Chapter Text
This was the fourth sandstorm of the month.
It was deep into the dry season. To protect the daily lives of the elite in the central cities, freshwater resources from hundreds of miles around were funneled through pipelines to the urban core. Those lower-tier residents living just a wall away from the desert received nothing but cold, impersonal news broadcasts, warning them to seal their doors and retreat underground. Especially marine-type residents, in particular, were told to store water in advance to prevent casualties.
At times like this, it was rare to see any Aliens risk venturing out, but one did.
A small figure stumbled through the endless dunes. Wrapped tightly in a hooded cloak, they moved with visible strain, leaning heavily on a crooked wooden stick. Behind them, they left a trail of uneven footprints in the sand. When the next gust of wind tore through the desert, the figure finally collapsed, gasping. The hood slipped off, revealing a face riddled with scars.
She was human. More precisely, a human "product", the alleged culprit who had miraculously survived the globally broadcast bombing.
Sand crept through the tears in her clothes, scraping against her unhealed burns. Mizi clenched her jaw, quickly yanked her hood back up to shield her face from the searing 40-degree sun, exposed by a broken ozone layer. The wind stung her eyes. She ducked behind a sand pit, wiping grit from her face and trying to catch her breath.
If someone had told her a year ago she’d die in a place without a single drop of water, she would’ve laughed. Mizi had never known a world without water. Her "mother" had been a marine-type Alien, and Mizi had grown up surrounded by blue ocean. She had learned to swim before she could even speak. A world with no water? Absurd.
But now, it had been two full days since her last sip.
Her cracked lips were bleeding. She licked them and shook the flask at her hip, empty, save for a few drops that clinked hopelessly inside. She hesitated, then slipped it back and pushed herself up with the stick.
The nearest town was still thirty li away. She needed to find shelter before the next storm hit that night.
Maybe the gods still had some shred of mercy left. Even with her face plastered on wanted posters in every corner of the cities, Mizi managed to find the remains of a building in the ruins of the desert just before sunset. The concrete walls were eroded, the roof long gone, but if she could lift one collapsed pillar against a half-standing wall, it would form a crude shelter. Enough to survive the night.
She shrugged off her cloak, weighing it down with rocks, and dragged a broken plasterboard panel into the corner with a grunt.
Freed from her covering, her bare arm revealed extensive burn scars, skin cracked like a spiderweb, the damage running from her cheek to her arm, and down her neck in dark red patches. Anyone who had once known Mizi wouldn’t recognize her now.
The worst part wasn’t how it looked, it was how it restricted her movement. With no medication, the scar tissue had grown thick and tight around her joints. Just dragging a chunk of debris made her wound split open again, leaking pale yellow fluid.
She’d been through this cycle too many times since escaping the stage, healing, tearing, healing again. But Mizi didn’t even flinch anymore. Sweat mixed with blood dripped onto the sand as she silently dragged the rubble, like a modern Sisyphus pushing her burden uphill day after day.
At least pain meant she was still alive.
Once the shelter was stable, she crawled inside. The wind howled in the distance. A sandstorm was coming.
Wrapping herself back in the cloak, she curled into a ball, hugging her knees and pressing her lips together, eyes shut tight. She was like an ostrich burying its head in the sand—if she couldn’t hear the danger, maybe it wouldn’t exist. Just like when she was a kid.
The wind shrieked on, debris lifting and whirling away into the storm. Sharp sand scoured her skin. Mizi pulled her hood tighter, covered her ears, and silently chanted: think of something happy. Something good. Something from before.
In the dark, her mind drifted back to the Garden.
They’d just finished a movie. The room was pitch black—just like now. Two girls huddled under a blanket, and Mizi could feel Sua’s cool fingers curling around hers.
"Why are you afraid of thunder?" the black-haired girl asked, turning toward her. "It was just a documentary, Mizi. Not real."
"There’s no thunderstorms in the Garden." Sua said.
Mizi couldn’t see her face, but she thought again of the terrifying noise from the film, and shivered. She pressed closer to Sua.
"But there is no thunder under the sea," she murmured. "It’s quiet down there. You can’t hear anything. I’d never heard that kind of sound before. It was too loud, too sharp. I was scared… But you weren’t. Is it because you’ve seen it all before?"
Sua didn’t answer. Just soft laughter in the dark.
Mizi leaned in and whispered near her ear, "You’re the best, Sua."
She reached up and gently wrapped her hand around the girl's wrist. Among all the students in their year, Sua was the smallest. So slender that Mizi could easily encircle her wrist with her thumb and middle finger. She was small and harmless, not towering and intimidating like "Mother," not deafening and terrifying like the sound of thunder.
Sua made Mizi feel safe. She was a delicate flower resting on a branch, a warm pillow in her arms.
Sua would never hurt me. Mizi knew that for certain.
And just knowing that filled her with something that felt like happiness.
She lowered her head. Her breathing mingled with Sua’s. The two girls touched noses and foreheads softly in the dark, pressing close together.
Mizi whispered her name.
And Sua answered with a soft murmur, her voice gentle and sleepy.
"Sua," Mizi asked, eyes closed, "are you still awake?"
Sua's cool palm stayed against hers. Then Mizi felt a light tickle. Sua had curled her fingers and slowly brushed them across Mizi’s palm.
Sua gave a quiet laugh and replied, "Mm-hmm. I’m here."
And with each word, each breath, the thunder in Mizi’s memory faded a little further into the distance.
The next day, the sandstorm had passed.
Mizi woke up in the middle of a heap of rubble. It took her a while to push off the slab of concrete weighing down her body. Sand fell from her hair as she struggled to sit up. Though bruised from being tossed around by the storm, she had survived the night. That meant 22-year-old Mizi had made it through another dawn after the explosion that tore apart the stage. She slumped against a broken pillar, eyes scanning the endless stretch of sand, and let out a long breath from her chest. The air was dry and hot, it feels like Mizi throat a burning sun, her throat coated in dust.
As a small reward, she carefully uncapped her canteen and let a few precious drops of water fall on her cracked lips. The cool moisture softened the sting, and she licked her lips, savoring it before fastening the cap.
The walking stick she used last night had been blown away. She randomly picked up a pointed stone, set it upright in the sand, then let go. The stone spun slightly before falling—pointing south.
So, Mizi would go south today.
It sounded like a reckless decision, but she didn’t care.
She didn’t know what lay ahead, maybe another storm, maybe nothing at all. But she tightened her ragged robe and began walking south. When she was thirsty, she searched for water; when hungry, she scavenged for food. After the explosion, she no longer belonged to any place. human bases refused her, and the alien cities would never be hers. She wandered the barren space between both worlds, and the most frequent companion she met was the tumbleweed that rolled past her feet.
(Though, to be honest, she'd eaten one last week out of desperation—it was a bit prickly.)
Life after leaving AlienStage settled into a bleak, joyless rhythm. Mizi wandered the desert like the ascetics once described in the texts of lost human civilizations, walking endlessly, barely speaking, enduring. When she was alone in the desert, she sometimes heard that familiar voice.
It called her name: Mizi. Mizi.
Like waves crashing on the sea's surface, the voice repeated just those two syllables, never more, never less.
And each time, without tiring, Mizi would answer, I’m here.
She lived, beyond the stage, beyond the Anakt Garden. In a place where there were no humans, no aliens, she still clung to life with the same stubborn will. Even if living itself was an endless, aching pain, she had to survive, because it was a gift from those she loved, and those who had loved her.
As someone who had been given that chance, she had no right to complain. Occasionally, like last night, she would chew on old memories to give herself strength.
Aside from the lack of food, there wasn’t much entertainment in the desert.
When she was bored, she would pick up stones and write letters to Sua wherever she could. Before leaving, she would erase the marks with her foot, just like they used to in Anakt Garden, hiding handmade crayon posters under books, signing off in the corner, “To dear Sua,”and waiting for her to find them. At first, she struggled to find good stones, and her handwriting was a crooked mess. She never knew how to begin, often sitting for hours trying to figure out the first sentence.
But now, after all this time, she no longer hesitated. Mizi always had something to say to Sua, past or present, things she never got to say, all poured into the lines.
And today, Mizi, who had survived another day, would write again.
Her letter began like this:
“Dear Sua.” She brushed the dust from her hands, then walked to a flat slab and began carving with the stone that had pointed her south. The words came slowly, the lines were shallow, but she carved with complete focus.
“The wind was rough last night. Blew away the stick I worked so hard to find. My ankle hurts today. I hope I can find somewhere to rest before sunset.”
“I dreamed about you again. But this time, I couldn’t see your face. I always think about the time we were still in Anakt Garden, when that thunderstorm in the film kept me up all night. You came and held me and said it wasn’t real, just special effects. But I still shook with fear. Looking back now, I should’ve held you too. You were probably scared, too. you just didn’t say it. But I didn’t do anything. I just curled up in your arms like a coward.”
Mizi paused. Her hand trembled. She wiped the corner of her eye, muttering under her breath.
“…Back then, even just for a second, even if I couldn’t say anything comforting. I should’ve held you.”
“I always think of your wrists. So thin I could wrap my fingers around them. I could feel your bones. You always said you were full, and then ate my carrots and broccoli for me. You should’ve eaten more. You should’ve eaten what you liked, grown taller, stronger. If you had, would you have looked healthier? Was it my selfishness that made you so small? Was it because my love wasn’t firm enough, that it made you worry so much, you had to leave all alone? I’ve been asking myself this over and over.”
At that point, she slowly set down the stone. A crushing pressure in her chest made it hard to breathe, let alone write more. The wind hadn’t let up. She clutched her hood to her chest. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, soaking into the sand.
“I can’t feel happy anymore just because you were small or tiny. Just thinking about how thin you were, how breakable, it shatters my heart into pieces.”
Tears dripped into the dust. She bit her lip and whispered:
“You know, there are so many kids at the base. They’re like bean sprouts, which is thin and fragile. Just some food and a little water, and they survive. That’s all it takes for humans to live.”
“So why……why did it never occur to me that I could’ve taken you away from that place?”
The stone slipped from her hand. She couldn’t write anymore. The desert echoed with the soft sound of a woman’s crying. She sobbed like a child, messy and helpless, whispering words that would never reach anyone.
“I was awful,” she said. “I’m sorry, Sua. Please… please don’t forgive me.”
Another day without Sua. Mizi was still walking, alone in the desert. Her footprints vanished behind her almost as soon as she made them, like her, the sand didn’t know where to go next. She just kept walking.
In this aimless, endless march, the first things to run out were food and water. No matter how carefully she rationed, the bottom of her flask didn’t magically refill. Eventually, she drank the last drop, and the remaining scraps of food were gone too. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Mizi left the empty flask behind in the desert and continued walking.
She kept going, step after step. But it wasn’t long before her pace slowed, then faltered. Finally, under the blazing sun, Mizi collapsed. Her cheek pressed against the burning sand. Lips dry and cracked, she parted them slightly and forced herself to crawl forward, one step, then another, until she could no longer move. Even the act of rolling over drained her completely.
The sun scorched her face, baking away every trace of moisture. The light was blinding. She remembered what Hyunya once joked: "When someone’s dying in the desert, they start to think they’ve found a river. It’s the brain’s last mercy, a lie to keep you calm." Maybe that’s why the "pets" who endured endless pressure on stage only managed to survive by convincing themselves they were happy.
“Pretty impressive, huh?” Hyunya had said. “That’s humanity for you. We survive, no matter what.”
At the time, Mizi had been in the passenger seat, watching golden dunes race past the window. “No,” she replied. “That’s pathetic. Living only by clinging to illusions. We’re the weakest species.”
They said that in the final moments, you’d see a river——Sanzu River. Cross it, and you’d forget everything. Become clean. Begin again.
And now, she saw it too.
Mizi wore a white dress, the kind she’d once worn in the ANAKT Garden, floating quietly in the water. It filled her lungs and nose, not burning, but cool and sweet. The current lifted her up gently. She swam without fear. On the other side, she heard voices, familiar ones. From Shine, and others who used to call themselves her “mothers,” whispering from the far bank. She stood to cross toward them when something tugged at her sleeve.
She turned. It was Sua standing behind her.
Standing on the riverbank, head slightly lowered, wearing a shy smile. Mizi beamed, grasping her hand tightly, shaking it back and forth as if she never meant to let go.
“What are you doing here?” Mizi asked. “Were you looking for me? I thought you were mad at me… wait, no, why would you be mad? What did I even do?”
She babbled, “I can’t remember, Sua.”
“Never mind.” Her grin returned, bright as ever. “Come to the other side of the river with me?”
But Sua didn’t answer. She simply pressed her lips together and shook her head gently. Mizi looked puzzled.
“Mama’s over there, Sua,” she said with a smile, eyes crinkling. “We can go together. I won’t run this time. I’ll have the courage to protect you. You didn’t like Mama, right? That’s okay. We can hide under the sea this time. Or I’ll take you away. Far, far away.”
“I know how to make fire now, how to cook. You won’t go hungry. You don’t have to eat carrots, I'll eat them for you. I can eat anything now.”
“I even know how to use a gun,” she said, resting her forehead against Sua’s, smiling through tears. “I won’t let them put you on that stage again. So Sua, please, just this once… live. For me.”
Live…?
Why should Sua live?
The river lapped at the shore. There was no salt in the air, no muddy scent of streambeds. Because this wasn’t real. It was a dream. Mizi realized that everything had already happened. Her voice fell quiet. She clutched Sua’s hands, those delicate, slender fingers that belonged to someone too fragile.
Of course. Sua had died, to save her.
“I figured it out too late,” Mizi whispered. “I always did that. I never made it in time. I never held you. I never comforted you. I never made you smile.”
Across the river, Shine’s voice was gone. Mizi always knows she was never really her mother, just an Alien who claimed to love her. But no matter how tenderly that creature reached out with its massive limbs, the more it tried to embrace her, the more it made her cry. She had been terrified. So afraid of being crushed like a bug, like a pebble. She thought that suffocating embrace was what love looked like. That all she needed was to find someone even smaller, even weaker, and she would be safe.
And then she found Sua.
But in the end, it was actually Sua who found and saved her. It was Sua who accepted her.
And someone like Sua, so gentle, so clumsy in her kindness, wasn’t it just unfair?
Mizi wiped her face with trembling hands and tugged Sua along toward the river. The black-haired girl followed quietly, like a doll. But as Mizi stepped toward the water, Sua stopped. For the first time, she shook her head.
So Mizi let go of her hand. She smiled as wide as she could, though her voice shook.
It's time. Mizi thought, It's time to let her go.
“Go on, Sua,” she said, placing a hand gently on her back, giving her a gentle push. “Don’t look back. Just keep walking. Cross the river.”
Sua didn’t speak, but her amethyst eyes stayed on Mizi, always soft, calm, luminous.
“I’ll survive,” Mizi said, backing away, waving wildly. Her voice cracked with effort. “Don’t ever meet me again, Sua. Just keep going!”
The river rose. Sua didn’t move. Water reached her ankles, her knees, her waist. Then she closed her eyes. Her body shimmered, then scattered into the wind, turning into a small swallow, wings fluttering as she slipped quietly across the river.
In Mizi’s gaze, the girl she loved had become a bird.
Back to the reality. The sand still all around. Mizi coughed violently, her lungs screaming in pain. She woke up in the desert, body burning. Drops of something wet trickled down her cheeks. At first, she thought it was her tears. But as she sat up, she saw it. Raindrops. One by one, falling onto the sand.
In the middle of a drought stricken wasteland, rain poured from the sky. Steam rose as the heat met the storm. The drops slapped down fast and heavy, soaking her hair, her face. Mizi opened her mouth. Water rushed down her throat.
She suddenly remembered the flask she’d left behind.
Scrambling to her feet, she ran back the way she came. When the rain passed, she clutched the once, empty flask in her arms. It was now half full.
Mizi sat in the damp sand, clothes soaked, shaking. She looked around in a daze, then spotted something ahead.
A sprout. Just barely, a touch of green pushing up from the earth, its head bowed by the rain. It looked nothing like the pristine artificial flowers of ANAKT Garden. It was crooked, weak.
But it was alive.
In this place with no humans and no Aliens, this tiny shoot had survived. Other life could grow too.
Mizi stared at it for a long time.
Her lips moved, but she said nothing. She just let out a soft laugh.
Then she stood up, and walked on.
Dear Sua,
If there really is a river like Sanzu, if such a place truly exists
Then please, don't hesitate. Go ahead, cross it.
Mizi.
Fin.