Apocalypse: Transmigrated General's Daughter Uses Space to Survive

The clock sighs its final breath,

shadows curling like dying embers.

I walk the thread of twilight’s edge,

where echoes of fate murmur in riddles.

Death lingers, a whispering tide,

a hush before the storm of rebirth.

Not into the silence of forgotten names,

but into a world where the sky burns red.

The wind howls of ruin to come,

a month’s grace before the earth shatters.

Steel and ash, hunger and blood—