Who was she? What was she? Where was she? The answers to these questions were at the very forefront of her clouded mind, sharp and distinct against the chaotic darkness that had engulfed her very being, but there was still an undercurrent of mystery, of uncertainty, that tainted these answers. She was Feng Jiandi yet also Nüwa. Why was this so? She was supposedly human yet felt as if a part of her was different. Why was this so? She was in the ruined metropolis of New York yet she remembered only the quiet grandeur of Luoyang. Why was this so?

Why was this so? 

Why was she sitting in the remains of a restaurant's second-storey, drinking green tea from cracked china as she beheld what had once been the jewel of western civilisation, now a ruined city wasting away in a dying world? What calamity had laid waste to humanity? What suffering had brought low their spirits? And what trauma ... what danger ... what had taken away her memories? Her identity? Why was her mind so clouded, lacking in clarity? Who had she been? Why was she here? What had changed her?

Why was this so?

She placed the cracked china back onto the rotting table, the quiet thud the only sound to disturb the eerie quiet of her new world. Her eyes watched the steam rise from the cup. It was soothing, calming. She could allay her doubts, allow her mind to rest. She could continue on in such a manner forever if she wished.

Yet her heart refused.

It bayed at her blood. It called for her to act, to leave this ruined restaurant for the greater city. Responsibility and duty. It called to her. It was her role to fix it all, her heart said. She could not simply avoid it all. Her misgivings, her fears ... they were to be discarded.

How strange, she thought. How strange it was that she felt the chains of duty to a world she knew nothing of. It was grand ... prideful.

But ...

Feng Jidian sipped the last of her tea and rose to her feet.

It was a role she would gladly embrace.