Rosalie didn't remember falling asleep.
Exhaustion must have dragged her under sometime after five. The twins woke twice more for feedings, their soft cries pulling her from shallow, restless dreams filled with heatwaves and green rain.
By the third time she opened her eyes, pale dawn light filtered through the curtains.
5:57 a.m.
But that wasn't what woke her.
Something felt… different.
Not outside.
Inside.
A vibration beneath her ribs. A pull. Stronger than before.
Rosalie stilled, listening—not with her ears, but with that strange inner sense she'd once relied on daily.
Her space.
She reached for it.
And this time, the connection didn't feel like a fragile thread.
It felt like a door flung wide open.
Her breath caught.
In the next instant, her consciousness slipped inward—
And she stood on grass.
Real grass.
Soft beneath her bare feet.
Rosalie froze.
This wasn't the cramped storage pocket she remembered. The space had once been no larger than a small warehouse with a patch of fertile soil in one corner.
This—
This was a world.
Blue sky stretched endlessly overhead. A gentle breeze carried the scent of earth and water. In the distance, forests rolled across hills. Mountains rose against the horizon. Prairies and grasslands stretched so far she couldn't see their end.
Acres upon acres of rich, dark soil lay untouched and waiting.
Her heart pounded.
"This isn't possible…"
In the center of it all shimmered a lake.
Not ordinary water.
It glowed faintly, as if light lived beneath its surface. The energy radiating from it felt pure—dense—almost spiritual.
The kind of mystical spring she had only ever read about in fantasy novels.
Spiritual water.
Instinct told her that drinking it would strengthen the body. Cleanse impurities. Perhaps even enhance abilities.
Her gaze shifted.
Near the lake stood a massive white stone building.
It looked like a cross between a luxury hotel and an industrial warehouse. The material wasn't marble, wasn't concrete—it gleamed faintly, smooth and seamless, like it had been carved from a single piece of otherworldly stone.
Drawn forward, Rosalie walked inside.
The lobby was vast and quiet.
Directly across from the entrance hung a large digital clock.
59:43.
It ticked downward.
Her heart skipped.
She understood instinctively.
One hour.
She could only remain inside the space for one hour per day before being forced out.
Reasonable.
Too much power without restriction would be dangerous.
She exhaled slowly.
Fine.
An hour was more than she'd ever had before.
Determined to explore efficiently, she stepped into the elevator at the center of the lobby and pressed the first floor.
The doors slid open soundlessly.
And she stepped into what looked like a luxury apartment.
A massive living room greeted her, anchored by a sofa that looked softer than anything she'd ever touched—its fabric shimmering faintly as if woven from threads not of this world.
A huge platinum-screen television hung on the wall.
A crystal coffee table sat before the couch, carved so flawlessly it seemed grown rather than shaped.
The kitchen beyond was enormous. Spacious countertops. Every appliance imaginable—ovens, refrigerators, dishwashers, blenders—sleek and modern.
She tested a light switch.
It worked.
There was no visible power source.
But everything functioned perfectly.
Down the hallway were eight bedrooms.
Seven smaller rooms—clearly meant for children—and one master suite.
Each bedroom had its own attached bathroom.
Rosalie stepped into the master bedroom.
The bed was large, draped in soft silver bedding. The windows overlooked the lake.
She blinked—and the walls shifted from pale gray to warm cream.
She gasped softly.
With a single thought, the décor changed.
Modern to classic. Dark wood to white oak.
She could manipulate the design at will.
Her throat tightened.
Her children would never need to sleep in fear again.
She forced herself back to the elevator.
Time was ticking.
The next floor opened into an enormous wardrobe hall.
Racks upon racks of clothing stretched endlessly.
Infant onesies. Children's outfits. Teen clothing. Adult attire.
Summer dresses. Winter coats. Rain gear.
She picked up a sleek bodysuit displayed near the center.
A small tag shimmered with information in her mind:
Temperature regulation up to 70°F heat.
Cold resistance down to -90°C.
Her breath hitched.
Negative ninety degrees Celsius.
Colder than most parts of Antarctica.
There were boots, insulated gloves, hats, jewelry, even protective eyewear.
Her children would never freeze.
The next floor—
A hospital.
Sterile. Advanced.
In the center stood a humanoid robot doctor, sleek and metallic, its eyes glowing faint blue.
It turned toward her.
"Welcome, Administrator," it said smoothly.
Her pulse raced.
Administrator.
The robot could diagnose illnesses, prescribe medication, perform surgery.
Shelves lined the walls—over-the-counter medicine, prescription drugs, IV antibiotics, surgical tools.
Even labeled medicinal herbs.
Relief nearly made her knees weak.
In her past life, she had watched infections kill strong men in days.
Not again.
Next floor.
A grocery store.
Fully stocked.
Meat. Dairy. Fresh vegetables. Fruit stacked in neat rows.
Bottled water. Juice. Milk.
Vending machines hummed quietly along one wall.
She pressed a button at random.
A steaming bowl of ramen slid out.
Another button produced golden French toast.
Another—an immaculate slice of chocolate cake.
There was even a bakery section filled with muffins and bread that looked freshly baked.
And she knew—
Nothing here would ever rot.
Ten years. Twenty.
The food would remain perfect.
The next floor held daily necessities.
Toiletries. Bedding. Furniture. Camping tents. Blankets. Tools—hammers, saws, rope, flashlights.
Even generators.
Anything she might need to survive outside if necessary.
The next floor—
A library.
Massive shelves curved in a circular design.
Books from all over the world.
English. Chinese. Languages she didn't recognize.
And others that were clearly not from Earth at all.
Yet when she opened one, she understood it perfectly.
The knowledge flowed effortlessly into her mind.
Agriculture manuals. Survival guides. Advanced physics texts. Magical theory from other worlds.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Finally—
The last floor.
Weapons.
Rows upon rows.
Knives. Swords. Spears.
Guns of every kind.
Ammunition stacked neatly.
Even small bombs secured safely behind reinforced glass.
Her expression hardened.
In her last life, humanity had been powerless for a month against mutated beasts and carnivorous plants.
This time—
She would not be.
A soft chime echoed through the building.
00:02:13.
Time nearly up.
Rosalie took one last look around.
A miniature world.
Safety. Food. Medicine. Knowledge. Weapons.
All hers.
All bound to her.
When the clock hit zero, the world dissolved—
And she was back in her bedroom.
The twins stirred softly in their bassinets.
Morning light filled the apartment.
Rosalie placed a hand over her racing heart.
Five months.
The apocalypse was still coming.
Heat.
Cold.
Green rain.
Monsters.
But this time—
She wasn't just a survivor.
She was prepared.