The convoy continued along the snow-covered highway, gradually veering off the main road leading to the city and heading towards the more desolate western suburbs.
As they drove deeper, the scenery along the way began to subtly change.
Abandoned vehicles on both sides of the road started to become more numerous, and many of them showed clear signs of being scavenged and dismantled. In some open fields, crude tents, built from tarps and wooden poles, even began to appear. Although the tents looked dilapidated and shaky, in this dead, apocalyptic landscape, they were like sparks of fire in the dark night, bringing an inexplicable sense of… reassurance.
This was undoubtedly a sign of human activity.
"Looks like your hunch was right, Elara," Cassian said over the communicator. "This place does seem to have a gathering of survivors."
Just as I thought… it's similar to the trajectory of my past life.
Elara thought to herself as she looked at the familiar scene outside the window.
If the course of events here hadn't deviated too much, then… the "Sun King," who had traveled a thousand miles from the northern base because he foresaw something would happen to his beloved Aurelia, was probably… about to arrive here as well.
At the thought of that man, Elara's heart couldn't help but sink a little.
In her past life, it was precisely because Aurelia ultimately couldn't be saved and died in S-City that the man flew into a rage, unleashing all his fury and grief upon this small trading post formed by survivors.
That towering golden flame, which seemed to want to burn the very sky, had turned almost the entire prison trading post into scorched earth. Innocent survivors and those who had once been his enemies alike, all perished in that terrible sea of fire.
Speaking of fire…
Elara subconsciously glanced at Seraph, who was sitting beside her. They were both fire-ability users, but the "Sun King's" fire felt like a golden flame, full of destruction, judgment, and endless wrath, as hot as the sun itself. Seraph's fire, on the other hand, was a crimson flame, full of life, passion, and explosive power, as vibrant as a rose.
Elara had long since discovered that even with the same elemental ability, the final form and focus differed based on the user's personality, will, and understanding. The differences could even be… worlds apart.
Just like Cassian. In his hands, water and lightning could become a gentle "firework" or a world-destroying thunderstorm.
Elara's gaze, unconsciously, fell upon Vespera, who was sitting quietly in the back seat, curiously observing the world outside the window.
So… perhaps it's not entirely because Vespera's ability is so special, but because the user is "Vespera," this person, that the ability seems so special.
Her ability to control the undead was perhaps not just a simple "mind control." It was very likely infused with her own unique constitution, one that had been tested by life and death, existing somewhere between "life" and "death."
It seemed likely that the use and development of any ability were deeply imprinted with the user's own… soul signature.
This sudden thought, like a bolt of lightning, flashed through Elara's mind, seeming to bring her understanding of "abilities" to a whole new, deeper level.
Elara began to think deeply. Her rebirth, it seemed, was not the lucky, coincidental accident she had initially thought it to be.
Space-time abilities… time and space, the two fundamental laws that constitute the world. What is the true nature of my ability? And what are its limits?
This thought sent a strange, soul-deep fear through her. She didn't dare to think further. She had a faint premonition that once she touched upon that final truth, she might have to face something… she was completely incapable of bearing right now.
At least, I don't dare to think about it now.
Elara gently clenched her fists, forcefully suppressing the chaotic thoughts, and turned her gaze back to the world outside the window.
As they got closer to the abandoned prison, the number of survivors gathered around it grew. Their convoy of well-maintained vehicles and organized personnel naturally attracted a lot of attention. Elara could clearly feel gazes—full of curiosity, envy, jealousy, and even ill intent—secretly falling upon them from behind the crude tents and abandoned cars.
Soon, the convoy arrived at the prison entrance.
The abandoned prison had been transformed by the survivors into a sturdy fortress. Barbed wire was strung along the high walls, and the entrance was a complex, easily defensible chokepoint constructed from various abandoned vehicles and roadblocks.
A few strong-looking men were guarding the entrance, responsible for inspections and "fees."
"One person, three lowest-grade crystal cores, to get in," one of the guards said, blocking their convoy, his expression indifferent. His clothes were noticeably cleaner than those of the wandering survivors outside, and he had a machete tucked into his belt. He was clearly one of the camp's "management."
"They charge an entrance fee?" The researchers in the following cars couldn't help but whisper among themselves, their brows furrowed tightly.
However, before they could complain further, a heart-wrenching plea came from the side.
"Brother, please, have a heart, a little less, please! We… we really don't have any crystal cores!" An old man, who looked to be over sixty, was kneeling on the ground, begging the guard pitifully, kowtowing as he spoke.
He was tightly clutching a child with a high fever. The child's cheeks were flushed red, breathing was rapid, and they were letting out pained moans. It was hard to even tell if the child was a boy or a girl.
"Sir, I'm begging you, we really need to get inside, to trade for some fever medicine!" the old man pleaded, his voice choked with sobs. "If this fever doesn't break, this child… is really going to die!"
"Get lost, get lost, get out of here!" the guard said, his face full of disgust and impatience, as if shooing away a fly. "Don't you dare die of sickness at my gate, what bad luck! I bet this kid of yours was bitten by a zombie, right? Trying to sneak in?"
"Impossible! Absolutely not! Don't you dare say that about my child!" Hearing this, the old man frantically denied it, his voice urgent and certain, not sounding at all like he was lying. "My child just caught a cold and has a fever, he's absolutely not..."
However, his defense only ignited the anger of the other wandering survivors, who also couldn't enter the camp due to a lack of crystal cores.
"You old fool! You're trying to bring someone that dangerous in here?"
"Do you have any idea how hard it is for us to survive here? If he turns into a zombie, we'll all die!"
"Exactly! A kid of unknown origin like that, it'd be better to just 'euthanize' him now, save him the suffering!"
Their boundless, malicious curses, like a tide, washed over the helpless old man.
The old man was in agony from the verbal abuse, able only to hug the child in his arms tightly, using his own frail body to shield them from the cold malice around them.
The cursing crowd, as if still not satisfied, grew more and more agitated. A few of them even started pushing, intending to come forward and beat the innocent child, to snatch him from the old man's arms!
Just as this chaos was about to escalate—
A gentle, almost imperceptible breeze passed through the limbs of the survivors who were about to attack.
In the next second, the feverish child, held tightly in the old man's arms, suddenly became light, as if lifted by an invisible hand. They flew high into the air, then gently and steadily landed on a relatively safe branch of a large nearby tree, out of the mob's reach.