She stands atop the palace walls, gazing out at a world that does not belong to her.
He follows fragments of a dream through years of wandering, searching for someone he never truly lost yet can never seem to reach.

In this era, loneliness is no longer destiny.
It is a flaw that can be corrected.
Until a woman who cannot be replicated becomes the system's only anomaly.

After Los Angeles fell, he learned to travel alone, surviving the apocalypse with a crossbow and dagger. She, meanwhile, is a flame that refuses to go out, carrying a katana and radio through the ruined city as she searches for those she lost—and for a reason to keep living.

He does not kill out of hatred or desire. Every body, every wound, and every arrangement is a work completed with meticulous care. She was meant to become the next piece in his collection, but he kept her alive because she understood his “art.”