow. While Yike's and Baihe's abilities were extraordinary, they held the potential for hope, for survival. Zichen's power, on the other hand, was something else entirely. It was a weapon, and it terrified me.
"Have you… used it?" Baihe asked cautiously.
Zichen nodded, his expression unreadable. "Only when I had to."
The conversation faltered after that, the weight of Zichen's admission pressing down on us. We didn't ask him to elaborate, and he didn't offer any further explanation. Instead, we sat in silence again.
Yike and Baihe's sudden appearance had thrown me off, their quiet presence catching me by surprise as they settled beside Zichen and me. It wasn't unusual for Yike to stay on the periphery, a figure more shadow than substance. Baihe, too, often kept to herself, her gaze always distant, as if she saw something the rest of us couldn't. But tonight, they were here, their gazes expectant.
I took a deep breath, breaking the silence that had settled like a shroud over us. "I think we need to consider heading to Baihe's second home."