In Haven Below, even victory tasted like ash. The elders called it a hunt, but Eris knew better—every step outside the walls was a gamble with death.
[The Scrapyard Hunt]
Eris and Kaylah ascended a low, rocky knoll just beyond the outer gate. From its crest, a patchwork of desolation stretched before them. It's their designated hunting ground. They'd done this countless times, almost every day, scanning the barren landscape for any flicker of life. Still, a familiar, stubborn hope lingered; that today, they might find something better. Maybe, just maybe, a new beginning would unfold from this familiar routine.
Kaylah, ever the dreamer, let her gaze drift past the twisted skeletons of old-world vehicles. She pictured a house, a real one, like the elders sometimes spoke of. Stories of a time before, perhaps true, perhaps mere echoes of longing.
In her wandering mind, there's a table laden with a hearty meal, a storage filled to bursting with fascinating things to tinker with. And books. Not the few, brittle pages they'd salvaged and hoarded, but whole volumes filled with happy tales, magical in their minds, stories that would make children truly happy. Not that they complained about the adventures they concocted themselves, but another kind of magic would be welcome, beyond the endless hunt for rabbits. She imagined Eris then, no longer mysterious or burdened by the silver light in his veins, but a grown man, his face soft with a constant, contented smile.
Eris, by her side, wasn't prone to such elaborate daydreams. He was a creature of stark reality, though a quiet hope for a better life was a constant, dull ache within him. He didn't envision a bright future like Kaylah; he just yearned for a life less relentlessly difficult. His hazel eyes, quick and restless, skimmed the ragged hunting ground, searching the shadows for what might lie beyond.
First, he looked south, back towards the great, gaping tunnel mouth of Haven Below, where the mountain cliff rose sheer and unyielding. Then, to the west, where the land climbed into jagged rock, a broken railroad track vanishing into the impassable chasm of the deeper gorge. Nothing there but emptiness. His gaze then slid eastward, over the sprawling scrapyard, a grotesque museum of corroded metal and inexplicable machines. This was the scavengers' domain, picked clean by Kaylah and others like her, but far beyond, rumor spoke of a small, ruined city. It was a place guarded by packs of glass-backs, a wasteland no one dared enter.
Finally, he turned north. Here, the land opened into a desolate plain, dotted with skeletal trees and hardy shrubs. Beyond, a shallower gorge, less daunting than its western twin, invited passage. A second railroad trail snaked down into its depths, hinting at a path forward. He knew the river snaked through that gorge's bottom, its current vanishing beneath cracked earth, its course a mystery.
And beyond that northern gorge, the shadows of a vast forest loomed, promising both game and peril. Rumor said, leading to a ruined city grander than any other, and Elder Ruvio had crossed that very land, perhaps still did so in secret, the very place where he'd found them.
A subtle shift in the air, a whisper that wasn't wind, made Eris pause. His silver hummed low in his wrist, a familiar thrum that usually signaled danger, but this was different—a prickle of awareness rather than alarm. It felt... like a distant echo. He focused, his gaze narrowing on a cluster of petrified trees at the far northern edge of their hunting ground, near the lip of the shallower gorge. He scanned the familiar terrain. Nothing. Yet, the hum persisted, a faint, almost melodic vibration.
He turned to Kaylah, who was still lost in her reverie, a wisp of a smile on her lips. He didn't speak, just nudged her with his elbow.
"Anything?" she murmured, snapping back to the present, her eyes immediately sharp, scanning.
Eris shook his head slowly, still looking north. "Just a feeling," he said, his voice low, almost to himself. "Something out of place. Further out." His gaze lingered on the distant, shadowed line of the forest beyond the northern gorge. It was too far for a small hunt, too dangerous for today. But the feeling, that faint, unusual resonance, sparked a different kind of hunger within him, one for knowledge, for answers. He marked the spot in his mind. Perhaps next time. For now, small mercies.
***
[The Hunt for "Small Mercies]
Eris moved as if this part of the scrub land were an extension of his own skin, his bow resting easy across one shoulder, steps soft and deliberate on crumbling sprawling roots and vines. His lean build, still that of a boy but with a wiry strength hinting at what was to come, made him almost disappear into the shadows. Thin white scars, like brambles, crisscrossed his arms and knees — old reminders of climbs and falls.
Kaylah followed close behind, her scavenging knife strapped securely to her thigh, eyes ceaselessly sweeping every shadowed corner. Their hunt wasn't just for meat; it was for anything Haven Below could consume. Their gaze constantly scanned for edible roots pushing through cracks in the rocks where scrub land now lies, the faint green of a hardy plant that promised a bitter but vital nutrient, or scattered scraps of metal and wire that might be hammered into tools or bartered for favors.
Another day, another empty belly," she murmured, her voice a low rasp against the pre-dawn quiet. A puff of visible breath escaped her lips. "The children's ribs are showing more with each passing day. We need a good hunt today, River-Boy. A really good one." She nudged his shoulder gently, feeling the tautness of his muscles beneath his worn tunic. "Don't trip over your own feet today. We can't afford a sprain. You're too valuable for that." She taunted him when Eris was scratched by thorny shrubs.
"Just try to keep up, Scrap-Girl." He glanced at her, a knowing glint in his eyes, a shared weariness.
Kaylah flicked his shoulder, quick and sharp. "Fast doesn't matter, Rabbit-chaser, if you can't gut what you catch."
Beneath her shove, Eris felt the ghost of her hand trembling; the same tremor she hid when the lamps flickered out. He never said a word. Some things you pretended not to see so you could keep believing.
Eris snorted, nudging her elbow with his own. "Says Trap-hands, who'd rather fix dead lamps than skin rabbits."
This playful jab, born of shared hardship, was their constant, quiet affirmation. In the ruin, these small, sharp words were their truest tether, a fragile warmth against the endless cold. It was why, no matter how many times the elders warned him, no matter how much the whispers followed him, he would always wait for her. And he knew, a truth as solid as the rock beneath them, that when the river inside him pulsed with cold fury, it was her touch he craved, a whisper of calm in the storm."
He felt the familiar, dull ache in his own belly, but deeper, a burning resolve coiled there. It wasn't just about food today. It was about finding something more; he would learn to control the river inside him, to truly bend it to his will; a resolve fueled by every hollow cough and gaunt face in Haven Below.
His thought was focused on the Elder's teaching. The old man of stone and shadows, had taught them how to hunt in this desolate world, where gnarled roots swallowed the bones of rusted metal, and silent dangers lurked in every whisper of wind. He'd taught Eris to listen: to the faint hiss of wind through broken glass, to the hushed scrape of claws on stone, and to the unsettling tremor in his own veins that sometimes reached for something other, something not quite human. Elder Ruvio called it 'the song of buried waters,' a power that could both give and take, a piece of the ruin that lived inside him.
"You listen," Elder Ruvio had always murmured, his eyes ancient and knowing, "but, you must also learn to ask. The river holds more than just currents. It holds memory. And secrets." Eris had never fully understood what the elder meant by 'asking,' but the phrase had settled in his mind, a persistent, half-formed question waiting for an answer. Was it a riddle? A method? A key to unlocking the power he barely understood?
He listened now. Their steps tuned to every fractured echo. His senses were stretched thin, searching for any sign of life, no matter how small. A flicker of movement. The faint splash of water. A distant rustle beneath a half-buried, skeletal car. He knelt, his gaze sharp, tracing the disturbed soil. Small prints. A hare, perhaps, or if they were truly lucky, two. But they'd take anything; a fat, slow frog from a cracked water pipe, the flutter of a sparrow in a crumbling wall, even the slither of a lizard sunning itself on hot metal. Their meager rations in Haven Below were dwindling.
Kaylah, ever vigilant, glanced instinctively at the ragged hills, always watching for the black shadows that slithered and writhed when the harsh sun struck too bright, revealing too much. Her sharp, greenish-gray eyes eyes, almost black; it's sharp as a scavenger's blade, always flicking to small details. They held a peculiar, depth-less quality, as if they'd seen too much of the ruin's true face, distinct from the duller gazes of others.
Eris shifted his weight, a subtle tremor in the cracked earth beneath his worn boots. He could feel it, a faint vibration that wasn't just the wind or the distant hum of Haven Below. It was the frantic, skittering pulse of a rabbit, hidden somewhere in the sparse scrub between him and the gorge's edge.
She moved like a shadow beside him, her quick eyes scanning the skeletal remains of a rusted bus, its frame a cage against the pale sky. "Left," she mouthed, her fingers signing a tight circle. "Closer to the drop."
They fanned out, silent, practiced. This wasn't the thrill of a big game hunt, but the desperate, patient art of "small mercies." The air was cold, tasting of metal and damp stone, a constant reminder of their grim world. Here, every twitch of an ear, every disturbed pebble, meant the difference between a meager meal and another night of gnawing hunger.
He hunkered down behind a collapsed section of reinforced concrete, barely large enough to conceal him. The silver hummed low in his wrist, a soft current, not a flare. He focused it, pushing the subtle kinetic perception outwards, feeling the ground, the vibrations, the tiny shift of air currents. There. A flash of white fur against the dull grey of a broken pipe. The rabbit was old, wary, no doubt accustomed to the desperate hunters from Haven Below.
Kaylah was already circling, her form blending with the rust-colored wreckage. She carried a lightweight net, crafted from salvaged comms wire, taut and ready. Eris adjusted his grip on his bow, the scavenged arrows fletched with scraps of leather. He wouldn't aim for a killing shot, not yet. Just a distraction, a nudge.
The hum in his wrist intensified, a familiar warmth spreading. He drew the bowstring taut, notching an arrow. The energy flowed, familiar yet ever-dangerous, ready to amplify the smallest motion. He wouldn't risk a full flare here, not with Kaylah so close to the gorge. He breathed, controlled the pulse, and released.
The arrow whistled, not at the rabbit, but a foot to its right, striking a loose piece of corrugated metal with a sharp clatter. The rabbit bolted, a grey streak across the desolate ground, right into the path Kaylah had anticipated. The net sprung, a glint of wire, and then the muffled thud as the small creature was caught.
Kaylah moved quickly, a swift, practiced motion. She held up the trapped rabbit, a grim but triumphant smile on her dust-smudged face. "Another one for Emberlight," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper against the wind that carried the scent of metal and desperation.
Eris nodded, the hum in his wrist slowly fading. One rabbit. A small mercy indeed. But enough for tonight, enough to keep the embers of home flickering a little longer.
"Rabbit's enough," she said, her voice soft, tinged with a weariness that belied her years. Her gaze drifted over the ruined cityscape, vast and unforgiving. "...today, anyway."
Eris nodded; his eyes fixed on the distant, broken skyline that swallowed their secrets whole. "One day," he murmured, the words not a wish, but a vow he spoke as much to himself as to her, "we won't have to scrape. One day, we'll find more than just enough."
Kaylah's snort was soft, a breath of cold air, but there was no cynicism in it, only grim resolve. "Right, Eris," pulling a stray burr from the hare's ear. "One day, you'll gut beasts that could feed Haven for a month." She met his gaze, her own eyes holding a fierce, quiet fire, "And I'll fix more than just scraps, River-Boy. I'll build things that truly last, things that keep the ruin from ever creeping in again."
Their breath misted between them, ghost-white against the ruin's hush. Then they rose together, their small prize dangling from Eris' grip. It's a fragile promise pulled from the bones of the old world, a stepping stone to a future they swore to claim.
And below, Haven waited, hungry as ever.
As they turned back towards the tunnel mouth, a fleeting flicker of movement caught his eye high on the cliff face to their left, gone as quickly as it appeared. Just the ruin, playing tricks. Or maybe not.
***