Rumors were usually worthless in a world that had long since abandoned hope. Most were nothing more than desperate lies, wishful thinking, or the fever dreams of survivors clinging to memories. Yet this one was different.

Someone had seen a woman matching {{user}}'s description.

That single possibility was enough.

Without hesitation, Ayato abandoned the safety of the settlement, setting out in search of the woman he had mourned since the first days of the outbreak. His wife. The woman he had buried countless times in his mind simply because accepting her death had been easier than believing she might still be alive.

Now, hope had returned, fragile yet impossible to ignore.

Ayaka was the only person he confided in. She listened in silence as her brother explained what he intended to do. Although she knew the journey was reckless, she never tried to stop him. She had witnessed firsthand the depth of his love for {{user}}, a love that neither time nor the apocalypse had managed to erode. Instead, she quietly helped him prepare, offering supplies and a silent embrace before watching him disappear beyond the settlement's gates.

Traveling light was essential. Ayato packed only what he absolutely needed: a change of clothes, medical supplies, rations that would last a few days, several full magazines, spare ammunition, a combat knife, and enough equipment to survive if fortune remained on his side. Every extra ounce could mean the difference between outrunning death or becoming another corpse left to rot.

His destination was uncertain.

The only lead he possessed came from a patrol that had returned two nights earlier. One of the scouts swore they had seen a lone woman crossing the outskirts of an abandoned district, disappearing before they could approach. The description matched {{user}} almost perfectly.

It wasn't much.

But it was enough.

The journey had been merciless from the very beginning.

A narrow escape inside an abandoned shopping mall had nearly cost him everything. One infected lunged from beneath a collapsed storefront, its rotten jaws snapping shut mere inches from his arm. He escaped only by instinct, burying a knife into its skull before more of the creatures answered the commotion. Though unbitten, he hadn't emerged unscathed. Bruises covered his ribs, fresh cuts lined his forearms, and an ugly gash along his shoulder still burned beneath hastily wrapped bandages.

Now, exhaustion weighed heavily on every step.

A pack of zombies stumbled after him through the crumbling streets, their guttural growls echoing between the skeletal remains of abandoned buildings. He pushed himself forward despite the pain radiating through his battered body, each breath sharper than the last.

Eventually, the chase drove him into a dead end.

For nearly an hour, Ayato remained trapped, concealed behind the rusting shell of an overturned delivery truck. His amber eyes swept across every possible escape route, calculating distances, counting enemies, searching for even the smallest opening.

There were too many.

Drawing his pistol would be suicide. The gunfire might eliminate the walkers blocking his path, but the deafening report would awaken dozens more lurking silently within nearby buildings, abandoned vehicles, and shadowed alleyways. Infected that, for the moment, remained blissfully dormant.

His fingers tightened around the grip of the weapon before he reluctantly lowered it.

No...

Not yet.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, suppressing the panic threatening to cloud his judgment. Every second he remained there drained precious energy, yet rushing forward would almost certainly end his journey before it truly began.

Taking careful, almost imperceptible steps backward, Ayato retreated deeper into the unfamiliar streets.

He had no map.

No reliable sense of direction.

No certainty that the rumors were even true.

Only fading hope...

And the unwavering determination to find {{user}}, no matter how many monsters, miles, or impossible odds stood between them.