By the time Luo Yan realized he was trembling, it was already too late to pretend he wasn't.
The adrenaline that had held him upright at the gate began to leak out of him in slow, embarrassing waves. His fingers felt stiff. His jaw ached from clenching. Even his tongue felt tired, like it had been bracing for impact the whole time.
Lan Huan didn't slow down.
He moved through the base like he had an invisible map in his head, turning corners without hesitation, scanning lanes with the same eyes he'd used on the street. Luo Yan stayed at his shoulder. Qin Yi fell into step on the other side, quiet but alert, his gaze drifting across faces like he was listening with more than his ears.
They passed the civilian holding pens—tight clusters of people pressed under tarps, crying softly or staring into nothing. They passed the quarantine lane, where medics in plastic ponchos moved with grim efficiency.
Somewhere deeper inside the base, gunfire popped, controlled and rhythmic.
Lan Huan's voice was low. "You said cores drop from zombies."
"Yes," Luo Yan answered immediately. "Not every one, I think. But enough."
Qin Yi spoke for the first time since leaving the awakened enclosure. "People will kill each other for them," he said softly.
Lan Huan didn't disagree. "That's why we collect before it becomes a religion."
Luo Yan swallowed. The way Lan Huan said we made his chest tighten in a way he didn't like thinking about. It sounded too much like belonging.
They reached a side section of the base where the noise dulled. A row of shipping containers formed a narrow corridor, and a tarp had been strung between two of them to block the wind. Under it, a small group of soldiers rested, cleaned weapons, and spoke in clipped tones.
Two men stood up the moment Lan Huan entered the corridor.
They moved like trained bodies: fast, controlled, no wasted motion. One was taller and leaner, eyes sharp and restless even when he wasn't moving. The other was broader through the shoulders, carrying a duffel and a rifle like they were extensions of his arms.
"General," the taller one said, voice crisp.
"Sir," the broader one added.
Lan Huan nodded once. "He Li. He Chenyu."
Luo Yan's heart gave a strange kick.
So these were the He brothers. He'd been told their names, but hearing Lan Huan say them aloud made them real in a way the chaos outside hadn't allowed.
He Li's gaze flicked to Luo Yan and Qin Yi. Quick assessment. Not rude. Just military.
He Chenyu's gaze lingered a fraction longer, as if he was trying to decide whether Luo Yan was the kind of person who would cause trouble or the kind of person trouble would find.
Lan Huan spoke like he was reading out a roster. "This is Luo Yan. Void."
He Li's eyebrows lifted slightly. He Chenyu's expression barely changed, but Luo Yan felt the weight of that word again: Void. Rare. Uncomfortable.
"And Qin Yi," Lan Huan continued. "Illusion."
He Li's gaze sharpened. "Multi-sensory?"
Qin Yi's lips twitched. "You're quick."
He Li shrugged faintly. "If you're not quick, you die."
Lan Huan looked at Luo Yan. "These two were with me before Day Zero."
Luo Yan nodded, unsure what to say. Congratulations? Condolences?
He Chenyu shifted the duffel strap. "Sir, Commander Zhao assigned us a temporary storage container for your unit." He said it like the word unit already existed. Like he'd decided it into being.
Lan Huan's gaze flicked to the duffel. "Supplies?"
He Chenyu nodded. "Minimal. But I secured water and some dry rations. Ammunition is controlled. Zhao's people are watching."
Lan Huan's jaw tightened slightly. "He's watching everything."
He Li stepped forward. "Also, I scouted the inner perimeter." He spoke fast, like a report spilling out before someone could interrupt. "Fence line is weak on the east. Too many civilians pressed there. If a wave hits, it'll buckle. There's a secondary exit route through the maintenance corridor behind the ammo containers. Not officially marked."
Lan Huan's eyes narrowed with approval. "Good."
He Li's gaze flicked back to Luo Yan. "You're the Void awakened."
Luo Yan nodded carefully.
He Li's eyes sharpened, almost curious. "Did you awaken at the sleep wave?"
"Yes," Luo Yan said.
He Li didn't ask more. But his attention lingered, like he was filing Luo Yan away under useful and suspicious.
Lan Huan turned slightly, positioning himself so Luo Yan was inside the small circle of his people. The move was subtle. Protective. Possessive. Luo Yan didn't know which.
Lan Huan said, "We're recruiting. Fast."
He Chenyu's gaze flicked to Qin Yi. "That one came from awakened holding."
Qin Yi smiled faintly. "I came from not being eaten."
He Chenyu didn't smile back, but he also didn't dismiss him. "Fair."
Lan Huan's gaze moved to Luo Yan again. "Luo Yan knows about cores."
Both He brothers went still.
He Li's voice sharpened. "Evolution cores?"
Luo Yan swallowed and nodded. "They drop from zombies. At least some do. I picked up two outside."
He Chenyu's eyes narrowed. "You're sure."
"Yes," Luo Yan said. "I'm sure enough to risk being yelled at by a soldier for grabbing them."
That got a faint, quick breath from He Li—almost a laugh.
Lan Huan's voice stayed flat. "We confirm it ourselves. Quietly. Then we start collecting."
He Li nodded. "Understood."
He Chenyu looked at Lan Huan. "Sir, with respect… if that information spreads—"
"It won't," Lan Huan said.
Qin Yi's gaze flicked to Luo Yan, amused. "That confidence is a little terrifying."
Lan Huan didn't react. "He Li, you're on perimeter recon. He Chenyu, you're on supplies and contingency exit. Qin Yi—"
Qin Yi's eyes lifted.
"You're on crowd control," Lan Huan said. "Not for the base. For us. If someone decides Void is worth stealing."
Luo Yan's stomach tightened.
Qin Yi's smile thinned. "I don't like being a weapon."
Lan Huan's gaze was steady. "Then be a shield."
The word shield made Luo Yan's chest ache, because it reminded him of Void Screen and the way it had shattered like glass.
Lan Huan turned fully to Luo Yan. "You," he said, "come with me."
Luo Yan swallowed. "Where?"
"Supply lane," Lan Huan replied. "We need three things."
Luo Yan blinked. "What things?"
Lan Huan's voice was calm. "Water. Salt. Heat."
Qin Yi tilted his head. "Heat?"
Lan Huan's gaze slid to him. "We need people to function. Function requires food." Then his gaze returned to Luo Yan like he'd been thinking the same thing since the moment he saw Luo Yan's hands. "And you… you look like someone who knows how to feed a group."
Luo Yan's throat tightened. He'd never been seen as important for that before. In his old life, cooking was work. A job. Something people wanted from him, not something that made him part of them.
"I can cook," Luo Yan said carefully.
Lan Huan nodded once. "Good."
He Li's gaze flicked between Luo Yan and Lan Huan, something thoughtful passing behind his eyes.
He Chenyu said nothing, but he shifted his duffel strap again, as if mentally making room for a new category of supplies: whatever Luo Yan would insist on needing.
Lan Huan led Luo Yan toward a lane where soldiers handed out rations from crates. A line of civilians stretched like a slow-moving wound.
As they walked, Qin Yi drifted closer to Luo Yan. "You know," Qin Yi murmured, voice soft enough not to carry, "if you stay close to him, you'll be safe."
Luo Yan's mouth went dry. "That's what people say about protagonists."
Qin Yi blinked. "Protagonists?"
Luo Yan's heart dropped. He'd slipped.
But Qin Yi only frowned, then winced, pressing two fingers to his temple. "Never mind," he muttered. "Migraine."
Luo Yan exhaled shakily.
Lan Huan stopped at the ration crate. A soldier started to protest, then saw Lan Huan's insignia and snapped into rigid posture.
"General—sir—"
Lan Huan's gaze was cold. "How many meal packs left?"
The soldier swallowed. "Not enough, sir."
"Then we don't rely on meal packs," Lan Huan said. "We rely on cooking."
The soldier blinked, confused.
Lan Huan looked at Luo Yan. "List what you need."
Luo Yan stared at him. The absurdity of it hit him: the world had ended less than an hour ago and this man was asking for ingredients.
But then Luo Yan looked at the civilians in line, at the way their hands shook, at the way fear made people stupid and hungry made them violent, and he understood why food mattered.
Food was control.
Food was morale.
Food was the difference between "unit" and "mob."
Luo Yan drew a breath. "Water," he said first. "A pot. Heat source. Salt if you have it. Anything starchy. Rice, noodles, bread. Anything."
Lan Huan's gaze didn't waver. "Meat?"
Luo Yan hesitated. "Only if it's clean and stored properly."
Lan Huan nodded like he'd expected that answer. He turned to the soldier. "Get me a pot. A burner. Fuel. Salt. Starch."
The soldier stared, stunned. "Sir, that's—"
Lan Huan's voice sharpened. "Now."
The soldier moved.
He Chenyu stepped in quietly. "Sir, I can store supplies if we can get them out of the ration lane without being seen."
Lan Huan's gaze flicked to him. "Do it."
Luo Yan froze, then turned to He Chenyu. "You can store things?"
He Chenyu's mouth tightened. "Yes."
Luo Yan's pulse kicked, but not from fear. From the sudden realization that this squad was going to be built on abilities that solved practical problems.
Illusion to control crowds.
Light to scout routes.
Space to carry supplies.
Void to erase threats.
Storm and dragon to smash anything too big to negotiate with.
And him.
A chef, somehow.
Luo Yan swallowed. "If you can store ingredients… we can do more than boil ration packs."
Lan Huan's eyes sharpened. "Explain."
Luo Yan forced his thoughts to line up. "We can cook in bulk. Soup, congee, noodles. Something hot, salty. It'll keep people moving. Keep them calmer. And if we do it for our unit first, we don't have to depend on distribution schedules."
Lan Huan nodded once. "Do it."
The words were simple. The permission was not. Luo Yan felt his chest tighten again with the strange, dangerous warmth of being needed.
A few minutes later, the soldier returned with a battered pot, a portable burner, and a small bag of salt like it was treasure.
Lan Huan took it without thanks. Not because he was rude, but because he treated gratitude like a luxury item. Save it for later if you live.
He handed the supplies to He Chenyu. "Store it."
He Chenyu nodded and placed his palm on the items one by one.
They vanished.
Luo Yan blinked hard.
He couldn't help it. He stared like a starving person watching someone hide food inside the air.
He Chenyu's expression didn't change. "It's safe," he said quietly, as if he'd read Luo Yan's face.
Luo Yan swallowed. "Yeah."
Lan Huan watched Luo Yan watching He Chenyu, eyes narrowing slightly as if he'd noticed something odd about Luo Yan's reaction.
Luo Yan forced his face into blank calm.
Don't be seen.
Don't be filed.
Don't be shelved.
A shout erupted from the east perimeter.
Then another.
Then the sound of metal slamming into metal, like a barrier being hit from the outside.
He Li's head snapped up. "East line," he said instantly. "That's the weak section."
Lan Huan's posture changed. "Move."
They ran.
Luo Yan's lungs burned again as they sprinted through container lanes. Qin Yi moved with surprising speed, despite his pale face. He Li ran ahead like a shadow. He Chenyu kept pace, hand near his duffel strap even though the duffel was now lighter.
They reached the east fence.
It was a makeshift barrier of chain-link and welded scrap, reinforced by containers. Civilians crowded behind it, screaming as something slammed from the outside.
Zhao Qingshan stood near the fence line, metal glittering around his hands. He was shaping bullets and knives midair with brutal precision, flinging them to soldiers who loaded and fired in a frantic rhythm.
His voice was a bark of pure rule. "Do not open the gate! Hold the line! If you panic, you die!"
A soldier shouted back, "Commander, they're pushing—!"
Zhao's gaze snapped to Lan Huan arriving with his group. The old commander's face tightened. Not pleased. But focused.
"General Lan," Zhao shouted over the noise. "If you're here to criticize, pick another lane."
Lan Huan's voice was like steel. "If your line breaks, your base dies."
Zhao's jaw clenched. "I know."
Lan Huan stepped closer to the fence.
Outside, zombies surged in a wet, writhing mass. Not fast ones—yet. But too many.
Luo Yan's stomach lurched. Fifty percent. The number echoed in his head. Half the world.
He felt Lan Huan's storm power stir, the air thickening.
But Lan Huan didn't summon the dragon.
Not yet.
Instead, Lan Huan looked at Qin Yi. "Illusion."
Qin Yi's eyes widened slightly. "Now?"
"Now," Lan Huan said.
Qin Yi inhaled. His face tightened with pain. Then he lifted his hand.
The air shimmered.
To Luo Yan's eyes, nothing changed—until it did. The zombies outside the fence jerked and swerved as if something had appeared in front of them. A wall. A fire. A sound that made them turn.
Their pressure on the fence eased by a fraction.
Just enough.
Lan Huan turned to Luo Yan. "Void," he said.
Luo Yan's throat went dry. "I only have—"
"Use it," Lan Huan ordered, calm as a man asking for a weapon he'd already measured.
Luo Yan swallowed, lifted his hands, and willed the Void Screen into existence again.
A dark pane snapped into place against the fence line like an invisible reinforcement.
The next zombie slam hit it and erased into nothing.
The fence stopped buckling.
For two breaths, the line held.
Zhao Qingshan stared at the Void Screen with a flicker of something like respect cutting through his irritation.
He shouted, "Good! Hold that!"
Luo Yan's arms trembled. The screen shuddered, then cracked and vanished again.
His knees nearly gave out.
Lan Huan stepped close, too close, his voice low in Luo Yan's ear. "That was enough."
Enough.
Luo Yan didn't know why that word hit him so hard.
He swallowed, dizzy. Qin Yi swayed slightly, pressing fingers to his temple, jaw clenched. He Li's eyes were sharp, tracking movement beyond the illusion. He Chenyu's hand hovered near Luo Yan's elbow like he might catch him if he fell.
And Lan Huan stood between Luo Yan and the fence like the world would have to go through him first.
Zhao Qingshan barked orders. Soldiers fired. The zombie mass shifted, confused, redirected by illusion and fear.
The east line stabilized.
Not safe.
But not collapsing.
Lan Huan looked at Zhao Qingshan across the fence line.
Zhao held his gaze for a long second, rain cutting down his face like lines of age and exhaustion.
Then Zhao shouted, rough, grudging. "Your people are useful."
Lan Huan's expression didn't change. "So are yours."
It wasn't friendship.
But it was the beginning of respect.
Lan Huan turned away from the fence and looked at Luo Yan, Qin Yi, He Li, and He Chenyu.
"This is your first hour," Lan Huan said. "If you want to leave, do it now."
No one moved.
Luo Yan's fingers curled in his pocket around the core crystals. His heart was still hammering, but underneath the fear was a strange, stubborn spark.
He didn't want to be alone.
He wanted to live.
And if living meant becoming a unit, then he would.
Lan Huan nodded once, as if he'd expected the silence.
"Good," he said. "Then we recruit the next one before morning."