Elena dreamed in color.
Not the hazy, half-formed kind that slipped away the moment she woke, but something vivid—warm, whole, real.
She stood beneath an open sky, bluer than any she remembered from Earth. The air was clean, touched with mana that felt gentle rather than heavy. Stone pathways stretched ahead of her, familiar yet changed, lined with trees whose leaves shimmered faintly with light.
A hand slipped into hers.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
Leon walked beside her, taller than he was now, broader in the shoulders. His presence was steady—anchoring in a way she felt in her chest more than her senses. He wasn't wearing armor or ceremonial robes. Just simple clothes, sleeves rolled up, looking… peaceful.
Alive in a way that went beyond survival.
"Mom!"
The voice came from ahead of them.
Elena's heart skipped.
A boy ran toward her, about eight years old, hair dark and slightly unruly, eyes bright with mischief and confidence. He skidded to a stop just short of crashing into her, grinning up at her with unmistakable familiarity.
"You promised you'd watch me train today," he said, already tugging at her hand.
Before she could answer, another figure appeared—smaller, slower, but no less certain.
A little girl, five years old, with softer features and curious eyes that mirrored Leon's in a way that made Elena's breath catch. She held a small flower clutched carefully in both hands, as if it were something precious.
"For you," the girl said shyly, holding it up.
Elena knelt without thinking, accepting the flower with trembling fingers.
Her chest ached—not with fear, but with a fullness so overwhelming it bordered on pain.
"They're…" Her voice faltered.
Leon crouched beside her, one arm resting lightly around her shoulders. "They're ours."
The words settled into her like truth. Not surprise. Not confusion. Just recognition.
The boy was already running ahead again, laughing as he called back something about being late. The girl lingered, studying Elena's face with solemn seriousness before leaning in and wrapping her arms around her neck.
Elena hugged her instinctively, breathing in the scent of warm sunlight and clean air.
This is real, a part of her whispered.
Or it will be.
She rose, still holding Leon's hand, and for the first time noticed the ring on her finger—simple, worn smooth with time. A ring that had lived through years, not days.
They walked together. Not rushed. Not afraid.
At some point, she stopped and turned to Leon. He looked down at her, expression softer than she had ever seen it.
"I should tell you something," she said.
"What?" he asked gently.
She stood on her toes, fingers brushing his collar, heart hammering—not with nerves, but with certainty.
"I love—"
Light shattered.
Elena gasped awake.
Sunlight poured through the open balcony doors, bright and unashamed. For a moment, she was disoriented—her hands empty, her chest tight, the echo of small laughter fading too quickly.
She turned sharply.
Leon was there—very much now, not older, not distant. He stood near the small kitchen alcove, sleeves rolled up just like in her dream, brow faintly furrowed in concentration.
And the smell—
Elena's stomach growled audibly.
Warm bread. Something sweet. Something savory underneath it. The scent filled the room, rich enough that it felt almost tangible.
She blinked. "Leon…?"
He turned at once. "You're awake." He glanced toward the window, then winced slightly. "Ah. Sorry. I meant to wake you earlier."
"What time is it?" she asked, pushing herself upright.
"Ten," he said. "I didn't realize how late it got."
Late? She had gone to sleep not long after midnight.
She rubbed her eyes, then froze as she noticed movement outside. Voices. Footsteps. A faint murmur of surprise drifting up from the street below.
Leon followed her gaze, confused. "Is something wrong?"
She moved to the balcony and peeked out.
People had stopped in the street. Not many—but enough. A pair of Elnor citizens. Two Earth survivors. Even an attendant standing a little too still, nose subtly tilted toward the air.
All of them were looking up.
And inhaling.
Elena stared, then laughed softly. "Leon… I think your cooking is… attracting attention."
He stiffened. "What?"
As if summoned by the word, a knock echoed at the door—polite, but unmistakably curious.
Leon looked between the door and Elena, genuinely baffled. "I just made breakfast."
She turned back to him, amusement and something warmer mingling in her eyes.
In the back of her mind, the dream lingered—not as fantasy, but as a quiet promise.
She touched her chest, steadying her breath.
One day, she thought.
Leon opened the door, utterly unaware that the future had already brushed its lips against her heart—
and that she had been woken just before she could return the kiss.