Back home, warmth waited like a half-remembered dream half-buried under stone and rust.
The moment Eris and Kaylah stepped through the improvised door, a patchwork of scavenged sheet metal and hinges more squeak than swing, a chorus of delighted squeals erupted from Kaylah's sisters at the sight of fresh game. Lisei, a blur of boundless energy, her vivid red hair catching the dim light, danced barefoot on the cold stone floor, chanting, "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!" Her bright, curious green eyes, wide with an unyielding spark of wonder, constantly absorbed the secrets of their underground world.
Not to be outdone, little Myrah, with her own soft, dreaming pools of muted green eyes and a shock of bright red hair, had already scrambled halfway up a rusted pipe bolted to the wall, crowing her victory as Queen of Dinner. Kaylah, with the weary grace of an older sibling, snagged Myrah by the ankle before gravity could claim its due, planting her back on solid ground with a look that clearly stated, "You're not quite unbreakable yet, little one."
Behind them, a pair of older clan folk paused at the door frame, peering past the warm flicker of a scavenged oil lamp. One of them nudged the other; a low, half-whispered exchange. "Silver vein's boy brought meat? Maybe that shine's worth something after all." Then gone again, feet shuffling down the passage. Little rumors, seeds planted in the hush.
Eris, meanwhile, took to the makeshift table. A testament to ingenuity, crafted from old oil drums hammered flat to clean their meager catch. He worked the blade steady through fur and sinew, each stroke clean and measured, just the way Elder Ruvio had taught: Don't waste meat. Don't waste motion."
Beside him, Kaylah bent over the old iron pot, stirring the thin broth with a splintered wooden ladle. She added pinches of brittle herbs; dry mint and pale roots that Lisei had bartered from a passing scavenger only yesterday. Her quick fingers, Spark-Finger, a name dubbed by Eris when he felt bold enough to tease her, hovered over the flame, adjusting the heat by nudging the old valve she'd coaxed back from rust-death two winters ago.
Back in the hush of the burrow, Eris sat cross-legged near Lisei's feet. The lingering scent of roasted meat, a rare luxury, still perfumed the air. Lisei draped her tattered map across Eris' knee, a jumble of eager babble about new tunnels discovered and fascinating, broken machines they could surely fix, her small fingers tracing paths only she could see. Myrah, meanwhile, curled into Kaylah's side, her small voice a persistent, soft plea for a story.
So, Eris gave them one; a low, soft tale about the legendary Ghost Buck of the Upper Wastes.
Eris described its antlers, like twisted rebar, and its coat, the color of twilight and shadow, how it moved without a whisper, leading hunters on impossible chases, always just beyond reach. But he told them of the one tracker, a woman named Jannah, who finally found its hidden spring, a place where clear water bubbled up from poisoned earth, and how, by understanding its hunger, she lured the impossible beast into a snare woven from moonlit vines, providing enough meat to feed her clan through the longest winter.
As Eris spoke the name, Jannah, a strange, half-formed image flashed through his mind—the quiet girl Ruvio had brought back long ago, the one who watched him from the shadows, Luna. Or, was it Dara? She's an outlander. She's accepted by elders due to her tracking abilities. He didn't know if the tales were true, or if there was any connection at all. He just knew the feeling was unsettling. The sisters drifted off between giggles and soft yawns, their heads growing heavy on Kaylah's lap, their breaths evening out into the quiet hum of sleep.
They ate with their legs tangled under blankets and crates, knees bumping, laughter slipping out between mouthfuls of broth too thin to count as feast but rich enough to feel like one. Myrah clutched her prize bone like a scepter, declaring herself Queen of Tomorrow's Soup before nodding off against Kaylah's shoulder. Lisei tried to build a small fort out of scavenged cans, occasionally peeking out to make sure the "monster of hunger" hadn't snuck in to steal her share.
The air, thick with the scent of roasted meat and wood smoke, vibrated with a rare, collective sigh of contentment. For these few hours, the crushing weight of their world eased, replaced by the simple warmth of belonging.
Kaylah's fingers, light as a whisper, brushed Ari's wrist when the faint light under his skin trembled again, a restless ghost.
"One day," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the gentle sounds of the sleeping girls, "you'll learn to hold it without breaking yourself."
Eris only smiled; a flicker of teeth in the dim light, of old scars mended into something stronger, tougher. He offered no words, only the quiet understanding that passed between them.
Later, when the last of the embers glowed like tired eyes in the communal pit, Kaylah found herself watching Eris. He had finally succumbed to exhaustion, head lolling slightly to one side, his breath soft and even in sleep. The faint silver pulse beneath the skin of his wrist was barely visible now, a quiet rhythm. Her fingers instinctively reached out, hovering just above his skin, then drew back. A silent promise tightened around her heart: Even the ruin can't have you yet. It was a fierce, quiet moment, a small defiance against the overwhelming threats of their world.
A sudden, sharp clang echoed from the main thoroughfare, cutting through the night's hush. It was followed by the frantic, panicked shouts of men, a sound Kaylah had heard only once before, the night they were found. The clamor grew louder, closer; a storm of fear and alarm. It was the frantic, unmistakable beat of an emergency. Kaylah's heart leaped into her throat.
Something had gone wrong at the gates.