Regressing Through the Apocalypse with the Third Male Lead-Chapter 30: Volume 2. : Nightmare 3.1

One Past Life Ago...

June 9, 2027

Freyah gazed at the land ahead, her heart pounding in her chest. After two years and seven long months since the apocalypse began, she was finally here.

Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed to her knees on the small ferry. The weight of exhaustion, fear, and anticipation crashed over her all at once.

She had finally made it to Bohol.

A memory surfaced—one that haunted her through sleepless nights and endless battles.

Freyah!

Freyah!

Please answer me!

Her father’s last message. The one she never got to reply to. She had been too busy running, too busy surviving.

And then, the world had gone silent. The internet failed, cutting off any last hope of communication.

"Hey, are you alright?"

The voice pulled her back to the present. She blinked up at her master, his expression unreadable.

"Ah... Master," she murmured. "It’s just... after all this time, we finally made it here. But what if my family... what if they’re... they’re—"

Her voice broke, choked by the weight of her fears. The worst-case scenario clawed at the edges of her mind.

Snap.

A sharp flick against her forehead made her wince. She looked up in surprise.

"Silly girl," her master muttered, staring ahead. "I won’t feed you false hope, not in times like these. But what have I always told you? Prepare yourself for the worst."

He extended a hand toward her. She hesitated only a moment before gripping it, allowing him to pull her back to her feet.

"Yes..." she whispered.

Her heart raced as she looked toward the approaching shore. Worry churned inside her, a storm raging in her mind. She had already lost Monica. She had already lost Gwenette. And that was more than she could bear.

How much more could she take?

What if the people she had fought so hard to reach—her father, her family—were already gone?

Her fingers curled into fists as she stared down at her trembling hands.

"I have the skill," she muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "And yet... people keep dying in front of me. I can’t protect anyone. I can’t save—"

"That’s not true."

Freyah turned at the voice. A small group stood behind her, their faces worn with hardship but filled with understanding.

"You saved us," one of them said gently.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself," another added. "A lot of things happen that are out of our control. None of it is your fault."

Her master’s voice cut through the moment.

"Stay strong, Freyah."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.

But deep down, she knew—whatever awaited her on that island, she would have to face it. No matter what.

***

Back in the Present Time...

December 20, 2024 – Saturday

San Roque Village, Talibon, Bohol

Eman’s eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was a wooden ceiling. Blinking away the lingering haze of sleep, he slowly pushed himself upright.

Then, instinctively, he looked at his left arm.

His breath hitched. His hand—it was gone.

Yet, strangely, there was no pain. No blood. No bandages. Just a smooth, healed stump where his hand used to be.

He knew he should have died. The last thing he remembered was bleeding out, knowing that excessive blood loss would soon claim him.

And yet... he was here. Alive. Whole—except for his missing hand.

Was it all just a dream?

To be sure, he pinched his side. A sharp sting confirmed it—No, this is real.

"You’re awake, boy!"

Startled, Eman snapped his head toward the doorway.

An elderly woman entered the room, dressed in a checkered long dress with a blue jacket draped over her shoulders. Her face was lined with age, but her sharp eyes studied him with quiet curiosity.

Before he could respond, she turned and left. Moments later, she returned, carrying a glass of water.

"Here, drink up."

Eman took the glass and drank, the cool liquid easing his parched throat.

"Thank you, Nay..." he murmured, handing the glass back.

The old woman gave a gentle smile. "Selma. That’s my name. And you, boy? What do they call you?"

"It’s Eman. Nanay Selma, thank you for taking care of me." His brows furrowed as he finally asked the burning question in his mind. "Where am I? What happened to me?"

"You’re in my house, here in Talibon, Bohol," Nanay Selma said. "I heard you came from Manila."

Eman’s eyes widened. Bohol?

How? The last thing he remembered was a gunshot—then a terrifying woman had appeared out of nowhere and carried him away. Everything after that was a blur.

"How long was I unconscious?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Was I in a coma for weeks? Months? His wound looked far too healed for it to have only been a day.

Nanay Selma chuckled. "Oh, you were only brought here last night."

"...Last night?" Eman echoed in disbelief.

"Yes, is something wrong?" she asked, raising a brow at his stunned expression.

Realizing how shocked he must’ve looked, Eman quickly shook his head. "Ah—sorry, Nay. I just... wasn’t expecting that."

His mind raced. That’s impossible. How could my wound have healed so fast?

Regaining his composure, he asked, "Do you know where the people who brought me here are?"

Nanay Selma nodded. "Inday Freyah is on top of the abandoned house on the small hill. She’s been in discussions with the village elders since this morning." She gestured toward the direction. "I can guide you there later."

Before Eman could respond, his stomach let out a loud growl.

He looked away, embarrassed.

Nanay Selma laughed heartily. "Haha! You must be starving."

Eman scratched the back of his head. "Uh... yeah. Sorry about that, Nay."

"Nothing to apologize for, child. You need to eat before anything else." She smiled warmly. "Any food allergies?"

"No, I’m good with anything," he answered, still feeling a bit sheepish.

"Well then, sit tight. I’ll get you something to eat before we head out." freewёbnoνel.com

As she stepped out of the room, Eman took a deep breath, trying to make sense of everything.

***

Moments Later...

Freyah studied the map spread out on the table. Her finger traced the lines and markings she had made beforehand.

"As I said, I want to create the strongest fortress in our village," she declared, looking at the people gathered around her.

The map was one she had printed back when she still had access to Google Maps—before the world fell apart.

"From defenses to food and water supplies, medical facilities, and even research stations..." She continued listing her plans, pointing at different areas where each facility should be established.

"First, we need a solid perimeter wall. I see that you’ve put up spiked logs, but that won’t be enough. Stronger monsters—and even dangerous people—could come in the future. Nothing is certain right now."

Monica’s father, a slim man with a small beard, crossed his arms. "So, you’re suggesting a cemented wall around the area?"

"Yes, Uncle." Freyah nodded.

"But not just that—I want it reinforced with metal inside, buried deep into the ground before we cement over it. Can it be done?"

Her father was the first to speak. "Of course, it can be done."

The others exchanged looks and nodded in agreement.

"Then let’s begin right away," Freyah said firmly.

"There’s a hardware supply store just down the mountain," Uncle Bob suggested. "I can take the truck and—"

"You don’t need to do that, Uncle," Freyah interrupted. She turned to a middle-aged man sitting quietly at the table. "Tatay Timothy, please?"

Tatay Timothy smirked. "Got it."

Without another word, he picked up a cup from the table—then, in an instant, it vanished from his hand. A moment later, it reappeared.

The room fell silent in awe. The twins grinned proudly.

"That’s one hell of a useful skill," Monica’s dad muttered.

Tatay Timothy chuckled. "I can store anything. Just tell me what we need."

"Then let’s move," Uncle Bob said.

"Yes, let’s do this," another elder agreed.

"I’m coming with you," Freyah added. Then she glanced at the rest of the group. "Once we return, we’ll begin construction immediately."

As Uncle Bob, Tatay Timothy, and Freyah headed for the door, Florence silently followed behind her. She no longer minded—she had grown used to his presence.

Her father, however, watched Florence carefully, scrutinizing him as the men began discussing things among themselves. The twins slipped out quietly, not wanting to hear the endless ramblings of the elders. Most of it was lost on them anyway.

An Hour Later...

Freyah and the others returned with the supplies. Tatay Timothy emptied his storage, unloading everything they had gathered—including the extra resources he had taken from raiding the abandoned mall.

Without wasting time, the construction of the wall began.

Freyah, using her superhuman strength, took on the heavy lifting.

Meanwhile, her mother, Gwenette, and the other aunties busied themselves with preparing meals for the workers.

For the next several days, everyone in the village worked tirelessly. The labor was exhausting, but the sight of their defenses rising gave them hope.

Even Florence joined in. Though at first unfamiliar with manual labor, he quickly became fascinated with the process—especially when he was given a shovel to mix cement. He followed instructions closely, determined to contribute.

Freyah occasionally found the sight amusing.

The once-great and favored prince of an empire... mixing cement?

A smirk tugged at her lips.

Florence, noticing her gaze, paused. "What is it, Milady?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, averting her eyes before returning to her task of digging a trench for the steel reinforcements.

The fortress of San Roque was beginning to take shape.

And with it, the first step toward their survival.

Terminologies

Nanay – Filipino term for "mother" or a respectful way to address elderly women.

Tatay – Filipino term for "father" or a respectful way to address elderly men.

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