The fire hated her.
Xiyue struck the flint again—forty-seventh time, not that she was counting—and watched another spark die on the damp wood.
Her fingers were raw, split open in two places, leaving little smears of blood on the kindling.
"Come on," she muttered. "Come on."
Strike. Nothing.
Strike. A spark that caught for half a second, then vanished.
Her chest was doing that thing again—the flutter-skip-stutter that made her freeze mid-motion and wait for it to pass.
Each time it happened, she counted seconds. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three—and then the rhythm would return, wrong but at least consistent.
Cardiac arrhythmia, her brain supplied. Probably from electrolyte imbalance. Also starvation. Also the general stress of dying in another dimension.
"Yeah, thanks for the update, brain."
She should rest. She knew she should rest.
But the sun was going down, and without fire she'd freeze, and without boiled water she'd die even faster than the heart thing was already killing her.
So she kept striking.
Strike. Nothing.
Strike. A spark caught in the dry grass she'd gathered.
She leaned down, breath held, and blew gently. The spark glowed brighter. Caught. Spread.
Yes. Yes yes yes—
It died.
Xiyue sat back on her heels and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes burned. She was not going to cry.
She was not going to cry over a stupid fire in a stupid abandoned kitchen in a stupid world that clearly wanted her dead.
She was going to cry.
But before she could, her heart did another skip-beat thing, and the panic of that pushed the tears back down.
Can't force it, she told herself. Need to ration energy. Need to rest. Need to—
Her body made the decision for her. She slumped against the wall, chest heaving, and just breathed for a while.
The blue screen flickered on.
[Vital signs: Critical but stable.]
[Recommendation: Rest 15 minutes before continuing fire attempts.]
[Note: Host's persistence is noted. Statistically unusual.]
Xiyue laughed weakly. "Statistically unusual? That's your compliment?"
No response.
She studied the screen while she caught her breath. More icons had appeared since yesterday—little symbols along the edges, grayed out and inaccessible. A shopping bag labeled [Store]. A person icon labeled [Skills]. A heart icon labeled [Bonds].
She tried to tap the heart icon. Nothing happened.
[Function locked.]
[Requirement: Host stabilization. Priority: Water. Food. Shelter.]
"Right. Water, food, shelter. The basics of not dying."
She looked around the kitchen. The water jar was still there, still full of filtered but unboiled water. The mugwort leaves were still piled in the corner. The kindling was still scattered where she'd arranged it.
Everything she needed was right here.
She just had to make it work.
Fifteen minutes passed. Her heart rate steadied. The dizziness faded slightly. She pushed herself up and went back to the hearth.
This time, she changed her approach.
Instead of striking randomly, she focused on one spot—a small pile of the driest grass she could find, arranged in a nest around thinner shavings of wood.
She struck the flint at an angle she'd seen in a survival video years ago, one she'd watched while eating takeout after a thirty-hour shift.
Strike. Spark. Strike. Spark. Strike—
The spark landed in the grass. Caught.
Xiyue dropped the flint and cupped her hands around the tiny flame, protecting it from the drafts that snuck through every crack in the walls.
She blew gently, feeding it oxygen, and watched it grow from a flicker to a glow to an actual, honest-to-god flame.
"Stay," she whispered. "Please stay."
The flame flickered but held.
She added more grass. Then tiny twigs. Then bigger pieces of wood, arranged in a careful pyramid around the growing heart of the fire.
When the first real log caught—when the fire was actually, undeniably burning—Xiyue sat back and let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
[Fire established.]
[Shelter status: Basic heat source acquired.]
[Survival probability increase: 3%.]
Three percent. Not much. But something.
She fed the fire while she caught her breath, then reached for the water jar.
The pan was already positioned on the hearth stones—she'd placed it hours ago, optimistically. Now she poured water into it, set it directly over the flames, and watched.
Waiting for it to boil took forever. Or maybe twenty minutes. Time moved weird when you were this exhausted.
But eventually—eventually—bubbles formed. Steam rose. The water rolled and churned like it was trying to escape.
Xiyue added mugwort leaves. Watched them darken and release their essence into the water.
The smell that rose was bitter, earthy, nothing like the teas she used to drink. But it was warm. It was something.
When it was ready, she poured the liquid into a cracked cup she'd found earlier. Waited for it to cool. And took her first real drink of something that wouldn't kill her.
The tea hit her stomach like a gift.
Warm. Spreading. Chasing away some of the cold that had settled into her bones.
She drank in small sips, making it last, feeling each swallow like a tiny act of defiance against the body that wanted to give up.
[Medicinal compound detected.]
[Minor recovery: +0.5% vital stability.]
[Current stability: 7.5%.]
Seven point five percent. From zero, probably. From "actively dying in a mud hut" to "maybe not actively dying for a few more hours."
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
Xiyue finished the tea, refilled the cup, and drank that too. Then she ate some of the grain she'd found—raw, because cooking it would take more water and more time and she was too tired to care about texture.
It tasted like dirt and dust and probably mouse droppings. She ate every kernel.
The fire crackled. The wind picked up outside, rattling the broken windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled—or maybe a wolf. She couldn't tell.
She should feel scared. Alone. Hopeless.
Instead, she felt... warm. For the first time since waking up in this nightmare, she felt warm.
Night fell properly while she was lost in thought.
One moment the light through the broken windows was gray; the next, it was black. Complete, absolute darkness except for the circle of firelight.
Xiyue pulled her knees to her chest and stared into the flames.
Tomorrow, she'd need to find more food. More water. More mugwort, if there was any left. Maybe explore more buildings, see if any of them held anything useful. Clothes, maybe. A blanket. Anything to make the nights less miserable.
The day after that, she'd need to figure out how to reach the palace. How to find the screaming emperor. How to bond with someone who probably had people killed for approaching without permission.
But tonight—
Tonight, she had fire. She had warm tea. She had a roof over her head, even if it leaked.
Tonight was enough.
She was almost asleep when she heard it.
A scratching sound.
Coming from the corner.
Xiyue's eyes snapped open. She turned slowly toward the sound, heart rate spiking, and saw—
Eyes.
Small. Red. Reflecting the firelight.
In the corner near the door, a rat sat on its haunches, watching her. It was big—as big as the one from earlier, maybe bigger. Its nose twitched. Its whiskers trembled.
And behind it, another pair of eyes.
And behind those, more.
Xiyue counted five. Then eight. Then lost track as they emerged from the shadows, from the cracks in the walls, from the holes she hadn't noticed. Rats. Dozens of them. All watching her with those tiny red eyes.
They own this place, she realized. I'm the intruder here.
The fire was between her and most of them, but for how long? Wood was limited. The fire would die eventually. And when it did—
The biggest rat—the one in front—took a step forward.
Xiyue's hand closed around the knife. The rusted, barely-sharp knife she'd found earlier. It wouldn't do much against a dozen rats, but it was something.
Back off, she thought at them. Back off, this is my territory now.
The rat took another step.
Xiyue stood up slowly, knife in one hand, fire poker in the other. She didn't look away from the rats. Didn't blink.
"I survived an earthquake," she said quietly. "I survived dying in another dimension. I am not getting eaten by rats on my first night."
The rat stared at her.
She stared back.
For a long, horrible moment, neither moved.
Then the rat chittered—a sound that might have been a warning, might have been a dismissal—and turned away. It disappeared into the shadows. The others followed, one by one, until only darkness remained in the corners.
Xiyue didn't sit down.
She stood there for a long time, knife ready, watching the places where the eyes had been. Waiting for them to come back.
They didn't.
But she knew—knew—that they were still there. Watching. Waiting.
This was their place.
And tonight, she'd won.
But tomorrow?
Tomorrow, the war continued.