The times before the war are blurry.
But the day it started?
I remember it like it was yesterday.
I wasn't alive for the first rending
But by the time the second one came around, we were already an endangered species.
Times were hard, and the people, even harder.
Whatever it once meant to be human... had been lost somewhere along the way.
.
.
Brother... why was he still up this late?
I heard the soft flap of his tent opening.
Quiet steps. Hushed movements.
Sneaky.
He was definitely up to something and I had to find out.
.
.
It wasn't hard to follow him or slip past the guards on night watch.
My senses stretch far beyond what any normal human could manage.
"Sarit, fetch me my horse and tell the men to get ready to follow."
He was at the stables.
Smart. He'd probably swapped out the stable boys earlier, replacing them with his own men.
That made things easier for me.
With all of them gone, there was no one left to spot me or ask annoying questions like why I was riding out in the dead of night to Gaia-knows-where.
Not that it mattered.
I could see better in the dark than most people in camp could in broad daylight.
.
.
I fastened the stirrup on my horse, Quinley, my Paso Fino.
Swift but gentle, just like always.
I've had her since I was eight.
She turned her head to look at me , ears flicking.
I ran my fingers through her mane, smoothing it gently.
"It's okay, girl," I whisper as she settled down.
.
.
I follow them from a safe distance, heading in the direction of the Amerian Plains.
There was nothing out here for miles.
What were they doing?
After about an hour of riding, I spot it.
A tent, just one. Out in the middle of nowhere.
Three figures stand guard outside.
I scan around and spot four more, tucked into the outgrowths surrounding the tent, half hidden and armed.
As my brother's group approaches, their pace slows until they finally come to a halt.
They dismount.
My brother steps forward, flanked by three of his men. They stop at the tent's entrance while the rest fan out to form a perimeter.
I bring Quinley to a halt and slid off quietly, settling behind a rocky outcrop.
Patience may not be my strongest virtue and I've never had the stomach for watching dumb boys play at war but if there's one thing I'm good at, it's finding out things I wasn't supposed to.
From nearly a hundred meters out, I could make out the two figures inside the tent. I could hear them too.
What I saw... shocked me.
.
.
The candlelight flickered, its flame swaying with the cold night air that whispered through the little openings of the tent. Outside, the night murmured—low voices, distant fire crackle, the weight of a war neither of us wanted to name.
Across from me, Kairo D'karo sat still, composed.
But I knew better.
The silence between us stretched thin, brittle, like glass ready to shatter. He watched me with that quiet authority he had always carried—the kind of look that made one feel small and doubtful.
That was in the past, anyways. Now, I saw him for what he truly was.
"You've changed," I said finally, breaking the silence that had grown suffocating.
His gaze, sharp as flint, didn't waver. "So have you."
I exhaled slowly. "That night—the blackout—everything changed. You lost your way."
His fingers curled slightly against the table, but his face remained unreadable.
"Severed from the source," he admitted. "And yet, here I stand."
"Scrambling," I corrected. "Desperate."
The muscle in his jaw twitched. That was new.
The man I once knew never betrayed his emotions.
But that Kairo—the one who had once commanded with quiet strength—was gone.
Outside, the wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and the faint metallic tinge of blood.
A reminder of what was at stake.
I leaned forward. "Your men are questioning you. You feel it, don't you? The way they hesitate when you speak, the way they whisper when they think you're not listening."
His nostrils flared slightly, but he said nothing.
"You would do it," I pressed, voice low.
"If the choice were yours alone, you'd burn the world down just to reclaim what you lost.
But your war chiefs are not as willing as they once were, are they?"
The flicker of shock that crossed his face was brief, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
I had struck a nerve. I was right.
"Your people followed you because they believed in something," I pressed, my words deliberate, heavy. "But now, they see what you refuse to admit. That Gaia did not abandon us. It abandoned you."
His chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, the candlelight casting long shadows across his face.
"I see this was a waste of my time," he said, his voice quiet, cold. "If we meet again, I hope you do not regret the decision you've made."
I said nothing as he turned toward the tent flap. But as he reached for it, he hesitated—just for a fraction of a second.
That hesitation told me everything.
I let out a slow breath as he left, my gaze falling to the candle. The flame was smaller now, flickering weakly as if it, too, felt the weight of the everything that had just passed.
How had we fallen so far apart?
Once, I had believed in the strength of our bond.
Once, I had looked up to him, followed in his footsteps, tried to be like the man I'd grown up hearing stories about.
Now, I see that was naïve.
I turned toward the shadows where I knew Anariem waited—watching, listening.
Of course she'd follow us. She wouldn't have been able to resist.
The thing about our family was that we could always tell when one of us was near.
She probably hasn't figured out yet that the connection runs both ways.
A gift from Gaia, I presume.
And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain:
Kairo D'karo was no longer connected to Gaia.
I reached out, brushing my fingers against the wick.
With a soft snuff, I extinguished the flame, plunging the room into darkness.
And just like that, the last remnant of what we had was gone.
.
.
I shook myself from my daze.
My father was alive.
if that even was still the man I once knew.
And now, he and my brother were about to plunge the world into chaos. Again.
I had to do something.