Despite still reeling from the fact that he's in a world he used to play, his instinct overrode disbelief. Training pressed down on panic, forcing my body to move before my brain could catch up. I dropped to one knee beside her. Airway, breathing, circulation. The ABCs were drilled into me until they were second nature.
Her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. Breathing—present. I leaned closer, listening for any obstruction, the faint whisper of air brushing past her lips. Clear. No rattling and no choking.
I pressed two fingers lightly against the side of her neck. Carotid pulse—steady, though weak. She wasn't in immediate arrest. Relief cut through me, sharp and short-lived.
My eyes scanned her body automatically. No visible trauma. No blood soaking the strange fabric of her clothes. Skin pale but unbroken. No swelling that suggested internal bleeding, no angles in her limbs that screamed fracture. "Unconscious but have stable breathing and her circulation is intact," I muttered under my breath, the way I'd always done in the field to keep myself grounded. "No obvious trauma."
Still, her condition didn't make sense. A girl alone, lying exposed on a slab of stone in ruins that shouldn't exist—untouched, unharmed, as if the world itself had placed her there.
I checked again. Eyelids flickered slightly when I touched her wrist, but she didn't wake. Reflexes intact, but weak. She was out cold, not gone.
Rover was alive. Stable, but unconscious. Which meant two things:
1.)She wasn't in immediate danger of dying.
2.)That gave me enough time to figure out what the hell do I do next.
I swept the area again. High walls broken into jagged teeth, a corridor of stone leading deeper into the ruins. Elevated ground to my left, blind corners everywhere. Too many places for threats to sit in the dark.
"Priority one: secure the perimeter." My own voice steadied me, even if it sounded absurd out loud. "Priority two: wake her. Priority three…" I exhaled. "…figure out where the fuck we are and why."
Except I already knew.
Or at least, I thought I did.
This scene—her lying unconscious on a slab of stone, untouched—was too familiar. It wasn't just some girl in ruins. It was the girl. The beginning. The starting point of Wuthering Waves.
In the game, this was where Rover always began. The mysterious woman—an entity wrapped in light and shadows like a Goddess—was the one who placed her here. No name and no explanation. Just a silent handoff before she pushed the Rover into the void.
And now here I was, watching it play out in front of me. Not on a monitor. Not with a mouse in my hands but for real.
My mouth went dry.
If that was true, then this is the starting point. This was her prologue, her first breath in Solaris-3 without her memories. And me? Somehow, impossibly, I'd been dragged into it. The realization slammed into me with a cold clarity:
If the mysterious woman had put Rover here… then maybe she had put me here too.
I looked down at Rover's face again. Peaceful, untouched, almost fragile.
"You don't even know it yet," I muttered softly. "Where you are. Who you're supposed to become."
For a moment, I felt like an intruder in a story that wasn't mine. A player who had stepped past the screen and into the script. But the weight of it didn't change my plan. I mean, Yangyang and Chixia were supposed to find Rover first, so the story is already altered beyond repair.
"Alright. First, I sweep the area. Then I make sure you're safe. After that…" My voice trailed off. The future was a blank I didn't want to stare at yet.
But one thing was certain: this wasn't just survival anymore.
I'd walked into the world of Wuthering Waves.
Twenty minutes later, after combing through the ruins again for any trace of movement—tacet discord, scavengers, anything—I finally circled back. My shoulders ached from the tension. My nerves hummed like a live wire.
"I'm too tired for this shit."
And that's when I noticed her.
The stillness was gone. Her fingers twitched. Her chest rose in a deeper inhale.
Sleeping Beauty was waking up.
Her hand twitched again. Then her eyelids fluttered, heavy, resisting the light. For a moment, she looked like she was trapped halfway between dreaming and waking, caught in some silent struggle.
I crouched beside her, keeping my voice low and steady. "Easy… you're safe. No sudden moves."
Her breathing hitched, uneven. She turned her head slightly, as if even that small motion drained her. A soft, broken sound escaped her lips—nothing like words, more like the echo of one.
"Shh," I muttered, scanning the perimeter again even as I leaned closer. "Don't force it. Just breathe."
Her eyes cracked open at last. Pale, unfocused. They searched the air above her, then shifted toward me. For a few heartbeats, she looked straight through me, as if I wasn't even there.
Disorientation. Classic. I'd seen that look before—in the field, soldiers pulled out of wreckage, civilians after an airstrike. The body awake but the mind still trying to reboot.
"Stay calm," I said firmly, slipping into the voice I used for shock cases. "You're not hurt. Just disoriented. Focus on my voice."
Her lips parted. A faint whisper, broken in half: "…where…? "
That one word hit harder than it should've. Because I knew the answer. And she didn't. Not yet.
"You're safe," I repeated instead, sidestepping the truth. "Can you move your fingers for me? Left hand first."
Slowly—trembling—her fingers curled against the stone. Weak, but responsive.
"Good," I murmured, exhaling through the tension in my chest. "Motor function's intact."
She blinked at me again, clearer this time, her gaze beginning to lock on. The fog in her expression was still there, but behind it, something faint flickered confusion, maybe fear.
"You don't remember, do you? " I asked quietly, already knowing the answer.
Her brow furrowed slightly. Her throat worked, but no words came.
I sat back on my heels, rubbing a hand over my face. Damn it. This wasn't just the cutscene anymore. This was real. And that meant she wasn't a character waiting for a player to click her dialogue box. She was a person, waking up with no idea where she was or who she was supposed to be.
Which left me with a single problem: how the hell was I supposed to tell her?
Her eyes finally settled on me—blurry and unfocused, but aware enough to recognize another presence.
She swallowed hard, her lips parting. "…w-where…" The word cracked, fragile, like glass breaking in her throat.
I shook my head slowly, keeping my tone level. "I don't know either. I woke up here too."
It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. Just not the whole truth.
Her breathing was shallow and uneven. I stayed crouched close but gave her space, one hand braced against the stone in case she panicked and tried to push herself up.
"Don't force it," I said quietly. "You've just woken up. Your body's in shock. Focus on breathing first."
She blinked hard, like she was trying to wrestle her way out of the fog. Her fingers flexed weakly against the stone, trembling as she tested her strength.
"Good. That's good," I murmured. My own voice sounded detached and clinical, but that steadiness was as much for me as it was for her. If I let my nerves show, she'd spiral.
Her eyes flicked to the ruins around us. Broken towers stretching into nothing. Dead silence pressing in. The fear that crossed her face wasn't subtle—it was raw and unfiltered.
I leaned back a little, letting her see I wasn't a threat. "Look… whatever this place is, we're both stuck. So until we figure out the reason why we came here, you're not alone in this shitshow. Alright? "
Her gaze lingered on me, uncertain, but a fraction of the tension bled out of her shoulders. She didn't trust me—not yet—but at least she didn't look like she was about to bolt.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. She didn't need to know everything now. Not about Solaris-3, not about how familiar all of this felt to me. That truth could wait.
Right now, all that mattered was survival. With the Arbiter here, my chance of surviving this world just went up dramatically.
Slowly, she shifted again. A shaky inhale, then a small wince as her body resisted. She was weaker than I expected—almost fragile—but she was fighting it.
"Easy," I said, lowering my voice. "Don't rush it. One step at a time."
Her hand finally lifted off the stone, trembling in the air like it was too heavy to hold. I caught the instinct to steady her but forced myself to stop halfway. If she needed the contact, she'd reach for it. If I imposed it, she might recoil—and in her state, panic could kill us both.
She didn't take my hand. Instead, she curled her fingers into her chest, protective, like she was holding on to something invisible. Her gaze flicked toward me again, sharper now. Distrust mixed with dependence.
I couldn't blame her. If our positions were reversed, I wouldn't trust me either.
Her lips parted again, a raw sound scraping its way out: "…who… are you? "
That hit harder than it should've.
Names meant trust. Names meant permanence. A line you couldn't walk back. I hesitated, jaw tight, before I finally answered.
"…Jeff," I said simply. "Just… Jeff."
"What's yours?'' asking despite knowing the answer
Her lips trembled like the effort of forming words was too much. A pause stretched, and for a second I thought she hadn't even heard me. Then—
"…I… don't…" Her voice cracked, breaking apart like it hadn't been used in years. Her brow furrowed, confusion bleeding into fear. "…I don't… know."
The words lingered, hanging between us heavier than the silence.
My chest tightened. I knew the answer before she said it, but hearing it out loud was something else entirely. She really didn't remember—not even the one thing that defined a person.
Her breathing hitched, shaky. Panic, creeping at the edges.
"Hey," I said quickly, softer than before, raising a hand slightly but not touching her. "That's alright. Don't force it. Sometimes memories… take time to recover."
Her eyes darted to mine, wide and searching, like she was begging me for an anchor. I held her gaze, steadying my voice even though I was reeling inside.
"You don't have to figure it all out right now. Name or no name—you're here. You're alive. That's what matters."
She swallowed hard, her throat working. Her hand clutched tighter at her chest, trembling like she was afraid of losing something that wasn't there.
I forced a small, almost bitter smile. "Until you remember… I'll just call you 'Rover.'"
Her lips pressed together, confusion written all over her face. "Rover…?" she repeated slowly, voice hoarse and unsteady. Like the syllables felt foreign in her mouth.
I froze. Shit. I hadn't meant to say it out loud. It slipped, instinct more than choice. In the game it was just… her. The name that carried her story. But here, hearing it tumble into the air between us, it felt heavier. More permanent.
I rubbed the back of my neck, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "Yeah," I said finally, letting the syllable settle. "That's what I'll call you. For now, at least. Until you remember who you are."
Her brows pulled together, a faint crease cutting across her forehead. Distrust, confusion—it was all there in her face. And I couldn't blame her. If I woke up in ruins with some stranger hovering over me, handing me a name like it was mine, I'd probably hate it.
"It's not just random," I added quickly, lowering my voice, keeping it steady. I didn't want her to think I was mocking her. "You… you look like a wanderer. Someone thrown into the middle of nowhere, trying to find their place. The name fits right?" Her gaze lingered on me, sharp but wavering, like she was trying to decide if I was feeding her a bunch of horseshit or if I actually meant it. I held still, careful not to push.
"Better than me calling you 'hey, you' every five seconds, right? " I said, softer, the corner of my mouth twitching into the ghost of a smile I didn't quite feel.
Her hand, the one she kept curled against her chest, loosened a fraction. Not relaxed exactly, but less defensive. She tested the name again under her breath, hesitant, almost tasting it. "…Rover."
Something about the way she repeated it—quiet and unsure, but hers—hit harder than I expected. In the game it was just a label, something you clicked past without thinking. Here, hearing her claim it like it belonged to her felt different.
I exhaled slowly, not letting her see how much it rattled me. "Yeah," I murmured. "That works."
But inside, the truth gnawed at me. I hadn't just given her a name. I'd nudged her into a role. A story I already knew the beats of, even if she didn't. And that terrified me more than the silence pressing in from the ruins around us.