World Rejector

Chapter 8: The day flowers withered

(Nana’s perspective.)

The town was alive with laughter and warmth—and I stood at the heart of it.

Every morning was the same, but it never grew old. As I walked the cobbled streets toward the schoolhouse, I heard the patter of small feet behind me before I felt their tiny hands slip into mine. Their voices followed soon after, high and bright, filled with unfiltered joy.

"Teacher Nana! Teacher Nana!"

Their faces glowed like the morning sun cresting over the hills. In that light, it was easy to believe that this world was kind.

I smiled at them—how could I not?—and squeezed their hands gently as we walked together.

I loved them. More than anything, I loved them.

I loved their curiosity, their endless questions tumbling from their lips with an urgency that demanded answers. “Why do birds sing, Teacher Nana?” “Why do leaves fall in autumn?” “Do the stars tell stories if we listen hard enough?”

I told them yes. I told them that every falling leaf, every star in the sky, every whisper of the wind had a story. And they believed me.

Their eyes would widen when I spoke of the old traditions from the East, of the ancient spirits that guarded nature, of heroes who stood for justice and kindness.

And when I brought those stories to life—when I made vines twist and dance, or coaxed blossoms to open with a simple wave of my hand—they would gasp and laugh.

I wove crowns from wildflowers and placed them on their heads. I shaped animals from living branches to act out their favorite fables.

Their joy was my joy.

The townspeople said I was a blessing. But it was they who had blessed me.

The cobbler who always had a kind word.

The old woman who knitted scarves and swore I was too thin.

The baker, who handed me warm pastries every morning and said, “You’re a gift to this town, Nana. We’re lucky to have you.”

And I believed him.

I was lucky.

I had found a home here, among people who saw me not as an ability user, not as something strange or dangerous, but as Teacher Nana.

And then they came.

Strangers in sleek white coats.

Their boots were too clean for this place. Their smiles too sharp.

They walked through our streets like they were surveying land they already owned.

I watched them from the doorway of my classroom as they approached. My children gathered behind me, their fingers gripping my skirt.

The leader stopped a few paces away. His glasses caught the sunlight, turning his eyes into flat, gleaming discs.

"Miss Nana," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Your ability is extraordinary. Why waste it here? In New Silicon Valley, you could thrive. You could help the world in ways you’ve never imagined."

I smiled back, but there was no warmth in it. "This is my home. These are my people. I belong here."

He tilted his head as if examining an interesting specimen.

"The world is changing," he said. "Abilities like yours belong to the future. Not in a place stuck in the past."

I stood taller. "This town isn’t stuck in the past. It’s where my future lies. And I choose to stay."

He sighed, rubbing his temples like a weary parent indulging a stubborn child.

"Very well," he said. "If that’s your decision."

For a moment, I thought it was over.

For a moment, I believed I had protected them.

I was wrong.

That night, the sky burned.

I woke to the sound of explosions, of buildings crumbling like sandcastles kicked over by careless feet.

I ran to the window and saw flames devouring the homes I passed each morning.

The air was thick with smoke and screaming.

I grabbed my cloak and ran, barefoot across stone streets now slick with blood and ash.

I found bodies lying in the streets—neighbors, friends. People I had shared bread with, laughed with, cried with.

But I was still searching.

I was still looking for them.

For my children.

And I found them.

Some tried to run. Others clung to each other, hiding in corners, their small bodies shaking.

But there was nowhere to hide from the soldiers in white, from the drones that hovered above and rained fire down upon them.

I saw their bright eyes, once filled with wonder, now wide with terror.

And then, empty.

Lifeless.

"No… No!" My knees buckled. I crawled to them, hands shaking as I tried to pull them close, as if my touch could warm their cold skin.

But they were gone.

All of them.

Every face I cherished, every laugh I treasured—gone, like smoke in the wind.

And through the flames, I saw him.

The man with the glasses.

He stood untouched by the chaos, watching me.

"You should have come willingly," he said. His voice was as smooth as it had been that afternoon. Empty. Cold.

I tried to rise.

Tried to summon the earth itself to swallow them whole.

But before I could act, I was seized.

White-coated hands pinned me down, strapped me into something cold and metallic.

And then there was darkness.

When I woke, it was to sterile light.

Cold.

White.

I was no longer Teacher Nana.

I was Subject 42.

They stripped me of my name.

Of my self.

Needles pierced my veins.

Machines buzzed and hummed, recording, analyzing, dissecting.

Pain became my world.

I forgot the feel of sunlight on my skin.

Forgot the sound of laughter.

Even forgot the sound of my own voice.

Time lost all meaning.

I dreamed of green things withering beneath my hands.

Of roots turned to ash.

I stopped dreaming altogether.

And then she came.

She was light in the dark.

A woman cloaked in white, her beauty blinding, her presence almost holy.

Saint White.

She knelt beside me and touched my face.

For the first time in an eternity, I felt warmth.

"Poor, broken thing," she whispered. "They took everything from you. But I can give you purpose. I can give you justice."

Her words poured into me like water into parched earth.

She shattered my chains as if they were made of brittle twigs.

Lifted me from the abyss with gentle hands.

And I followed her.

What else did I have left?

In the White Cult, I found sanctuary.

A place where broken things like me could be remade.

Where I was given a new purpose.

For a time, I lived quietly again.

Teaching children.

Smiling as I wove crowns from flowers.

Pretending I was still Teacher Nana.

Pretending I was still human.

But deep inside, I knew the truth.

I wasn’t Teacher Nana anymore.

I was something else.

Something they had made me.

Something they would all come to fear.

And soon, the world would know it too.