He looked from Lillian to John, suddenly uncertain.
Lillian's eyes widened. John's did too.
"No, kid," John said gently. "Today is May 2nd. You've been asleep for nearly two months."
Jett blinked. "Two… months?"
John nodded grimly. "Maybe your body shut down from the pain of the Incident. It happened to a lot of people. Some didn't have the luck of waking up… they died."
The room went quiet for a moment.
"The government said the Incident was caused by a dimensional collision—another dimensions being pulled into one. Somehow.… forming a conjoined, fractured planet. But the transition wasn't smooth. Most people… couldn't withstand the process.
People either vanished, died in agony. They called it a 'cosmic restructuring event,' but none of us really know what it means. Some say the government is hiding the truth."
He exhaled, his face tightening as memories surfaced.
John leaned back in his chair, studying Jett. "I'm surprised you survived. Most people didn't. The only reason I can think of is Nexus energy—it's something the scientists mentioned in passing, a kind of... stabilizing force. Maybe you were touched by it and it saved you."
Jett sat in stunned silence, thoughts swirling. Two months gone. A world changed. Dimensions fused into one. His town—his people—all lost in the cataclysm. Were they really too weak to survive? That didn't sit right. They were strong—tough, resilient from what he remembered. Why are John and Lillian still here?
It didn't make sense.
"I think I've heard enough for today, Mr. Starwyn," Jett said, voice low. "I need time… to process this. My hometown—everyone I loved—gone because of this… this Incident."
He hesitated, then added, "They were the strongest people I knew. And still... they didn't make it."
He looked down, the weight of it all catching up to him. "Would it be alright if I stayed the night?"
John offered a weary smile. "Of course, Jett. You're welcome here as long as you need."
He stood with effort, one hand resting on his lower back. "But before you turn in, would you help Lillian with the dishes? I'm not as spry as I used to be. We'll talk more tomorrow. And, Jett…"
He paused at the hallway entrance, voice soft but firm.
"Think it through. Whatever happened—it wasn't your fault."
And then he was gone, leaving Jett and Lillian in the quiet hum of candlelight and thought.
Lillian knew her father didn't need her to share the dishes—she always did them herself. He only asked Jett to help so the boy wouldn't be left to drown in his thoughts. She wasn't sure how to ease his pain, how to lift the weight he carried—but she did the only thing that felt right.
She hugged him.
It wasn't a gesture of politeness. It was quiet, raw compassion. As she wrapped her arms around him, she could feel the sorrow pressing down on him—the guilt, the grief, the confusion. It was heavy. It hurt her too. Was this what she'd looked like when her mother passed? Hollowed out and searching for something to hold onto?
Jett didn't resist. He let her embrace him. It felt… good. Grounding. The storm inside him didn't vanish, but it calmed, just a little. And with it, the tears came. Silently, steadily.
Why did I survive? he thought.
Maybe he should've let John finish explaining.
No… not tonight.
He needed rest. He needed someone who understood.
And, most of all, he needed time—to make sense of what he had learned and what he had lost.
After what felt like an eternity wrapped in warmth, Lillian slowly pulled back, meeting his eyes.
"Hey," she said gently, "everything will be okay. I know how you feel. I didn't lose a whole town, but… I lost someone just as big. My mother. She was my everything. I wish she were still here. She would've known exactly what to say to cheer you up."
Her voice cracked at the end, but she held it together. Barely.
Jett felt something shift inside him. It wasn't just his pain. Lillian was carrying hers too. He hadn't been the only one left scarred. He realized now how selfish his grief had been—how it had made him blind to others' sorrow. Her mother had meant the world to her. Just like his town had meant the world to him.
The people he lost wouldn't want him stuck in grief. They'd want him to live. To carry their memory forward—not as chains, but as a compass.
Wordlessly, Jett stepped forward and returned the embrace. It was his way of saying thank you—of telling her he saw her pain too.
She smelled of something soft and comforting, like lavender and faint woodsmoke. He noticed it now, his mind no longer buried in fog.
"Thank you, Lillian," he whispered as he pulled back. "That means more than I can say. Now… let's finish these chores. I'm ready to help with whatever you need."
Lillian let out a light laugh. "You switch moods fast," she teased, smiling. "That's a good thing."
Jett blushed faintly but grinned. He was starting to feel human again.
To his surprise, the dishes didn't take long—twenty minutes, maybe. Or perhaps it just felt short. Lillian made it easy. Truth be told, she did most of the work, but she didn't seem to mind. She liked having him there, and he could sense that. Maybe her father had been right—it did get lonely for her in this small village.
Jett couldn't quite relate. He'd grown up surrounded by people his age, laughter filling the streets. But now, as he watched Lillian humming softly to herself while wiping the last dish, he realized he was glad he could be that presence for her.
When they finished, he smiled, catching his breath.
"That was fun." Jett said, brushing a damp cloth across the last plate. "You really know how to keep a place spotless. I'm honestly impressed—I could learn a lot from you in that department."
Lillian chuckled, tucking a strand of white hair behind her ear. "It's nothing, really. Just something I've gotten used to doing. But you could pick up a thing or two from me," she teased, then added more softly, "You did help, though. Talking to you while we cleaned…made it easier. I know it's only been hours since we met, but I'm happy to call you a friend, Jett."
He blinked, surprised at how warm her words felt. She wasn't the same reserved girl who had eyed him warily at the door earlier. Well—she still looked just as stunning—but something in her demeanor had softened.
"I consider you a friend too, Lillian," he replied sincerely. "It's been a pleasure getting to know you and your father. I hope we make more memories—good ones—in the days ahead."
"I do too," she said with a faint smile as she made her way towards her room. "Goodnight, Jett. See you in the morning."
"Goodnight." He replied.
He lay down on the makeshift bed Lillian had prepared for him. It was surprisingly warm and cozy despite the deepening cold outside—cold born from the strange, fractured state of this newly formed planet. She had made sure he'd be comfortable, even as the air turned bitter.
As he stared up at the wooden ceiling, his thoughts circled like restless birds. Why did it happen?How did it happen? Are those even the right questions anymore?
Maybe not.
What happens next?
That felt more important now.
His heart turned to those he'd lost.
"Malric, Lysira, Mr. and Mrs. Standfold, Tom, Baker Tiberan, everyone else thank you," he whispered, tears sliding silently down the sides of his face. "I wish I could've spent one last night with you all… just to say goodbye. You took me in when I had no one, treated me like family. I'm safe now. I met good people, kind people—I think they're going to help me. So don't worry about me…"
He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, voice cracking.
"Rest in peace. I'll carry you with me always."
And that was it.
He had finally made the choice—the one he'd been running from ever since he opened his eyes and found the world had changed. As much as it hurt, he had to let go. Not to forget, but to move forward. It was the only way he could honor them.
Jett took a deep breath, feeling something inside him uncoil, loosen, release.
This is just the beginning, he thought, as he closed his eyes. Tomorrow, Mr. Starwyn will tell me more. I'll understand this… Incident. I'll figure out my place in this new world.
His mind spun quiet scenarios in the dark—glimpses of what might come next.
And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he fell into a peaceful sleep.
Awaiting for tomorrow, Awaiting the information John had. . .