It had come in the night. No one had left town yet—no one was prepared for the sheer _might_ of the storm's wrath. Houses torn from their foundations, entire neighborhoods leveled, the earth littered with the debris of a super nature storm. Mass destruction had gone from an impossibility to an eventuality. Victoria and her husband had been asleep when the worst of it stormed down from the sky. Torrents of hail and rain poured down in merciless sheets, rattling the windows and doors like restless spirits, but they'd slept on, too tired from the baby's near constant crying to do much else than eat and sleep. They, like the others in town, hadn't given much thought to the upcoming forecast. The weatherman's warnings of a storm rivaling that of what they'd seen in a decade's time falling on deaf ears. _After all_, they'd shrugged, _why worry? _The forecast had a habit of exaggerating and the alarms would sound if it was a serious warning. Their mistake. It had come in the night. Victoria had just gotten the baby to sleep when she'd heard the distant rumblings of a thunderstorm brewing in the distance. She thought mildly of the weatherman's warning before disregarding it entirely, chalking the fear she felt up to a new mother's protective instinct. Oh, how she wished it was only her anxiety. Shattered windows and torn blinds, walls groaning dangerously under the weight of fallen trees. Distant shrieks and sirens echoed faintly, the worst of it swallowed by the storm itself. A baby's cry, a home demolished by Mother Nature's hand. Then silence. A long, terrible silence. It had come in the night. And no one was prepared.

The cold swallowed everything. It turned the rivers to glass and left the trees standing like lifeless bones, smothering the land beneath a shroud of ice. The elders told us what had happened. A rogue star had passed through the heavens, pulling Mother Earth from the sunlight’s grasp. Our world had not resisted. It had not fought to stay. It had simply drifted, surrendering us to the dark. We were left to fend for ourselves. The rivers, once teeming with life, lay frozen and still. The forests, once filled with the hum of creatures, went silent. And the land that had once given so freely had nothing left. Burning what little we had, we wrapped ourselves in layers of fur and huddled together like dying embers. The young ones stopped laughing, while the old ones stopped speaking, as every breath we took felt like the last. One night, as the fire burned low and hunger clawed at my ribs, I left the shelter. As the sky stretched vast and empty above me, I pressed my hands against the frozen ground. "You let this happen," I whispered, my breath curling in the air before vanishing into nothing. "You could have fought. You could have stayed. But you left us—“ The wind interrupted, and I clenched my jaw, forcing myself forward. If the Earth would not help, then I would find my own way. So I walked through the snow, searching. Then I heard it. A crack in the distance. My pulse quickened as I followed the sound and found a break in the river's frozen skin. Beneath the ice, dark water moved—fish! I dropped to my knees, breathless. It was impossible, but there it was. A little further on, my fingers brushed something buried in the frost. A root. A stubborn, twisted root—but it was alive. Traversing further through the swirling snow, I saw an elk. Its legs trembled as I watched it take shallow breaths. It was already dying, and I did not waste time considering my good fortune. I took what was given, whispering my thanks to the elk before taking its life. That night, my people ate. But the cold still chased us. The wind still howled, but it did not knock us from our feet. The land still felt empty, yet there was always just enough—just enough shelter, just enough food, and enough hope to keep us moving. And then it happened. We traveled to a place where the rivers ran free, weaving silver lines through dark stone. Where the trees stood thick and full, giving off their rich scent into the air. The land was different, but it was… home. That night, as we sat around the fire, I told the elder of our journey—of the hardships, the impossible moments of survival, and how I had fought against the land itself to keep us alive. She listened thoughtfully, silently, until I had said it all. Then she shook her head. "You think the Earth abandoned us," she said. "But it was never against us, Eira." I stiffened at the sound of my name. She met my gaze, her voice steady. "The Earth suffered, too. It lost its home, just as we did. But even in its grief, it carried us." I frowned. "Carried us?" "Did not the winds soften when you needed breath? The trees hold firm when you needed shelter? The rivers crack when you needed water? And when you desperately needed food enough to feed your people, did not an elk fall where you stood?" Her eyes did not waver. "Do you truly think that was your doing alone?" My stomach twisted at her words. I had been so sure we had survived because I had fought for it. Because I had refused to let the world take us. But what if we had not been fighting against the Earth? What if it had been guiding us all along? I rose to my feet. Without a word, I walked past the fire, beyond the edge of our camp. The wind stirred my hair, as I dropped to my knees and placed my hands on the earth. It was warm. Not the heat of fire or sunlight, but a deep, steady warmth, pulsing beneath my fingertips. A heartbeat. My throat closed. It had never abandoned us. It had been there. All this time. A sob broke from my lips at the realization, tears falling freely as I pressed my forehead to the ground. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice raw. "I thought you had left us. I thought you didn't care." My fingers curled into the dirt. "But you carried me." The wind stirred, soft as a sigh. I lifted my head to wipe my eyes, and as I did, my gaze drifted upward. And then—I saw them. Two stars. Before, there had only ever been one. A lone light in the endless dark. But now, another shone beside it. Twin points of gold, glowing against the blue sky. My breath caught. I had believed I was alone in my journey. That I had fought for every step, every breath, every moment of survival. But she had fought her way through the void, untethered and alone, searching for a new sun to anchor her. To anchor us. And she again had her anchor. And we had her.

The winds were powerful, battering trees and toppling light poles. It felt like a scene from a disgruntled movie set lacking direction. “What if this were a stage of some sort, and we were just actors playing our parts?" Dyami contemplated. However, that’s another story for another time; in this case, the aftermath of the hurricane was horrific. Hurricanes are natural phenomena that occur prominently in the southeastern coastal areas of the United States. They have become the norm for many who have lived here their entire lives. For Dyami, this was his entire existence, having lived in Third Ward, Houston, TX, all his life. This hurricane was the fifth or so he had experienced, and nothing compares to this one—except the fact that he had just lost his home, his place of solitude, the last place he called home. His grandmother passed down the house to him after his mother had passed away two years earlier. No words can describe his feelings. Dyami felt defeated; however, it also served as a reminder of his reality. Pieces of old photo frames, broken trinkets, and shards of china scattered in the rubble were enough to break the heart. His mind could hardly comprehend the thought of looking for a place to stay at this moment. This was truly a life-altering event. For the past few months, Dyami felt an immense urge to sell the house and move to start anew. This hurricane, you can say, sped the process in a way. Although selling to a reputable buyer was the ideal route, the thought of selling was too stressful to begin with. Well. Cats and dogs emerged from the shadows, and neighbors nearby shook their heads in desperation, which had become the norm in these last few minutes. He looked down and gathered his things—or what was left. Salvaging old photo albums and documents was his main priority. Trekking into the unknown had become a frightening reality. The sense of safety wrapped in Dyami’s family home was gone. The familiar essence of his grandparents and the memories that flowed through the carpet had vanished. Just then, memories of his mother began to surface in his mind. Three years ago, he received a life-changing phone call that could easily devastate any unsuspecting young adult just figuring out life. Cancer. Specifically, breast cancer. These words would become deeply etched in his mind forever. Just a few months later, he received another call. “I thought she had more time,” he said on the phone with his grandmother. When he arrived at the hospital, the cool air felt all too familiar. The unsettling quiet, pierced by the beeping of monitors in the background, signaled an impending end. In that moment, Dyami realized that time plays by its own rules and waits for no one to catch up. “Hey, they’re saying the George R. Brown Convention Center is open,” the neighbor across the street shouted out. “Why did I have to stick around for this mess? It wasn’t like me to stay during a catastrophic disaster. Granted, we did wait for Hurricane Ike in 2008. Is it selfish to wonder why such a drastic event impacted my belongings?” Dyami thought to himself. However, this time was marked by a different circumstance. Losing everything all at once was the final blow to the heart. He grabbed what was left of his possessions in a backpack he had packed before the catastrophe. It was unlike Dyami to be unprepared, regardless of the circumstances. Walking through the rubble felt like a fever dream—an overwhelming dream that could trigger an anxiety attack. How was anyone supposed to recover from such damage? The realization that the physical world around him was constantly changing was clear. The signs of catastrophe were like no other. Living in chaotic times, not just in the face of war or economic hardship, the thought of losing every bit of hope was the icing on the cake for a young soul like Dyami. Thinking back on his past memories of seeing his mother healthy and thriving months before her diagnosis was filling a small empty hole in his heart. Life had just begun. While he inherited his childhood home, landing a well-paying job was also fulfilling. During his mother’s radiation treatments, the joy he felt stemmed from her progress and the opportunities that came with his youth. This hurricane served as a simple reminder not to get too comfortable, for anyone can have everything taken away if they rely solely on their wits to get through. The cheat code to life is to never become too comfortable. Dyami began walking toward the convention center with a group of his neighbors. The floodwaters were still evident but had receded. Dyami’s journey through the flooded streets was overshadowed by a solemn gloom. The walk toward the convention center was marked by heavy footsteps in polluted waters. The crowded murmurs of his neighbors pressed down on his sanity were enough to make him snap. Overstimulation wasn’t even the word to describe the situation. There was a medium-sized line of people outside; emergency responders were present, directing people inside while aides handed out water and crackers. Overstimulation was the word. People. Lots of people. Older adults, young adults, and small children screamed and ran around. The smell of wet dogs was unbearable, but that was the least of Dyami’s struggles. It was only noon. What would happen when nightfall hit? Intense feelings swelled in his hands, sweating and forming tiny droplets. They began to roll down his face to combat the emptiness he felt. Dyami scanned the area meticulously, searching for a space to find refuge and breathe. Space was limited, but having a roof over one’s head was enough to alleviate the stress a person was going through at that time. For Dyami, it was time to think on a larger scale about how he would emerge from this situation. This hurricane may have sped up the process of packing his things and leaving Houston, but it created a heavy burden to watch everything he planned to bring along on his next journey get washed away. There was no need to hire movers to transport his belongings to wherever he chose, but the thought of not having a piece of home was daunting. Taking a moment to relax and meditate, Dyami opened his laptop. He plugged into a nearby outlet, turned on his hotspot, and logged into his computer; it was now game time to figure out the next steps. A few months earlier, he had been set on moving to Australia to devote himself to his art. In more words than none, he decided to fully pursue his passion for creating art and expressing his inner desires to the outside world. Dyami felt captive in this life, working a job he enjoyed only 50% of the time, primarily because the pay was enough to make him realize he wanted more from life. The easiest way for him to enter Australia was to land a job in his field, mechanical engineering, and push his way through to pursue his art full-time. The fear of not having a steady income to start anew was his primary concern as he envisioned his path filled with impending challenges. Looking through his previous job applications, he applied to positions that brought him the most dreaded word: Rejection! It had been this way for months, with rejection emails coming one after another, and a natural disaster wreaking havoc in the city was enough to make him want to crash out. Dyami was scrolling through a week’s worth of rejection emails and the hottest deals of the year when something caught his eye. Dyami’s intuition never failed him, especially when he was stressed. One headline stood out. “Job Offer: Junior Mechanical Engineer: Urgent Response” “A job offer!” Dyami thought to himself. The idea of receiving any good news baffled him. Out of the many jobs he had applied for, he had received further confirmation for interviews with only five companies. Three of them had sent rejection emails days after, and the other two were just a glimmer of hope in a stressful storm. ~ Three months later~ The sound of keys unlocking the door to a hotel room. It had been three months, and the thought of trying to find a permanent residence was draining. However, Dyami finally secured a place to reside in Auckland, New Zealand. Although he was not in Australia as he had previously hoped, he was starting a brand new chapter. What were the odds his life would turn out the way it did? A college graduate with an extensive background, a long list of creative hobbies, a great social network, and a positive outlook for what was to come in the near future had been washed away in the devastating floods of terror in Houston. As he secured the last of his belongings, which primarily included clothes, important documents, and his laptop, he closed the hotel room door behind him and returned his hotel key to the assistant at the desk. This moment marked the start of his new beginning. Dyami began to familiarize himself with the layout of Auckland and walked toward a bus stop. While waiting for the next bus to arrive, he checked his phone for nearby stores where he could pick up a few items. The sound of air releasing from the city bus prompted Dyami to step aboard. The warmth of the people around him on the bus reminded him of his neighbors and family back home in Texas. The feeling that everything was finally going right in his life made him feel invincible. Dyami got off at an art supply store along the way to his new home. Stepping into the store brought him a sense of peace and tranquility as he finally had the opportunity to pick up some art supplies. As he searched for the right canvas, Dyami smiled, reflecting on his journey to his new home.

**It’s gone.** All that remains are ashes—charred ruins of a life once lived, now lost to the wind. Did it ever exist? There was a house here once, I think. Nestled in the heart of a pine and cedar forest, its pink wooden walls stood proud just yesterday. Now, they crumble in on themselves, blackened and weeping, reduced to fragile embers. The windows are gone too—likely shattered from the heat and force of the disaster. Three years of my life went into building this place. I designed every inch of it, from the layout of the floors to the smallest detail of the appliances. I painted the walls, wired the electricity, poured my heart into making it ours. I still hear Maybel’s laughter from the day she first saw it, my sweet, innocent girl. “I’ve never seen a pink house before!” she had giggled, wide-eyed. “It’s like a castle!” “Then let’s call it The Pink Palace,” I had said, smiling. Now, all that remains are shards of glass, scorched earth, and broken dolls that crunch beneath my boots. A small hand squeezes mine. Maybel. Her wide, tear-filled eyes scan the ruins, struggling to comprehend the loss. She doesn’t understand, not fully. My heart aches for her as we carefully pick our way through the wreckage. Birds chirp in the distance, blissfully unaware of my turmoil. I kneel, brushing away soot from a small mass of fur. A stuffed bear stares back at me, its once-brown coat streaked with ash, tiny tears running along its arms. The stitched-on smile seems fainter, its hollow eyes distant. How did it survive when everything else was destroyed? I tuck it into my bag. We can’t stay here. Not with the volcano rumbling in the distance, threatening to bury what little remains. And not when I have no means of rebuilding—not since my husband passed, leaving me to care for Maybel alone. So we’ll go. First thing tomorrow morning, we’ll fly out to America. It was only a matter of time anyway—we already had a suitcase packed. My mother lives in Kansas, on a few acres of land, and for now, that’s the only home I can give my daughter. I take one last look at what’s left of our Pink Palace, brushing my fingers over the burned remains of our memories. Then, lifting Maybel into my arms, I hold her close. Her warmth is the only thing anchoring me now. We give the house a final, tearful goodbye. And then we walk away, leaving the forest to its quiet, untouched existence. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _A Week Later_ It’s been a week since we arrived at my mother’s house. From the moment we stepped through the door, she fussed over us endlessly, insisting she didn’t have enough to make us comfortable. Then she dragged us out shopping. “Pick anything you want,” she said, waving away my protests. “I’m your mother. What I say goes. And besides, I’m not spending all this money by myself!” Believe it or not, my mom is an independent financial advisor. She joined a big name firm early on, built up her reputation over the years, earning loyal clients and a six-figure income—all while working from home. At the store, I picked up the essentials: clothes, toiletries, easy meals. Maybel, meanwhile, wandered to the toy aisle, hesitantly reaching for a Barbie doll. Mom took one look and started piling things into the cart—puzzles, jewelry kits, paints. “Go on, sweetheart,” she told Maybel. “Pick whatever you want.” Maybel hesitated. Then she spotted it. A giant electric pony—pink, with handles. One of those ride-on toys. She tugged at Mom’s sweater, pointing at it, eyes full of wonder. Mom snorted. “Oh, child, just you wait. We have real ones at Grandma’s house.” She grinned. “Just you wait.” Since then, Maybel has visited the stables every morning, learning the horses’ names, helping Mom feed them. She’s started smiling more, her laughter echoing across the fields as she chases some poor chicken she’s decided is her new best friend. I sip my coffee, watching from the porch as she races across the yard. The warm summer morning hums around us—the rooster’s call breaking the dawn, the soft nickers of hungry horses greeting the rising sun. For the first time in days, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Maybe—just maybe—we can start over here.

“You have to be kidding me! Anywhere but there! Please!” She sniffs, turning up her nose at my tone. She shakes her head, channel number five wafting towards me. “Annabelle! It’s very kind of Vincent’s family to allow us to stay. The storm wiped out nearly a hundred member’s homes. This is our only option. And don’t let your father hear your whining, I’ve had enough of his temper for one day.” I don’t respond, stewing in my indignation, this was just perfect. Vincent was, how do I put it, intolerable? No, too kind. He treated me horribly at school, there was always such a cutthroat atmosphere at St John’s, I’d never shared that, I did my best and that was that. But Vincent despised it, he despised that I was smarter than him. Of course, he would never phrase it that way. I suppose it didn’t help that we practically knew each other from birth. Our families share common interests, drawing them closer together. God, the dinner parties. A way for Vincent’s parents to parade about his son, and relish in his accomplishments. I mean, who needed to know how to play every single wood instrument? Someone with far too much time on their hands, that’s who. The car comes to a jolting stop despite Huxley’s precision behind the wheel. “Huxley, what’s the trouble?” Dad booms, despite him being sat in the passenger seat, my god that man’s voice was grating. “Just a moment sir, I'll check and see if everything is okay,” Huxley replied, in his everlasting cordial tone, I swear that man’s patience was something of envy. I remember the time my father was hosting a small dinner party, his idea of small was laughable, there must have been about sixty people. Huxley had decorated the place beautifully, all the fine china placed in beautiful synchronicity, champagne towers dotted in each corner of the dining room. His little face, he was so happy with his work. What did my father do? Insist that he changed the menu in one hour. Yes. One hour before guests arrived because Mrs Hunter’s husband ‘didn’t like seafood’, said ‘it was a poor man’s steak.’ But of course, Huxley remained himself, if he was bothered he didn’t show an ounce of it. “Ah, just a flat. I’ll have her ship shape in no time Sir, do not worry.” We arrive just after four in the afternoon, the winds still harsh against the Bentley. The palace stands there, grand as ever. I disliked Vince severely and at times his family too, but my god was their house beautiful. The pathway lining the entrance was all marble and sophisticated patterns, with trimmed greenery on either side. Beautifully offset by a golden glow of outside lighting. I had a pang of sadness hit me that we would have to build anew. “Beautiful isn’t it.” Mother said, her voice was throaty, still in awe even though we’d been here a few dozen times. “Yes.” I mirror her tone, equally in awe. We step out, with the butlers taking our luggage for us, and parking the car in the adjoined garage to the left. I hated watching people carry our stuff, it was second nature to my parents but it always put a queasy feeling in my stomach, it never felt right. “Caroline, Richard, gosh it’s so lovely to see you! You must be feeling awful!” Mrs Kingston professed. Her arms spread wide theatrically and Dressed to the nines as usual. “Julie, pleasure as always. It's too kind of you to open your home to us.” My mother gushes, patting her handkerchief under her eyes still teary from the night's devastation. After Miss Henderson the head housekeeper shows us all to our rooms I put my things away; fed up already with this new environment. Though of course, I’m grateful. But devastated too, they won’t be able to salvage a piece of our house. My entire childhood was savaged by the storm, all my small trinkets and memories, though mother and father were never too much the sentimental types. The closest thing they came to displaying baby pictures was hanging and framing my valedictorian award. I packed away my things, basking in the room that would now be mine for a few months. I mean luxury didn’t even cover it. I dreaded to think what the other rooms looked like if this was simply a guest one. The queen-sized bed sat amongst the cream walls, the window overlooked the most gorgeous lake I’d ever seen. I nearly passed out at the sight of the en suite. The Japanese toilet and rainfall walk-in shower were stunning. It all made it very easy to forget what had happened just shy of twelve hours ago, but thankfully no one was harmed. I dressed into my satin cobalt evening gown as instructed, Mrs Kingston was scarily particular. I wore my red hair in loose waves, inherited from my grandmother. My parents had always resented me for it, claiming Pearl was the rotten apple of the family on my mother's side because she married a commoner. Well, rotten apple she may be to them she was just about the only thing that got me through my worst times. Though stinking rich, she had a heart to match her millions of gold, never once allowing it to affect her attitude. When the bell for dinner rings I finish my makeup and head downstairs. I follow my parents down the winding gold staircase leading into the creamed marble hallways. We reach the dinner table and my blood heats immediately, Vincent strode in with his usual confidence, his tan skin complimented by his black tux which made him look a good few years older than he was, sort of, Manish. His eyes find mine immediately, narrowing as they skate down my body. His stare was full of wrath, full of hatred, and so intense. My pulse ramped when he took the seat opposite mine, by his mothers suggestion. Oh, fantastic. “So Annabelle, your mother tells me, you’ve just been accepted into Yale. That’s excellent! Vincent’s doing so well too! He got accepted into Harvard, but with his interest in law, we felt Yale was a better fit. It’s psychology you’re studying though right?” Of course, she had to add that in, her _precious_ Vincent, completely undermining me as always. My parents hum noises of approval in his direction as if he needed any more. “That’s great for him,” I said with a bitterness I couldn’t hide, though everyone’s smiles remained, except one. Vincent’s icy blue stare burned through me, in my peripheral. It took effort not to look at him, his jet-black hair was slicked back. He looked much better than I’d care to admit. “Yes, that’s right. The human mind, how and why people behave in certain ways, it fascinates me thoroughly, I felt it was the perfect fit for me.” I smooth out the napkin on my lap and adjust my dress as the spotlight draws to me. His gaze narrows at my response, what? What had I possibly said that was irking him this time? Switching his gaze to my parents, he says, “Possibly law. But my main focus of interest is business currently, I want to run my own empire, take after my father.” He attempts a smile but all to be seen is ice, my spine tingles at the sound of his voice it could have only been a month since I’d seen him, how could his voice be _that_ deep? I beeline straight for my room after dinner, quickly showering and changing into my night bodice. An hour of consciousness passed and so I headed for the library, a good book, that would settle my mind. I placed my feet lightly on the cream carpet, my hand firm on the gold bannister, I went straight down the hallway taking the second door on the left. This was the perfect escape for me. It was enchanting, especially the fireplace at the far middle, and the emerald green walls encasing every book. I ran my finger across each spine, not taking too much notice of the books themselves. I spotted a decanter of whisky and a gorgeous glass placed face down next to it. Surely that’s an invitation to drink? I poured a modest amount and grabbed a book, opting for the chair closest to the fire. I sink into the leather, finding that the book was actually quite interesting, I’d never read Shakespeare before but Macbeth was quite a good read. A creak outside the door snaps me out of my book-induced daze. And when I glance at the oak door I find the hallway light has disappeared, oh, they all must’ve gone to bed. A few moments pass and an itch begins to form at the back of my neck, not so much a physical one, but a caress of awareness. “Who said you could drink my father's whiskey?” The ice of his voice chills me immediately, I dart my eyes around the room to find Vincent lurking in the far corner. He drew from the shadows slowly, his tie removed and one button loose, he looked so different, it was unnerving to be around. My eyes hone in on the glass in his hand, oh god I bet he’s drunk, that’s all I need. In the scarcity of light, he’s still able to follow my gaze, “I’m not inebriated, I can handle my liquor.” He says, placing emphasizes on I. “And I can’t?” I ask with a little too much annoyance, it wasn’t healthy the ease with which he could rile me. He shrugs, bringing the glass to his lips, and holding my gaze as he does so. He moves slowly around the chair, purposefully, and sinks into the seat opposite me. “What are you-“ “Why psychology?” He interjects before I get a chance to finish. I didn’t like his tone, he said it with accusation, as though he was annoyed I’d chosen it. My mind swirled with the usual pace it did around Vincent, so many unanswered questions I would never muster the courage to ask him. As much as I disliked him, he perplexed me, in a form of fascination, but I would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “I already told you, the way people behave, and why they do certain things. It fascinates me.” I cut myself short, not wanting to reveal too much to him, I couldn’t be vulnerable with him. “Do I fascinate you, Annabelle?” He asks with a softness that nearly knocks the breath out of me. Okay, he _was_ drunk. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” I got up, and before I could move his palm circles around my wrist, burning the skin. “Sit.” He commands me, and I can’t be certain why. But I do. He looks at me expectantly. “Maybe I should study you. Get to know the psychopathic mind. Unfeeling.” He doesn’t share my humorous tone. “You think I’m unfeeling?” He cocks his head, leaning forward. I laugh a little harder than I’d intended to, certain he must be joking. “You don’t? You’re icy, Vincent.” His eyes glinted,” You never call me that.” “What, Vincent?” “Mm.” The heat of his gaze began to unsettle me I shifted my focus to the blazing fire instead. “You’re incorrect. And if this really is an avenue you want to pursue, you should sharpen your observation skills.” “Vincent you act as though you hate me, you’re so.” I wave my hands at him. “Intense all the time. How could I think differently?” “You think my intensity is equal to hatred?” He questioned. “Yes, I associate intensity with either hatred or passion and I can safely say which one it is.” His eyes darkened, “Are you so sure about that, Annabelle?”

**One minute you’re ringing in the new year with your best pals on the balcony of your bachelor pad. ** **And then before the month is even up you find yourself sitting in the cab of your truck parked outside of the motel room you have been forced to live out of. You are charging your phone while cashing out your 401(k) because you’re down to the last $1.20 in your checking account. The owner of the motel is cool enough to let keep the room for you as you make sure the money is sent via direct deposit. ** **That’s not even the craziest parts of this story, believe it or not. A wildfire that erased an entire city and ruined my life was literally just the fuse being lit on a stick of dynamite leading up to the explosive events that have recently unmoored my unusual life once again. ** **Before I ramble though, I’ll honor the tradition of starting with what kicked all of this into motion seven months ago at the very beginning. ** **** **My name is Trent Rainer and this is the story of my new life. My old one was completely ruined in a literal trial by fire, so I wound up finding salvation and a second calling in a sleazy, dirty border town. As of the last few days yours truly has found himself caught in a turf war between a rogue American grey man and the Mexican cartel mercenaries who control the town (and of course happen to also be my friends, as life would have it). ** **** **“Just keep driving until we run out of gas.” I said to myself again for at least the twentieth time. The mantra was both freeing and despairing but it was the only thing my rattled brain could come up with at the time. My old home in the California Palisades had been completely wiped out by the wildfire that broke out a whopping six days after NYE in 2025. As I said, one minute my pal Kyle and I are dousing each other in cheap champagne shirtless on my balcony while our other pals shoot Roman candles off - the next minute you’re white-knuckling your steer wheeling hissing the only mantra that makes sense. ** **** **** **The YouTube videos did not do it ANY justice, FYI. If you want to experience something akin to being a lead in a Lovecraft film, just imagine stepping outside of your home in sunny beachside California. Your typical stunning view is obscured by a wall of fire that is devouring everything in its path and your iPhone gets the EAS alert to immediately begin evacuating the area. Hours later as you are simply driving in a sort of mental autopilot mode, and while trying to process it all you get texts from your friends with YouTube video links. Those video links show your home and every house on it street engulfed in flames. ** **** **** **You get the point. ** **** **So, you may be asking yourself what’s a guy to do who just lost his house, everything he’s ever owned AND his job all in one day and can never get any of it back again? Apparently driving to Mexico after spending five days in a whiskey-drenched bender in a motel in New Mexico isn’t the answer that everyone would choose in my situation. But, however, that choice was mine and I own it. What the hell would you have done anyway? ** **Anyway, skipping past the surreal, boozy limbo period I spent in that motel, I literally drove until I hit Tijuana. With a lean but hefty five-figures resting in my savings account, three bags of clothes and valuables, my passport and ID, and no fucks left to give I waived my papers at the border agent. After a quick once-over of my passport I was let through and my truck pushed forward into who-knows-what-was-gonna-happen-next. ** **** **** **After I took in the suspect but warm welcome the notorious border town was known for I found the cheapest motel, Google’d a Spanish translation for my spiel, and soon found myself relaxing in the most humble but well-kept abode my heart could’ve desired. I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna do with my life, frankly didn’t care, and the bed felt amazing as I plopped down on it after getting my bags in the room. The mattress and comforter were probably older than both of my dead parents but I didn’t care. I just wanted rest, to be left alone, and to figure the rest out later.** **** **I definitely did not figure the rest out later but I needed to get laid. Thankfully the Tijuana hospitality circuit has every manner of graft and sexual license conceivable to the imagination available if you have the cash to cover it. ** **At some point 8 hours later I had one of those moments of clarity that arrive at the most random of times. I had probably been pissing pure tequila for around two hours while keeping enough of a boner to keep my threeway going until the two hot Mexican escorts and myself collapsed on another in a heaving, sweaty pile. Admittedly, this was probably the greatest thing that happened to me in a long time and I hated for the moment to end but, alas, all things indeed do come to an end (literally). ** **** **** **What the hell was I going to do for money?** **Considering that I was now basically an expat with zero shits to give about life I had no clue. I had been a mechanic most of my life and long ago gave up on the hubris and wealth most of my peers succumbed to so I never expected to be powerful, rich, or even likable for that manner. It was what it was. Yet half of Tijuana wound up believing that I was rich and powerful, and in a move that highlights both my incessant hubris and yearning, I owned it. ** **** **** **Not even a week ago I was a grease-splashed worker bee installing radiators and new spark plugs in cars. And now I was soon to viewed with an awe and respect usually reserved for demigods and late night televangelists.** **I’ll never know what sparked it but one of the locals and neighborhood legends took a liking to me very fast. I was concerned but reminded myself that I was no longer a cog in a machine emptying oil pans and replacing tire spokes forgotten about by modern America.** **** **The neighborhood legend I mentioned was a guy named Lupo and he was roughly my age, or a few years older. He always wore basketball shorts, flip flops and some stylish but low-end muscle shirt depicting either a beach bathed in the rays of a sunset or a woman in very revealing swimwear. That was his style and I liked it. I was hungover as fuck and basking in the afternoon sun in a lawn chair when Lupo first approached me with his posse in tow. I had no impressive words or memorable quotes at the top of my tongue but managed to say “Hey bruh.” in the druggiest and most disoriented way possible.** **** **“Amigo, long time no see. How are you?” Lupo answered as he walked over to my lawn chair with a knowing, good-natured smirk on his face. ** **“Amigo?” I replied as I reached for another Mexican beer from the styrofoam cooler. However, instead of successfully tangling another ice-cold bottle of fun I wound up leaning too far and fell right into the spotty and dried grass. ** **Lupo, or whoever he was, laughed and shook his head as he helped me sit up and used the bottle cap remover to open my fresh drink. ** **“I’m not sure how you know me but if you would be so kind as to explain how, that would alleviate a lot of my anxiety right about now.” I replied in the most casual tone I could muster. ** **** **Lupo grinned and pulled a lawn chair up beside me after saying something in Spanish to his entourage. After he took a seat and lit a joint he began to explain how we knew one another. ** **** **Roughly fifteen minutes later I was visibly confused but resigned to the story that had just been shared with me. The verbatim details and particulars escape me at the moment, especially considering that I had just spent the better of four days in a party-vibe haze after finally realizing my old “normal” life was over for good. However, being informed that this Lupo guy is a gun runner for the Mexican cartel and that you originally met him at a house party in San Diego also has a way of bringing one to their senses in a rather frenetic kind of way. ** **** **I was also informed that he approached me directly for friendship as there are not many lily-white skinned Americans roaming about, and the ones that typically arrive either bring trouble or are deep cover spooks.** **** **** **How’s this for an interesting Thursday morning?** **** **As I was processing everything I scanned the grass around me for another bottle of beer or water to quench my thirst with when gunfire began to ring out in the neighborhood. There were the obvious cries and shouts, as one could naturally expect, but Lupo stood there totally chilled out and unbothered. ** **I abruptly sat up, much more sober and awake than I was moments ago. Whatever was happening, I wasn’t planning on becoming a bullet magnet. ** **** **Lupo took a seat by me, fetched two icy beers from the cooler for us, and explained what the deal was. An unplanned and surprise “housekeeping call” had been sanctioned by Lupo which for those out of the loop means his cartel pals were going home to home shooting and killing any spooks they had found out and discovered. He told his friends that I was most definitely NOT a spook and that he would personally see to it that his old pal from the San Diego party was covered and vouched for. ** **** **On one hand, like, thank you. On the other hand, WTF?!** **** **So, this was the start of my new normal. We’ll call it the Tijuana Tilt, if you will. ** **To drive the point further home a young boy who was probably six or seven ran around the corner of the house giggling and making pew-pew gunshot sounds while using a stick for a pistol. ** **** **This was the beginning of my new arms dealing career.**

"I'm gonna be a famous baseball player!" Nathan shouts, his eyes—my eyes—wide with excitement. His father, a few feet away, shakes out his arm, laughing. "That's great, little man! You can be anything you know. Anything you want." Nathan frowns, bouncing on his feet. "Anything?" His father nods, tossing the ball in the air. "Wanna paint? Play guitar? Race cars? If you work really hard, you could even fly to the moon." Something shifts inside Nathan as he considers his father’s words—an ember, waiting for a spark. I ignite. A surge rushes through me—his imagination given form. The baseball in his grip, me, unravels, its leather seams splitting, morphing. My weight vanishes, replaced by the delicate balance of a paintbrush. Nathan grips my wooden handle, bristles dripping color. The blank canvas before him pulses with life. As he drags me across its surface, the world erupts. Spring air mingles with the scent of fresh bananas as blues collide with yellows, birthing greens that shimmer with orangey sunlight. Reds and purples swirl, bleeding into impossible horizons. A single line bends and stretches, twisting into a river. Then a road. Then… a thread. A guitar string. Nathan's fingers press against taut steel, strumming an uncertain note that wobbles through the air. The vibrations carve grooves into his fingertips, but he holds firm, his grip tightening. The sound builds, hesitation fading as rhythm grows. And then— I become a symphony, my notes swelling and colliding, before blending into a new beat—a steady tap tap tap of something mechanical. The deep hum of an engine vibrates beneath me, steel and sound fusing into motion. My paintbrush handle warps into a steering wheel, and the world shifts again. Nathan's father pulls back his arm—and throws… Nathan grips me tighter, dropping the gas pedal, and we surge forward, neon streaking past, infinity signs glowing on the car's doors in place of numbers. The asphalt peels away, dissolving into sky. The baseball cuts through the summer sky like a planet in orbit—and we soar, hidden wings unfolding and thrusters firing until we break through gravity itself. Jupiter looms ahead, its storm a swirling vortex of ochre and flame. Nathan reaches out, and I stretch with him, bristles dragging through the tempest, leaving violet streaks in our wake. Saturn spins past, its rings unraveling into ribbons of light, each one spiraling behind us like a comet's tail. Then we dive into a supernova, detonating a kaleidoscope of color, each burst a crescendo of every dream Nathan has ever imagined. The universe bends in our brilliance. Because nothing is impossible. The ball continues its arc, weightless, while an older, more uncertain Nathan reaches for it. His fingers slip, and the ball thuds to the ground. "How's it coming?" his dad asks as Nathan works through a math problem. The one-two punch of his father's words and the missed catch slices through his mind like a blade. I spiral, tumbling and falling—pushed out by a force called Time. I sink into the depths of Nathan's mind, slipping through the fracture in his creative hemisphere, falling deeper into the unknown. When I land, it is endless winter, with ice stretching endlessly in every direction beneath a gray sky. I turn back toward the wreckage. Toward the car. Toward me. The crushed vehicle lies motionless beneath ice and stone, the heaviest of the boulders bearing names: College. Career. Family. The music has ended, replaced with the colorless pweight of rules and expectations. Nathan sits in a lecture hall, hands moving across calculations. He is at a cubicle, bathed in fluorescent light, the glow of spreadsheets flickering across his eyes. He types lines of code, constructing structures so precise they leave no room for wonder. And yet… I keep walking. Waiting. Though I don't know why. This is where all forgotten things go. The cold tells me I belong here, whispering that I should let go. And so I sink, deeper into its silence……… A vibration. It’s faint. Almost imperceptible. But real. An altar flashes for a moment—I see Nathan smoothing his tux. There is a home. The clock spins and spins until… I hear a voice. "Daddy?" Her voice rings, Melody in both name and spirit. "Can I be a ballerina when I grow up?" Nathan looks up from his laptop. "Of course, princess! Want to know a secret?" "What, Daddy?" Melody’s blue eyes shine with curiosity. "You can be anything. Anything you want." She tilts her head. "Anything?" Nathan smiles. "Want to draw? Play the piano? Become an Iron Chef? If you want, you could work really hard and even win Olympic gold. Or several." Her face scrunches. "Iron Chef? Is that a robot that cooks?" Nathan laughs, considering. "I guess it could be." And I ignite once more. I lift myself out of the avalanche, my wrecked race car body stitching back together—then reshaping. I rise, metal limbs gleaming, impossibly precise yet fluid—a mix of a pianist's grace and engineering precision. My arms paint fire into the air as motion and mathematics entwine. The guitar riffs—F major, B-flat, C—and the universe bends again to my will. Nathan watches, understanding at last, then wills me to accelerate. Faster. Faster still, momentum building. The Milky Way spins like a record, galaxies swirling in a vast cosmic waltz. Stars flicker like piano keys, each note sending waves of color rippling through space, and at the heart of it all, the black hole twists, flattening into a gold disc. It unfurls like a staircase, and atop it, she appears. A figure-skating robotic ballerina, an elegant fusion of art and precision, twirling effortlessly. Her skates carve golden etchings into the fabric of space, while the galaxies pulse in time, each spiral another crescendo in the great cosmic symphony. The universe dances with her as she pirouettes on the edge of Time, the infinite stage stretching beneath her feet. When she lands, the gold medal reacts, shooting golden beams in all directions, and suddenly, dancers stand on every celestial body, moving in harmony. Nathan reaches for me—this time, with both hands. Logic and creativity fuse, left brain and right, melding into something greater, giving birth to the realization that the world is not one or the other. And this time. This time, I know. He won't ever let go.

I stared out across the smooth slopes of the mountains by our destroyed farmhouse. The flames stretched out as far as the eye could see across the horizon, engulfing and incinerating every single home in sight. It reminded me of Fortnite when massive bombs and fire shots would deminish certain characters and levels in the game. Most people from what we had seen had taken off and ran into the ocean to ensure that they wouldn’t be burned alive during this random raging inferno that didn’t seem like it was going to stop at all. Joe, the fattest Simoan I had ever met, was there next to me as we gazed across the blaze of so called “glory” watching our Hawaiian heritage go to shit once we realized that being colonized by the mainland would truly result in our demise as a Hawaiian culture. He always was the happiest man I knew. So big and jolly and carefree with his long black hair and greatness of God gold cross that he wore around his neck always. He was so funny and was always full of laughter and positive statements in life. Seeing him turn to tears and fear made me realize that we were dealing with something very different here and that our last days as a Hawaiian culture may be amongst us unless the town figures out really quick on what should be done to end this raging, blazing catastrophe. When we were kids we had actually lived not to far away from these exact slopes that we stood upon. As kids we would stand upon this one hill about a mile away from where we currently had the pineapple farm and lay in the grassy fields while we smoked some good trees and reminisced about our childhood experiences. The thought of having to start over from scratch after our families had spent four generations in creation, innovation, and endearing livelihood of our heritage made me start to tweak and feel as if I had been the left over spoils of war in a wrecked tumultuous scenario of displacement and dismembered colonial disarray. Joe and I continued to gock at the raging inferno of disasters wondering just how these fires had started and spread to literally all of the properties that were in view and stretched as far as the eye could see. Joe knew we were totally screwed on the business because he had already cleared a loan for $500,000 to get new soil beds and outdoor hydroponic systems to ensure that the farm would deliver and yield the highest quality product and purity of pineapple greatness. It was a deferred interest loan with a 10 year stipulation on reimbursement and at the end of the period we had actually planned on potentially taking out an additional loan to supplement our land with more expansion in a different industry possibly in textile production. Wow, the sight of the Hawaiian Blaze really made me wonder what in God our saviors name was doing to us to show us this side of life that we had all yet to see. I felt as if a lot of what my parents had taught me was demonstrating to be 100% accurate on how you can’t ever be too sure and certain outcomes that we look for in life can or may fall short if there’s a vision that doesn’t line up with God’s path for you. At the end of the day it looks like no matter what happens, there’s a lot that we just can’t control at all!!

As I drove closer I could smell the embers, ashes were falling from the sky. I had thought my home would be safe, it was just one shift. I wan’t expecting a double at the hospital that day either. I lost everything. I hadn’t even had a chance to move anything to safety. Not even my dog, the worst outcomes start racing through my mind but just then she darts out from a neighbors garage. It survived the flames and kept her safe from all harm, the relief rolled in quickly with tears of joy, at least I’ve got my girl. I try to remain as calm as possible the only thing stressing will do is make things worse. I have plenty in savings to survive while I figure out a living situation. I decide to call my sister and she offers her spare bedroom to me for as long as I need. I can breath a little, everything is falling perfectly into place so far. As I pull into her beautifully paved driveway I look around. I notice an RV parked in the neighbors yard with a for sale sign on the windshield. It almost feels like fate. I’ve been wanting to start working as a travel nurse so I can see all over but I’ve Just been too attached to my home and all my belongings it was hard to let go. But now this is my chance to start over. While I contact insurance about my house I ponder the idea of buying the RV and just taking off with my dog. Not only will I be able to take her everywhere I go but bills will go down, I’ll be free to travel all around and see so much more of the country I live in. I can experience life just a little deeper. It‘s sounding like the perfect idea. I wait about a week to reach out to the neighbors to make sure I’m absolutely ready to just take off after all this has been my home state my whole life. We discuss the RV, it has no issues whatsoever they are just looking for a bigger one so they can travel with the whole family as it’s recently grown. Interior was nice and clean, miles were low, tires were basically new and the price was good too. We strike up a deal and all that’s left is to wait on the insurance money to come in. I had been in contact with them all week at this point it was just a few days out from dropping into my account then I could be on the road whenever. Now it’s time to start looking for a travel company I can transfer to as soon as possible. I go online and start searching. There’s a couple that look promising so I put my application in to both. Now just to sit back and await their calls A day goes by and I get a call asking for me to come in for an interview. Out of pure excitement I set the interview up the same day and get ready to head over. When I arrive the building looks run down and sketchy but you can’t always judge a book by its cover. I gather myself and head inside. As I walk in I immediately get and intense waft of body Oder but I just try to ignore it. I approach the front desk and before I could even speak the lady behind the counter yells “JANNIT, your interview is here!” I could smell her breath from there. A near by door flies open and an older women waddles out. Jannit greets me and gestures for me to follow her back to her office. When I walk in the room there’s nothing but a desk a couple chairs and a laptop placed perfectly in the center of the desk. Why would the room be completely empty? I tell myself maybe it’s a new location and they are still getting their footing. She proceeds to tell me about all the job openings and telling me what positions i would qualify for, but all around I’d probably be doing a little of everything. I respond to that with “I don’t mind working multiple positions as long as everyone on the team is kept to the same standards and putting in the same effort.” She pauses for a second and then starts to tell me about how their last nurse just quit and I would be picking up all the calls until we got another nurse to. At this point I can feel it all over there is something wrong here. I respectfully inform her I was all done with the interview and would like to leave. I apologize for wasting her time. She gets agitated very quickly still and tells me to “get out of my office you shouldn’t be setting up interviews for jobs you can’t handle!” I dodged a bullet with that one for sure. That’s ok though everything can’t go perfect first try, I was always expecting some sort of hiccup. Before I leave the parking lot I decide to check my email and I had one new one, they were requesting I send over my qualifications and medical credentials. At the end of the email they stated a link to a background check will be sent to me after everything is reviewed. This one is seeming a little more legit then the last already. I head home and fax over my credentials and await a response. It wasn’t until the next day I got the link in response. Quickly I filled it out and hit send. Satisfied with how its going so far I await my interview call. Once the insurance money hits my account I reach out to the neighbors about finishing up final details on the RV sale. I pay them in full and now it’s just to wait to be accepted into a travel position. I was currently stationed at A hospital near my sister because they transferred me after the fire while I figure out my living situation, so luckily I have work while I wait for a hit. I pondered the idea of offering to work the hospitals only through out my state to make it easier to embed myself into a chain of already connected locations. A couple days go by of searching for other options when I got a call from them, they apologize for the wait they had just got the results of the background check. I was all clear and they’d love to set up and interview as soon as possible. I could choose between in person when they returned from their meetings out of state or I could do and over the phone interview where they could get me in anytime that day. I hesitated because that made it seem a little rushed but with the options available I said screw it and went for it. The interview goes on for about fifteen to twenty minutes and it was all seeming to proper and professional. In the end she asks me how soon I could start, I immediately told her I could put in my two weeks and be ready to start training. She proceeds to offer me a full time traveling position that will bring me state to state in various emergency rooms during disasters. I promptly shake her hand and accept the position. Afterwards I rush home to my sisters to tell her about the job. After a long talk over drinks we start packing the handful of supplies people had donated after the fire into the RV. We set up the bedroom area first so my dog and I could start getting use to living in it before we are on the road. After a good night sleep I decide it’s best to alert my original hospital first. I call to let them know I would not be returning after everything settles and my two weeks was going in when I got to the current hospital I’m stationed at. They informed me I’d need to return anything I had left from them by the last day of the two weeks and wished me good luck on my adventures. When I arrive to work that day I go straight to the department lead to inform him about the offer and give him the proper notice. Over the next two weeks I reach out to friends and coworkers I’d grown fond of to say my good byes. I know i can always come back to visit but this feels like a wiped slate. I spend my spare time going on lunch dates with friends I have no clue how fast they will be sending me out of state so I don’t want to miss anyone. When it comes to the last couple days I make the drive out to my original hospital to return my uniform and gear. I told a couple coworkers I would be stopping in just in case they wanted to have a lunch but what I was not expecting was a whole crowd of staff waiting to say their good byes and throw me a beautiful send off. I was so overwhelmed in emotion I broke down in tears I haven’t cried since disaster struck but it was all hitting now. After finishing farewells I returned my gear and took off, it honestly hurt a lot more then I thought it was going to and I needed to stay in a positive mindset. The last days at work went rather quickly I was just doing general care since I wasn’t going to be there much longer. That just meant I was running from bed to bed changing bandages and quick stitches and staples. A pretty good warm up before hitting the road. On my last night I get a call from the new job. My first location was three states over right outside of a flood zone they needed me on the road asap I told them I could take off first thing in the morning. When the call ends I go to talk with my sister we cook dinner and I tell her about the call and how I was leaving right away. We make a deal to meet up every couple months trading back and forth who travels to who and spend a few hours just hanging out and enjoying our last night in the same state. I rest for a few short hours but I hit the road bright and early because I was just too excited to sleep even my dog was still curled up in her bed. I guess I needed to start fresh more then I knew……..

What really is a natural disaster? It’s midnight and my husband called me at 5 PM and said he was on his way home. I sat by the fireplace. It was almost midnight, listening to the crackling of the burning wood and the warmth comforted me. I tried calling him several times, and texting him, but no reply. I knew something was wrong, something bad had happened. it was raining hard that night. I could hear the rain and the wind blowing, as my head was in a frenzy of worry. Where is my husband, my children’s father? The house was silent. The kids were sleeping. all I could hear was the TikTok of the grandfather clock then the bell rang. I knew if the bell rang at midnight, it was not a good thing. it was bad news. two police officers standing by my door frame giving condolences. I’m sorry to say your husband was in a car accident. He didn’t make it. He was hit by a drunken driver.hes gone? I told the police you must be mistaken, but it was no mistake. My first response was how do I tell the children that their father was gone? I had no family to turn to. He had a small life insurance policy, enough to pay for a funeral. I graduated high school, but no college. My job after the marriage was to take care of my children . after a month or so I had no choice but to get a part-time job and a local grocery store and living with the small money we had in the bank I was trying to make ends meet, but unfortunately, I could not maintain the obligations of owning a home by myself. I had no other choice, but to sell the house .I did not know what to do. I wanted my life back? I wanted my husband back. I wanted it the way it was . unfortunately it could never be.the kids and I rent an apartment.now.The kids eventually acclimated to the new school and I continue to work. I realized I must live for my children and I must be strong. My husband is with God right now, and all we have are memories. I realized reality for the first time, that life must go on, we must be.

Everywhere was fire. What once lurked in rich nature was now burning to the last crisp. Smoke filled my vision. People were screaming and running for their lives. Evelyn was sprinting to her house to find her mother desperately searching for her. „Oh, Evelyn!“ She reached out and placed her hands around her daughter’s arms. „Are you okay?“ Evelyn only nodded, sweat forming on their foreheads from the heat radiating off the fires that were still raging around them. „We have to get out of here!“ Just as she said this, they felt a strong wind blow off a dragon landing beside them. They looked up to see Ivy, her feathered tail anxiously swishing from side to side. _„Move fast.“ _She rushed Evelyn in her mind. Quickly helping her mother on Ivy’s back, she jumped behind her. „Bring us to Elbarona!“ she shouted over the chaos around them, stroking the dragon’s scales in comfort. Ivy took no time to jump up and fly off to the directed location. Evelyn looked back to where their home was; fire was not only erupting in their small town, it was spreading like wildfire across the whole of the mountains. „Oh dear Celdraria, save us..“ she shuddered under her breath. - - - - - At the break of dawn, they arrived in Elbarona. Swiftly landing on the fine gravel path in the centre of the city, they dismounted Ivy. Not many people were outside at this time, but those who were, were looking at them questionably. It was not every day that people came to their city uninvited, especially humans. A soldier walked towards them, regarding them with kindness. „Can I be of any help to you?“ He looked at their tired forms; any eye could see that they both looked completely and utterly out of it. „Please,“ Evelyn began, trying to steady her voice. „We request a meeting with the King and Queen.“ The soldier only nodded, gesturing them to follow him. When they reached the royal halls, stopping infront of large doors, the soldier told them to wait for a few seconds before stepping out of view. Not long after, he came back to announce that the Queen was ready to hear them. As they stepped into the room, Evelyn was awestruck by the beauty of it. If it were any other occasion, she would‘ve probably been eager to express her thoughts on the beauty of the architecture. Today, however, wasn’t the day for that. The queen looked at them with a soft smile, years of wisdom flowing in her eyes. The king was nowhere to be seen. They both bowed in her presence. „Greetings, your majesty.“ „Welcome, Evelyn and Victoria,“ the queen regarded them. „Tell me, what is troubling you?“ _She had something comforting about her_, Evelyn thought as she straightened her back. „We‘ve come to you in search of help. Just a few hours ago, the Eastern Mountains were burnt down. I do not know the extent of it, we had to flee,“ Evelyn explained, sorrow underlying her steady voice. She looked at the queen with pleading eyes, who in return locked her gaze with hers. „Please.“ For a moment, the queen lowered her head. Then a sincere smile painted her face. „I‘m glad you both are okay. I will grant you a place to stay.“ - - - - - After the long night, Evelyn and Victoria had gotten a warm meal, a bath and a place to sleep. To say they were exhausted was an understatement; the moment they had laid down, they fell asleep. The next morning, Evelyn had set a plan to go out flying with Ivy to see the destruction that was caused the previous day. She was anxious; she didn’t know what to expect. A few minutes after telling her mother she would be back later, she was already sitting upon her dragon’s back. The flight was filled with crippling anxiety. Neither Evelyn nor Ivy spoke a word to each other, just soaking in each other‘s presence for comfort. When the Eastern Mountains came into view, they were shocked. Everything was burnt down to the last crisp. No tree was still standing, no grass was in sight and only ashes remained. Softly landing on the burnt ground, remaining heat crept up their bodies. Although it had been at least a day, it was still oddly warm. Tears were forming in the girl’s eyes, her heartbeat being faster than usual. „No..“ she breathed out. „Everything is gone.“ _Those weren‘t the Eastern Mountains anymore_, Evelyn thought. She shared a look of inner trouble with Ivy. _No, they were more like Fire Mountains now._

The holovideo flickered to life, and my subleader's image sharpened into focus. "Today is February 14th, Earth Standard Year 2025," it stated. "Before we begin, I regret to inform you that our second agent could not join us due to something called 'Verizon and its spotty connection.'" I adjusted my posture, arranging my host's facial features as I prepared to give my report. Kevin smirked, earning a look from the subleader. "Something to contribute, Kevin?" “What was that, subleader?” Kevin straightened. "Can you hear me now?” The subleader acknowledged the connection was solid, and I almost burst out laughing—but contained myself. "As for Agent Eve," the subleader continued, "she was reassigned after her previous planet suffered, as Earth's most powerful human would put it, a… rapid unscheduled disassembly." My amusement faded at his Elon Musk-ian words. They were an apt, if sterile, description of my near annihilation. The blinding eruption and subsequent violent pull of gravity. My—our—station had twisted itself into oblivion, and I was flung through space at near-light speed, barely holding onto consciousness. But I had survived. Where they had not. They, the nameless agent and presence that had been tethered to me through endless cycles, were gone. The silence that had followed was unbearable, and so I had chosen not to dwell. Grief was after all… inefficient, and unbecoming of an agent. And yet— "Eve?" The subleader's voice, though barely registering, interrupted my thoughts. "Eve," it repeated. "Do you also have a Verizon problem?" “A what?” I blinked, before realizing what he meant. "No, subleader. My connection is stable.” It studied me for a second longer, then asked, "Eve, is there something wrong with your eye?" Panic welled within my host, and I resisted the urge to let it take over. Instead, I nonchalantly rubbed my right eye and carefully adjusted my host's expression to one of quiet confusion. "No, subleader. It is fine.” But I knew what it had seen. Nestled under the blue of my iris, was a single tear. I was succumbing more frequently to emotion, which was surely due to the cumulative impact of these human experiences. My experiences. After a pause, it nodded. "Proceed with your report." I inhaled. "My mission was to investigate a human concept called Love. Our analysts suspect that it may be a form of weaponized mind control." The subleader steepled its finger-equivalents. "And your findings?" I tilted my head slightly, strands of dark hair shifting with the motion. "At first, I hypothesized love was a parasitic phenomenon, primarily afflicting males. The longer they remained bonded with a female, the less wealth they retained." Kevin nodded knowingly. "I observed similar behavior in a place called Las Vegas." "Exactly," I continued. "But as I deepened my research, I realized love operates more as a type of psychological warfare. Humans willingly subject themselves to a cycle of hope, disappointment, and expensive meals in pursuit of what they call 'some.'" Kevin scrunched his host’s face. "Some of what? Can I get some?” The subleader silenced him with a look. "Humans do employ countermeasures," I continued. "Drinking fermented liquids. Eating frozen milk fat engineered by two specialized humans named Ben and Jerry. Or by declaring their independence publicly on a network owned by an entity called Meta." Kevin let out a low whistle. "Great name for a company.” "Right?!" I quickly smiled, then returned my mouth to a line. "My most significant finding occurred during routine data collection at a human food market called Aldi's." The subleader's brow arched. "Explain." I hesitated. "I encountered an anomaly. A male cashier named Tom." Kevin raised a brow. "Sounds wealthy based on his title. And politically connected.” "No. He merely… scans my items." Eve clarified, shaking her head. Kevin rolled his host's eyes, and I ignored it. "At first, I thought nothing of it. But then… something unexpected occurred. One day, while I looked into his eyes, my host experienced an elevated heart rate, coupled with a minor loss of speech function." Kevin made a face. "It sounds viral." Then, turning to the subleader, "I volunteer to probe—" "Stop!" The subleader's voice was sharp. "This is exactly why humans make movies about us. We are not that kind of agency. No probes." Kevin sulked, but did not argue. I pressed on. "I initially did suspect contamination. But as I returned to Aldi's, the anomalies persisted. I was no longer collecting data. I… wanted to be there. My logical self struggled to differentiate between my host's emotions and my own, and I believe I was, as humans say, falling in love." “Go on,” the subleader urged, while Kevin scoffed. "Last week, Tom invited me to a park," I continued. "There was a beach, and when he…" I swallowed, "removed his upper garments, I noticed his abdominal region was… sculpted. Like the reinforced plating on our space movers." Kevin let out a low whistle. "That’s high praise." I nodded. "And then…" I curled my fingers slightly, trying to ground myself. "He engaged with me in a human form of affection known as a… 'kiss.'" The subleader's brow lifted. "Explain." So I did. I shared why we were both neck-deep in the water, his hands resting on my waist and cheek. How the warmth of his skin against the cool night air, caused a surge in my host's heart. Where, at the point our lips touched, I had felt his feather-light warmth spark against my skin. And when, as the electric pulse followed, I was nearly overcome with ineffable sensations that made me lose control of— The subleader tapped his console. "Eve, your vitals appear… elevated. Are you okay?" I exhaled, trying to calm myself. "I am… fine, subleader." He nodded. "There was something else," I admitted. "A response I had not anticipated. Not just my host—but me. I was not just observing, I was feeling." Kevin leaned back. "Eve, I hate to say it, but you might be compromised." The subleader shook his head. "No, Kevin. She is evolving." He opened his mouth, but the subleader swiped at his console, and Kevin's screen went dark. I barely noticed, my mind replaying the kiss. "Anything further, Agent Eve," the subleader urged. "Tom invited me to dinner. Tonight," I chirped. "And I accepted… for the mission." The subleader studied me. "Do you suspect he has any knowledge of your true nature?" I considered that for a moment. "In the last month, I did observe that he visited a flower shop, a bakery, and a jewelry establishment known as Jared. Other than that, his behavior has been within parameters.” The subleader emitted a faint hum—the equivalent of a human chuckle. He tapped his console, transmitting a file. "I am sending you a briefing that you may find… useful." I quickly scanned the data. Then felt my cheeks flush as I read the words: human mating rituals. I quietly thanked the subleader and was about to end the call, when my subconscious screamed at me. Rescanning the data, I froze. Buried in the details was a name. It was a name I had not spoken in forever. One that caused me to tremble, only I did not realize its significance at the time. I had been sent to Earth to study love. To determine if it was a weapon. But what I had found was something else. I had found them. Tom. Or rather—the presence within him. And neither of us had known. Until now. A slow unsteady, breath left me, as my eyes burned, and before I could stop it, tears slipped free onto the green fabric of my dress. I reached to close the connection, but the subleader stopped me. "Eve." I looked up, horrified. My new life as an agent on Earth would certainly end now that it had seen me cry. Instead, I was shocked when its expression softened. "You are our finest agent," it said. "But for tonight, I ask that you simply… be human." I couldn't speak. The subleader, master of our Earthen contingent, had just given me permission to _feel_. Before I could respond, it swiped the connection closed and the room went silent. I exhaled, my heart pounding, as an undeniable realization settled over me. I was under mind control. I was in love. And I couldn't be happier.

It has been likened to hell. Closer to the other side of the moon, perhaps, with its colorless craters and cracks. They were all turned to rubble dust. Dyed grey and capable of slipping through the fingers— the lost faces around a dining room table, the sobs seen only by bathroom mirrors. A dresser with love letters folded under the pajama pants and a floor where a terrier waited for the house to be full again on Friday afternoons. Gone. Gone. No, it couldn’t be hell. Not when there were traces of heaven in the ashes— of her unwashed paintbrushes and the cigars that he’d never stop smoking. Pieces of lost selves, of past selves, and dream selves… until even in its most unholy ugliness the place became holy, and we walked upon it with all the tenderness of a grave. It is said that war is innate to human nature. That Chimpanzees in Tanzania go to war and leave their dead washed over in river bottoms. Then the war was a natural distaster of sorts, wasn’t it? When our houses were cut at their seams, and men cradled dead babies in the streets. Greed is human nature too, some would add, as it shoved us reeling away from our ghosts. Out of earshot of his son’s voice on a park swing, of my love’s voice as he talked in his sleep (He always talked in his sleep. I could never remember the words after). It had been rumored that we would be allowed back. We were, when the children that had been born there should have been grown. When the streets were strangers with new names and patterns to them. It was some time before we stumbled on the old crypts of our old lives— found them upended by grave robbers who had turned the ashes of grandmothers and graduation gowns to gold dust, and claimed them as their own. And as I lay in bed I think of new beginnings to the story that has this end. Of changes that might have been made while it was being written. And I wonder if you ever recover from the disaster of being born human in a world that values you more as rubble.

The world burned below me as I floated in the safety of the spaceship my dad had secured our passage on. I stood gazing out a small circular window at the soon to be charred rock previously called home. There were no more tears left in me at this point in the journey. My eyes were dried out knowing 8 billion people have died in the span of a week after the meteor hit earth causing monstrous tsunamis, devastating shockwaves and earthquakes, and lastly the wildfires that couldn’t be put out due to the intense thermal radiation and radical climate changes. Every single person I knew was gone. Every place I had ever been was destroyed. As soon as the meteor neared our atmosphere yesterday, dad and I had taken our go bags and we boarded the ship. It departed one hour before the asteroid leveled cities. We were the lucky ones. If you could call us that. My dad and I, along with 48 others who were able to pay the amount required to survive the apocalypse and had a beneficial skillset for a new world, witnessed the immense devastation from the safety of our spaceship. The sobering silence that permeated the atmosphere lingered the first few hours after departing earth. Nothing and no one wanting to be the first to talk after the harrowing experience of seeing the extinction of all that called the Earth home. Eventually, everyone moved to their assigned bunks or stations based on their role. I had gone straight to my bunk and covered my head with the thin covers. Today, the Earth was growing smaller as we neared the moon. We were almost halfway there which meant I was that much closer to entering cryosleep to quicken the experience of our journey to planet Eos. Eos was discovered by the scientists tasked with finding a suitable new planet for mankind that our spaceship, Inizio, would take us to. They said that Eos was covered in turquoise waters and evergreen mountains. It had three moons that you’d be able to see in the atmosphere that was forever tinged purple, coral, and peach. The colors of dawn. It didn’t truly matter what the planet looked like, only that it was hospitable to our biological needs of breathable air, drinkable water, and land we could grow food from. I place a hand on the thick glass of the window before me. A final goodbye to all I knew. I wouldn’t look back again. It was time to prepare for what was coming and no amount of emotion I had would change the course the universe had for the surviving humans in this ship. Turning from the depressing view, I walk into the fray of bodies moving within the tight quarters of Inizio. Several turns and shoulders brushed as I maneuvered through the halls, I finally make it to the makeshift greenhouse where I was stationed. On Earth I was an agricultural engineer turned farmer. My love for designing farming systems drove me to experiment so I had purchased land and recruited my dad to help me. Together we had created a self-sustainable system that produced organic crops at a faster rate than ever before with the added benefits of improving biodiversity, minimizing waste and negative impacts to the ecosystem. This drew the eye of the scientists when we applied for seats on Inizio given the unique challenges of farming on a far away planet. When we had been approved we began the process of collecting and purchasing all the necessary materials for starting new life on Eos, including a seed bank with every type we could get our hands on in the short time we had to prepare. I walk in to the greenhouse and find my dad already rotating through the space to check on our hydroponic system of vertical towers housing the crops we started. He looks up and gives me a grim smile before returning to his task. He was a man of few words, which suited me just fine. “How are things looking?” I walk to the farthest tower and begin to inspect growth rate and development, leaf health, and any indications for nutrient deficiencies or imbalances in the solution our system distributed based on the column of crops that it was intentionally designated for. “Water and air flow is as expected, along with solution distribution. Ph levels are appropriate.” Dad ambles over to the computer and begins typing at a lazy pace. “Will it be ready to self-sustain by tomorrow when we enter into cryosleep and prepare for deep space travel?” I nibble on my lower lip. That part of the journey would determine our survival rate on Eos. We had projected that we must retain a minimum of 90% of the crops so we wouldn’t be at risk for food shortage or reduction in our crop genetic diversity. Without looking up from the screen, he says, “The monitoring system and all the sensors appear to be functioning correctly. The AI system has been adjusting conditions as we planned, so I believe we should have minimal failures.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. “Alright. I’m going to finish checking on these crops before calling it a day.” He grunts in response and we both return to our respective duties. Hours pass before we both depart the room, neither of us interested in menial chit chat as we head to our bunks. I drop on to my bunk and shut my eyes, wiling the recent events and worries for my crops away. I fail as they play on a loop behind my closed lids. Eventually everything fades and sleep overtakes me. A soft alarm beeps and startles me awake from a nightmare of flames. Sweat coats skin and my jaw is tight, likely from clenching it overnight. Ignoring the stress and trauma, I’m quick to prepare for the day which passes in a blur of preparation and emotion. Soon I find myself climbing into my cryotube being put into suspended animation. As the glass slides into place, I settle my body against the foam cushion I rest on. My heart falters for a beat as I realize I didn’t get a chance to see the moon one last time with the busyness of the day. I begin counting to control my breathing and the edge of my vision grows dim as I enter into nothingness. A tingling like an icy frost begins in my fingertips. My body feels heavy as I struggle to move and my throat is tight. My heart begins to race with the inability to open my eyes or move in any way. Where am I? What is happening? A faint light grows behind my lids and a mechanic hum begins as memories assault my mind. I gasp as I process everything and work to calm myself down. The pinpricks spread and slowly I’m able to wiggle my fingers and blink a few times just as the glass slides open. The air whooshes in I am greeted with the aloof face of my dad. As soon as the wires, sensors, and needles are unhooked from my body, I climb out of the tube with shaky limbs. “We’re there?” My voice cracks from the lack of use. He nods and gives his arm to me for me to cling to as we make our way out of the cryotube room passing others being waken or helping to wake others. Throat tightening, my stomach falls as the most important question crosses my mind. I don’t even want to ask but I know I have to. “The crops?” “I haven’t checked. Let’s head there first before we have to strap in for landing.” We make our way to the greenhouse and a bead of sweat slides down my back. Not from exertion but out of the anxiety pooling in my gut. I tuck a strand of my chestnut hair behind my ear after letting go of my dads arm, not as shaky as I was before despite the tremor now holding my fingers in constant movement. When we finally make it to the greenhouse, my dad pushes open the door and allows me to go in first. The sight that fills my eyes cleaves a sigh from my lungs. The vast majority of our crop not only survived, but thrived. Dad rushes to the computer screen with a rare grin on his face before he turns toward where I still stand at the entrance, my feet glued to the floor. “We only lost 7% of the crops!” A smile pulls at my face, loosening the tightness that had formed. “Which towers?” “4, 21 through 25, 58, and 79.” I rush over to the columns mentioned and take note of the losses. Nothing catastrophic, and nothing with long lasting impacts to crop survival or to human and animal nutrition. “Passengers of Inizio, welcome back from cryosleep. We are approaching the atmosphere of Eos. You have ten minutes, please prepare for landing.” A male voice comes over the intercom system and my heart races. It’s time. My dad and I adjust a few items to ensure nothing gets ruined with the landing before we make our way to the designated seats in the greenhouse and strap ourselves in. I grip the straps across my chest and shut my eyes. I had seen photos and heard so much about Eos. It would be a new life, a new start, and so much hard work just to survive. I don’t think I am ready. The time we had spent in cryosleep to make the journey in deep space hadn’t be significantly long. It was necessary though to limit supply usage that would be vital when we arrived in Eos but the time spent did nothing to alleviate the trauma we had lived through. So much grieving and healing was going to be necessary alongside the physical work of starting our settlement. Turbulence hits and I’m jostled within the confines of my straps and seat. My fingers gripping the straps tighter and I clench my teeth. After much movement and loud sounds, the impact of Inizio landing grinds through my bones and leaves me wheezing. We are here. My shaking and white knuckled fingers undo my straps. Dad and I make our way to the exit hatch along with the other passengers. We all gather at the door and an energy builds among us as people shift and whisper. The hatch clicks open and air whooshes as the door opens before us. Heads begin to move to peer into the outside of our new world and we are greeted by an indigo twilight sky slowing growing brighter as a new sun begins to crest the horizon of the rolling hills in front of us. Our group slowly walks through the doors and out into the new world, passing by me as I hesitate to leave the confines of the ship. Taking a deep breath I move to join them and step onto the greenest grass I have ever seen, velvety soft beneath my boots. Glancing around at the most untouched environment I have ever seen in my life, my jaw hangs at the raw beauty of it all. The new sun rises slowly, turning the sky above me into a wondrous mix of purples and oranges dotted with unnamed constellations and moons so big I could see every crater. My heart sputters as I take it all in. We are only experiencing this new world because our home was destroyed. We had no choice but to come here or die. What will we make of this new world? Will we thrive here? I take a step forward and set my mind on making this haven my home.

Lingering fumes cover the ash-covered ground, my shoes now covered in ash. The smoke in the air leaves an acrid taste in my mouth, burning my throat. Where my former house stood, now sits a pile of rubble. Rough and jagged edges of brick stick out from the rubble. A bathtub stands out, like the lead actor in a crowd, and my heart plummets into my chest. It isn’t just a bathtub, it was _my tub. The same tub I was showering in earlier that week._ My makeup palettes lay scattered amongst the rubble, all of them scorched and blackened. All except for one. Shoving it into my pocket, I head back to the parked car where Josie sits inside waiting for me. According to the GPS, the return trip back to Josie’s apartment will take the better part of an hour, which gives me plenty of time to sit with my own thoughts. Josie’s silent as she drives, and it doesn’t occur to me that this kind of silence only comes from a friendship that’s had years to be formed. We’ve endured countless hardships through the years, when Josie got laid off because the startup company she worked for wasn’t ready for an Asian woman to be in charge, or the moves that pulled us to opposite ends of the country for months on end. Or the night we lost Hayley, who made our friendship trio perfect, to a drunk driver, shifting our lives in a direction that wouldn’t include her. And now my dream home is nothing more than piles of ash. It’s just another loss on top of an already insurmountable pile. The mini dream catcher Hayley made last year hangs off the rear view mirror, swaying against the breeze from the air conditioner and the world suddenly feels too tight and small, like I’m choking and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get any air into my lungs. “Too cold?” Josie asks, her fingers hovering over the dial. I shake my head. _No? Yes? Maybe? Maybe this is all a horrible nightmare that I need to wake myself up from? Maybe I’m just dissociating and none of this is even real? I’ll wake up back and find myself nestled in my bed, my home still and quiet. _I’m gripping the edge of my door, my fingers only inches from the handle. Josie slides her fingers over to re-lock the doors, keeping her eyes on the road the whole time. But I notice. I don’t feel like a flight risk, but when someone expectantly loses their entire life in only minutes, maybe caution is warranted.   We haven’t spoken about the fire in any sort of depth. Every time I think I’m strong enough to talk about it, something inside stops me. Billy Joel’s “Lullaby” plays on the radio, and my hand instinctively reaches for the handle again. _I can’t do this. _ Josie side eyes me. “Mallory-“ “Can you pull over? I…I need some fresh air.” “But we’re almost there.” I don’t respond, and when Josie looks back over at me, my cheeks are stained with my tears and she immediately pulls up against the curb. I get out, promise to be back later, and Josie waves as she heads back down the road. There are no clouds in the sky, and the heat from the sun hammers against my skin. The street is quiet, almost void of all noise, which feels like another metaphor for my life. My mind is a flurry of thoughts and it’s not until I see the newly constructed retirement apartment complex do I realize how long I’ve been in my head. I’ve walked to the other end of town. I reach for my phone, checking the time and expecting a flurry of text messages from Josie, and am relieved to have a notification-free home screen. The property only grows in its size and complexity the closer I walk towards it. Each apartment structure has two stories, with the the second story patios screened in with railings, for safety purposes, I’m assuming. The lawn is manicured and beautiful elm trees line its edges. A man-made pond with a fountain shoots water up. _It’s magnificent._ Men and women are scattered across the property, some using walkers and wheelchairs, others carrying dumbbells as they walk the sidewalks. A woman in a sun hat sits on her patio, enjoying a refreshing drink and waves to me. She looks so happy. I wave back, and a sudden ache twists on my heart. There’s a gentleman sitting alone near the entrance staring at me. He’s too far away to know if he’s smiling at me, but he gives me a wave, and when I return it, he waves me over. He’s wearing a three piece suit, complete with those caps that are popular in Scotland. Upon closer inspection, I notice his bow tie has little beavers on it, and for some reason that makes me giggle, and suddenly his smile falters and I instantly feel guilty because he probably thinks I’m laughing _at_ him. I gesture to his chest, and when he realizes what I’m actually laughing at, his smile returns and he extends his hand to me. “I’m Norman, and you don’t have to tell me your name, because whatever it is, I already like it.” His hand has a slight tremor in my grip, but his skin is soft and dry. “It’s hard finding others who share in my sense of humor,” he adds, chuckling to himself. The chair beside him is empty and I pull it closer to him, and for a few minutes we stare out at the activity around us. “It’s beautiful here,” I say, watching a man cruise around on a lawn mower. “Lonely is what it is,” he replies, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. “You probably can’t imagine being lonely in a place such as this, but it’s true. My son works here, but he’s always too busy to sit with his old man for an hour or two. So, here I sit, watching.” “What are you watching for?” He pauses for a beat. “Nothing. Everything.” He pulls out his pocket square, dabbing at his forehead. He waves away my concern before I even have a chance to voice it. “I’m not that hot.” I nod, trusting he knows himself. “But I used to be,” he adds. “What?” “Hot. I used to be.” He slaps his knee, amused with himself. “Me too.” I say, a sigh escaping through my lips. Norman’s brow furrows as he looks me over. “You look like a young woman who has her whole life ahead of her.” “I don’t have anything in front of me,” I say. “Not anymore.” Norman listens patiently as I explain that my home is gone, and that I don’t know how I’m going to re-build my life from absolutely nothing. He doesn’t even seem to mind having his spare handkerchief ruined with my tears and snot, just shoving it back in his pocket. “You’ll find a way. As long as you’re alive, you have to find a way to keep trudging forward. Look at me, I’m living proof.” His words feel too sharp and calloused and drive the ache in my heart that much deeper. But when he gives my hand a comforting squeeze, I know his words are coming from a good place and he’s offering his wisdom onto me, the next generation.   A short while later, I offer to get us each a cup of ice water from the bistro inside. When I return to the entrance, Norman is laying on the pavement, his arm outstretched. “Norman!”I cry out, reaching for his wrists. There’s a pulse, but it’s faint. “Someone please! Someone help us!” I scream out. A middle-aged woman in scrubs rushes out, and begins yelling in Spanish to someone inside. “What happened?” She asks me. I begin unbuttoning his jacket, shaking my head, my words coming out jumbled. “I don’t know, he was just laying here!” The pavement scorches my skin, and I drag Norman more into the shade of the overhang. The woman gets off her knees, running inside, leaving me alone. I pull the thin blanket off his wheelchair using it as a pillow for his head, while removing the rest of his layers, until his bare chest is exposed. The woman returns with a container of ice, and I begin bagging it and laying the bags all across his chest, his wrists, his ankles, and his forehead. “I’m going to get Benjamin,” she says, and I can’t be for certain, but I think the earlier panic in her voice is gone, replaced with a knowing calm, as if this has happened before.   Placing my hand on his forehead, he gives a gentle moan, his eyes open, but only slivers. “Dad!” A man kneels beside him, and Norman gives a weak smile. There’s momentary fear in his eyes, and as quickly as it arrives, it evaporates. He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to the woman behind him. “I have told you a countless times Maria, you cannot leave him out here alone! And look at this -“ he grabs all of the layers I left in a pile, tossing each garment towards her. “Three layers? In this heat?” Maria’s eyes are covered in a glassy sheen, her bottom lip trembling. “It was my fault.” Both turn their attention to me. Benjamin’s jaw is clenched tight and I pick each of my words carefully. “I left to get us some water. He was on the ground when I came back and so I started undressing him, trying to bring his body temperature down -“ Benjamin turns, seeing the giant container of ice, and all the bags of ice that were put all over his father. He’s about to speak, when a fourth voice speaks, silencing us all. “Don’t blame the girl. It was me.” Norman sits up straighter, his arm resting on the edge of his wheelchair. Benjamin helps to lift Norman back into the chair, offering him some water. “But if you were around more, maybe I wouldn’t feel so lonely all the time. This woman’s been the first real company I’ve had since I moved into this place.” Benjamin rubs at his neck, leaning his head back, and I realize it’s a conversation these two have had on more than one occasion. Patches of blue pepper the skin under his eyes, and he has more than just a five o’ clock shadow on his jaw. “Dad, I’m sorry. I’m swamped. Between meetings and conference calls -“ Norman silences him, and turns his attention to me. “I want her. I want this woman to work here…” he pauses and I realize he’s waiting for me to fill in the gap with my name. “Mallory.” He nods, “Mallory. I want Mallory to work here. As my personal aide.” “Dad, you can’t just pick a random chick off the street and demand that I hire her in.” “Don’t disrespect her like that. She’s out of a job, and a home, and we can offer her both here.” Benjamin stands up, straightening his dress shirt, wiping the dust from his slacks before turning his attention to me. “Alright, Mallory. What’s your story?” Norman gives me a reassuring nod and I straighten. “Benjamin, my name is Mallory Buttons. My home is burnt to the ground, I have nothing but the clothes on my back, and the stories of my life. I have nothing to offer you, except companionship for your father.” Benjamin considers my words, when he looks to his father who gives him a look that says _what are you waiting for? _He runs his hand down his face, clearly feeling put upon. After what feels like forever, he extends out his hand. “Alright Mallory Buttons. The position is yours if you want it.”

Angel number or the devil's digits? This creatare could perform miraculous things Everyone be "marked"' with its name or number To buy and sell anything And Kill those who did not worship it The Rapture, Apocalypse, End of the world Call it what you will, Its all written right here The Book of Nonstop Visions The number of the beast For it is the number of a man And his number is six hundred and sixty-six A scarlet beast with 7 heads and 7 crowns Not something you’re likely to see in reality It comes out of that war Theres no marals or ethical ideas Just all visions But whats really going on here? Sounds spooky!

The howl on the other side of the shelter door is deafening, like some ancient deity come to furiously atone the sins of mankind. The heavy metal door groans and shutters under the whipping wind. Hail pings sharply and rain pounds relentlessly. I’m not afraid though. The screams of a tornado are as common in the springtime as the pungent blooms of the Bradford Pear, which is why everyone in this town has underground shelters, and nobody dares to plant a Bradford Pear. There are things that you learn here, that you weren’t born knowing, but you might as well have been. They’re pounded into your head from the moment you can read the scripture on the wall and eavesdrop while the mothers gossip in the kitchen and the men drink their beers outside. _You don’t bring store-bought food to the potluck. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t get tattoos or take the Lord’s name in vain. _And you don’t leave. When your Papa’s great-great grandpa staked his claim on a plot of flat, barren Midwest land, you stay. You stay to train the next generation of children you bear while you’re still young and impressionable. You live your miserable life a half a mile away from your cousins, and a quarter mile away from your grandparents. You finish high school, Lord willing, and you get a job at the town hardware store or the farmer’s market. You forfeit your dreams and your aspirations, and you drown your sorrow in moonshine and county fairs. Tornadoes don’t stay in one place for long, hellbent on ripping and scarring the Earth until they fizzle away. They’re born where they want and the die when they please, with no remorse for their actions. Our sirens have finished with their grating, low hums letting us know the destruction is finished, while the sirens a county over are just starting their warning call. People’s prayers for protection over their homes are finishing with a desperate amen, and mothers will weep and farmers will curse when they emerge to find their prayers unanswered. My prayers have been unanswered for twenty-two years. You get used to it. I reach above my head and twist the latch of the shelter, immediately drenching the cool dirt floor in sunlight. As I shove upwards, debris slides off the hatch and falls onto the sopping wet grass. My heart thumps in my throat and my eyes adjust to the afternoon sky. The trees that separate my property from Tim and Sherry’s property are splintered like toothpicks, with their leaves shredded and strewn clear across six acres. The backside of the grey wall cloud drifts on the horizon, dragging the green sky and all of it’s violence away with it. Our sky is clear, with the gentle April sun comforting us like Mama would after Papa drank too much whiskey on the porch. I crawl out of the bunker, mud oozing between my fingers and soaking through my pant legs as I clamber to my feet. My overalls are hanging off one shoulder and the tie holding the mess of hair on top of my head has slid down to the name of my neck. My fingers twitch and my knees wobble. I have to turn around. I have to see if my trailer is still standing. Squeezing my eyes tight, I shuffle my feet until the squall is miles behind me and my whole life is yards in front of me. Did the tornado show mercy, or did it think I deserve the wrath? Police sires sing in my ears as I mutter an empty prayer, and my eyelids slowly flutter open. The air in my lungs expels forcefully and hot tears begin to fall down my cheeks at the sight. It’s a disaster. The tan siding of my trailer home is peeled and entwined with the metal beams that held it all together, mangled and crumpled by the hands of Mother Nature. My belongings are scattered all over the yard, most of it unrecognizable, shreds of clothing and furniture hanging carelessly on tree branches and spikes of building material jutting out of the ground. I breath a shaky breath, and my lips curl. I smile. My chest heaves and my stomach squeezes with laughter. My prayer _was_ answered. The tornado _did_ show me mercy. I waste no time. I run. I run onto the street, the gravel crunching into fine powder under my boots. I pump my arms and suck in as much air as I can, my throat searing and my feet blistered and raw. The town square is eerily untouched, with only rain puddles on the side of the street and a few car hoods dented from small hail. The door to the bank jingles when I enter. A well manicured woman with a purple dress and thick, square glasses snaps her head toward the door and her face contorts in disgust, but she quickly relaxes. “How can I hel-“ “I need to withdraw two hundred dollars,” I bark, “please.” I give her my information and hurry out the door with cash in my hand. Will they miss me? Will my father cry? Will they conduct a search, and comb my property with flashlights and slick jackets? Will they hold a funeral, assuming that I was swept away like Dorthy, or will they know that I ran away to follow the yellow brick road? Thoughts swim in and out of my head as I board the bus and plop down in a stiff, blue seat toward the rear, with nothing but the clothes on my body, a wad of cash stuffed in my pocket, and hope busting at the seams. I’ll head to Oklahoma City first, and from there maybe Dallas or Santa Fe. The tornado has ripped my life to shreds and the endless possibilities filter through the remains in bright streams of freedom.

The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is that my clan is not with me. The second, the smell of smoke and rubble, as if every rock I’ve ever seen pushed against each other to produce flames. I sneeze. I see blood. Then, I lift myself onto legs I no longer recognize and feel the bones trembling beneath me. My eyes dart from side to side: nobody else is here. Besides the crackling of the flames, I hear no sound. No mutterings from the children, no lessons from the elders … just me. The last of my tribe. A flash of blue strikes my eyes. I think of the nearby ocean, that large expanse of water that we’ve always kept so far away from. Now, it’s time to go there. There’s nothing left here; I see our caves and huts crumbling as I look on. Our homes are long gone, and the bodies charred. I walk in the direction of the water, wondering why my mother always told me that it wasn’t safe there. Surely I could wade right in, go under, and build a new life? Maybe other deer are already under there, too. Maybe I’ll be the first deer to live there. Maybe, like my uncle that mother always warned me about, I’ll “drown”. Shaking my head, wondering what that means, I continue my walk to the shores as the flames rage on behind me.

The streetlights have gone out by this time, the sun has surrendered to the full moon. The only source of light was from the few houses that were still active, as sounds of laughter from children, and the scolding screams of their mothers were sound. A neighbourhood full of life, as security patrolled the dimmed streets, despite how late ut is. They held a bright flashlight in their hand, a particularly round man shined his flashlight ahead, and in response, the figure nearing hid his small head into his thin arms. He winced in pain through the flashlight hadn’t given him any prominent injuries, “Hey! Turn that off.” The man who was paler than the flashlight urgently exclaimed, the round officer drew his flashlight away and looked warily at the man, only to fully relax his villigance upon seeing the thin man’s badge. “Officer Tom” the round man said with an awkward smiel as his voice held a feign sense of familiarity, “You should’ve said hi, I didn’t recognise you for a second!” but in reality, this round liar didn’t recongnise the officer called ‘Tom’ even now. He reeked of alcohol and his eyes were glazed as he made to the thinner officer and pat his back, making ‘Tom’ stumble briefly. Yes… the officer was drinking when he wasnt supposed to, his eyes widened as he reached for his pocket. Where is my alcohol bottle?! He touched his round bottom, his bulging stomach, until he found that the only thing he had on him currently, was his fat. A crashing sound could be heard, a sound taht was violent and clangy. Thereafter a thud was heard, as a red wine spilled to the ground, followed by the glass shards that reflected the moon. Hands in his pocket, the pale officer who had contrasting scars on his face walked through the night, hands in his pocket as he whistled, no one would’ve thought such a good looking pitiful weak boy would’ve ended an officers life just a second ago. A house, no a mansion, was brightly lit, and it was decorate lavishly, even the exterior was bright. ‘Officer Tom’ glanced once, twice, three times at the bright place and smiled. He knocked at the door, this was a home he commonly visited, pretending to be Officer Tom, who was a rich man, he stole treasures from this very mansion. A kind lady, who seemed to have had many plastic surgeries opened the door, “Tom!” She smiled and hugged him, and led the shorter man into the home. “You always have work so late, dinner has already grown cold.” The woman who occasionally bumped into the walls complained in a weak voice. ‘Officer Tom’ changed his voice, “I am so sorry darling. You know I do this for the greater good? There was a bad crimson so I had to catch today.” He sighed and continued, “moreover, whose kid is this?” The woman who had multiple of officer Tom tried to search for the fake Officer Tom, as she touched her surroundings. She was blind, she relied on her sense of touch and sense of hearing to navigate. Yet, she was only recently blind so these sense were not very developed. Deceived she unknowingly was, into loving a man she doesn’t even know. A child ran into Tom’s wife’s arms. “Is this Tom, my father?” The child exclaimed, his voice young and happy, but for some reason, he seemed to look intimidating, his voice juxtaposed his cold eyes, he had a smile that wasnt reflected in his gaze. “Darling , did you adopt another kid? You know what happened to our old one last time… why are you still trying.” The thin man worriedly explained as he held a smile on his face, stealing some treasures in the drawers as he innocently spoke. The kid narrowed his eyes and smiled as the thin man met hid gaze. “Father, I thought that was mother’s necklace? Why are you taking it.” The kid spoke in an inncoent voice as he held onto his new mothers shaking hand. “T-this necklace…. It’s not your mothers, it’s mine!” The thin man put a finger over his mouth as if to shush the careless boy up. “I have many necklaces, it’s okay if you want to sell it.” The mother said, though she had a sense of suspicion that she pushed away in her heart. The lights of the mansion have shut off, the neighbourhood has become dark, the child is away in his room. He was just adopted today, yet he already is leaving. A windows opens and closes as Rem easily jumps from the second floor, lightly landing with no sound, on his small feet. Yet there is a sound- the sound of the jewellery cluttering in his pocket. “Another home robbed.” The child sighed with a large sense of fulfilment, a smirk on his young face. “What an unlucky woman, not only is she being robbed by her ‘husband’ but her new kid will also dissapear” yet the child has no sense of pity in his words, just excitement and entertainment. It was unknown when he lost his family. Maybe when his house was destroyed to a disaster that no one had ever expected, it could be said his family passed, but just then a few voices mingled to become one as soon as he ran away from the neighbourhood. “behind you!” High pitched and deep voices mixed in his head, as he glanced back to see only the outline of the neighbourhood, unable to comphrehend the urgency behind the screams received. The cold of the wind brushed his nose small nose tip as he body froze and goosebumps formed. He concluded there was no sense of danger, though there was a sense something had disappeared from him. Oh right! The voices, he cannot hear them anymore, his mind was full of only his own voice as he touched his neck. The pendant he treasured was gone, not only that, he had no jewerly in his pockets!! (That was the most urgent thing right now) he needed his jewellery back. No one this why he loves money so much but he does, thsi reaosn was enough for him to run around and stay alert for any sign of a thief. His eyes glimmered as he found a trail of footsteps. He felts triumph when seeing the footsteps, his money felt like it was already coming back. The surroundings were full of trees, as it contrasted the near neighbourhood that was lacking nature. He followed these foot printed with a sense of hope, until that hope become a fear of death. The young child was weightless, literally, the depths of hell foreboded over him as in a split second, the night that was kist in the sky, filled his vision as well. It was all a trap? Was it. Was it! HE REALLY WAS GOING TO DIE WITHOUT RETRIEVING HIS FUCKING JEWELLERY? The sad truth, and the expected end to such an evil kid. The ‘thief’ stood above the hole full of spikes, not even glancing at the child who was to die. His hands in his pockets as he whistled, playing with the cold jewerly in it.

Ashes and Renewal A Story of Survival and Rebuilding Chapter 1: The Mountain’s Gift Jade stood barefoot on her wooden porch, inhaling the crisp morning air. The mountains stretched endlessly around her, blanketed in deep green pines. The river hummed softly nearby, a constant, peaceful rhythm. Her dog, Rex, padded up beside her, his black-and-white fur shining in the early light. Soren, her great horned owl, sat perched on the railing, watching the world wake up. Down the hill, the community stirred to life—neighbors chatting, children running, the scent of fresh bread drifting from Mrs. Elden’s cottage. Everything was simple here. No cell phones, no city noise. Just pure, peaceful living. And it was all about to burn. Chapter 2: The First Sign It started with the smell. Jade was knee-deep in the river, casting her net, when the wind shifted. A thick, bitter scent of smoke curled into the air. Her heart clenched. Rex let out a low whine, his ears twitching. Soren flapped his wings uneasily from his perch. Jade turned toward the hills. A thin line of smoke rose over the trees. Then, a sudden gust of wind—and the smoke thickened. She didn’t wait. Dropping her net, she sprinted toward the village. They had to leave. Chapter 3: Warning the Village Jade burst into the gathering hall, her voice sharp. “There’s a fire. A big one.” The room fell silent. The villagers exchanged uneasy glances. “How bad?” someone asked. Jade swallowed hard. “Bad enough that we need to go. Now.” Outside, the sky darkened as ash began to fall like snow. That was all the proof they needed. Chapter 4: The Fire Comes The wildfire moved faster than anyone expected. By the time they reached their cottages to pack, the flames were already crawling over the ridge. Jade’s breath came in ragged gasps. The fire was alive. It roared, devouring trees, sending sparks flying. She grabbed what she could—food, blankets, a bag of essentials. Then she whistled for Rex and held out her arm for Soren. Soren landed swiftly, his talons gripping her sleeve. Rex barked anxiously, his tail stiff. Jade turned, one last look at her home. Then she ran. Chapter 5: The Escape The entire village fled together, a line of people, horses, and wagons winding down the valley. Behind them, the fire swallowed everything. Jade gritted her teeth. The flames were too close. The smoke burned her lungs. Then—a crash. A burning tree collapsed onto the path, blocking their way. Panic spread. People shouted. The fire closed in. Jade acted fast. “We go through the river!” It was risky—but their only chance. Chapter 6: Through the River The villagers waded into the icy water, holding tightly to their supplies. Jade gripped Rex’s collar as he swam beside her. Soren took flight, circling above. The current was strong. Cold. But it was their only escape. The fire raged on both sides, but it couldn’t cross the river. They pushed forward—freezing, exhausted, but alive. When they finally climbed onto the far shore, their home was gone. Nothing left but ashes. Chapter 7: Nowhere to Go Night fell. The villagers huddled together, shivering under the open sky. Jade’s hands trembled as she stroked Rex’s damp fur. No homes. No food. No idea what came next. Then someone spoke. “My brother has a ranch,” an old man said. “He’ll take us in.” Hope sparked in Jade’s chest. It wasn’t home. But it was somewhere to start. Chapter 8: A New Place The journey was long. Days of walking, sleeping on the ground, living off the little food they had left. When they finally arrived, the ranch stretched out before them—wide fields, sturdy barns, a chance for safety. The owner, a burly man with kind eyes, nodded. “You’re welcome here.” Relief crashed over them. They had lost everything. But they weren’t alone. Chapter 9: Rebuilding Weeks passed. The villagers worked hard—building shelters, tending fields, creating a new home. Jade helped wherever she could. She still ached for the mountains, but she was grateful. One evening, she sat on the porch, watching the sunset. Soren perched beside her. Rex lay at her feet. It wasn’t the same. But maybe, just maybe, it could still be good. Chapter 10: The First Spark Jade stood in the fields, the wind rustling her hair. She closed her eyes, remembering the past—the cottage, the river, the fire. Then she looked forward. They had lost everything. But now? They had each other. And that meant they could begin again. Not just survivors. Builders of something new

Day 1: The ground shook today, around lunchtime. We’ve never experienced a tremor like that before, not in a time anyone here remembers. I checked the library for past records as well, and found nothing. The next town over sent news of the same, though they now have a crack running through the main street. They are panicked. As are we. Day 2: It’s early in the morning, and the sun has not yet risen, but the mountains are rumbling… It’s incredibly difficult to sleep, between that and the strange red glow coming from the west. It permeates the air like a fog, and appears to be spreading ever slowly in all directions. It might be at our doorsteps by supper, should we find ourselves in such bad luck. ——— It’s breakfast time now. The glow isn’t any less intense in the waking hours, but we can hear the screams now. Everyone is indoors still, too anxious to risk their fate by investigating. Mother believes we should pack up and travel north, but Father believes it’s too dangerous. We don’t know what other towns are affected. I agree with mother. Though, I think we should travel east, away from the mountains. How far do we have to go, to be safe? The plains? The desert beyond that? I don’t know. But we cannot stay here, with danger lurking ever present. Day 3: Mother and Father got into an argument last night, but we’ve packed our backpacks as full as we could with essentials. Important papers and photographs, a few changes of clothes, water, dried meats and fruit… The kind farmer at the edge of town offered to let us ride in his wagon, but my parents are unhappy with the chosen destination. I am happy, however, as the farmer had the same idea as I. The land there won’t be as good for farming, certainly, but I’ve heard rumor of underground farmland in the desert, ones that do quite well! Perhaps he’s heard them too. ——— I sat at the far end of the wagon as we departed. The fog has gotten so much closer now, I fear it will catch up to us before we’ve reached safety. I won’t sleep tonight, not with this intense worry in my chest and my heart. I’m certain our town will be buried, either in rubble, lava, or that strange mysterious fog. I have not seen my friends since the first sign of danger, nor our cat… Poor little thing, she was so frightened she refused to come down from the rafters. We were forced to leave her behind. I only hope she has the sense to run far away too, and lives a safe and happy life elsewhere. I hope the same of us. Day 5: Nothing of note happened yesterday, aside from making some ground. Today, however, the ground began to rumble again. It spooked the horses pulling the wagon, and they’ve damn near destroyed it trying to escape, running in separate directions! I don’t blame them. One of them damaged their leg on the cart in the process, though, and the farmer said there’s nothing to be done about it. A lame horse is a dead horse, he said, and it’s better feed for the wolves than we are. A single horse can pull the wagon itself, with less weight, so Mother, Father, and I will need to walk the remaining length. It’s not an ideal position to be in, but we are still better off than we would’ve been on our own. I am still grateful. Day 8: We’ve finally made it to the plains! The strange red fog still hovers in the horizon, but I believe we’ve safe for now. The air is much drier here, and our feet are blistered and tender from the long travel. I hope we find a new place to settle soon. Far away from all the wild cats, preferably. They’re even worse than the wolves, as you don’t hear them coming until they’re too close for comfort. I almost miss the howling in the night now. ——— Those damn cats! We were attacked in our sleep. The second horse is dead, and my mother is gravely injured. Even worse, is the rumbling is happening again, even as I write. The chasms are splitting, and there’s that red fog flooding the bottom. How far will it rise? Are we not safe here either? It seems misfortune follows us everywhere. I do not know how much more of this we can take… Day 9: We’ve finally made helped mother into the wagon and the three of us pulled it along behind us, until we found an abandoned farmhouse. It’s infested with rats, but it’s safer than being outside. Mother is resting in an empty bed we discovered, one that was relatively clean. Father has been dealing with the rats, while the farmer has been repairing holes in the walls with what little tools and materials he can find. Thankfully, he brought some tools in the wagon. I’ve been caring for Mother, and have searched this house top to bottom for medicine or materials I could use. I found very little, and I’m not convinced my mother will make it through tonight… I did find some journals, and it seems like the previous owner had taken ill. I… found their remains in the same room, near the attic. Mother would throw a fit if I mentioned it, about the disrespect and superstitions about sleeping in a dead man’s bed, so I won’t tell her. ——— Mother has a high fever. We didn’t find her treatment in time. I was able to find the materials to make some makeshift bandages, but the infection spread so quickly… All hope is lost. Day 10: We buried her this morning, in the center of a natural shelter. Tall rock spires with mushroom tops, overlapping high above our heads. No human could’ve managed it, of that I’m certain. Though, I do not know how they formed naturally either. Still, we will be able to spot Mother’s grave marker for miles, should we leave this place too. Father and the farmer fixed the fences around the farmhouse, and started on the garden. I hope that it will be enough to keep the wild cats at bay. They prowl near the roads, and there’s not nearly enough traffic around the area to deter them. Day 13: It rained today! It did nothing to lower the red fog levels, but at least the distance we could see was shorter. I can almost imagine a day without it now, at least for the moment. I went with the farmer to scout the area again. The wild cats have started to bother us less, since we started hunting them for food. They’re one of the few animals we see regularly here, aside from the red tailed birds. I’d like to catch some, and put them in the barn for eggs. We have nothing in it currently, with the horses both gone. Day 19: The house is nearly fixed now. The roof no longer leaks, and we’ve cleaned out most of the debris and unsalvageble items. The previous owner has also been removed, and buried with ceremony in the same area as my mother. It’s beginning to feel like home, though I miss those we’ve lost to get here. I’m holding out hope that my friends made it out too. Perhaps we’ll see each other again someday. The farmer and I had what I might almost describe as a romantic moment this morning, when Father went to scout and attempt to catch a few birds. I’ll be getting my wish after all! And perhaps something more. He’s a rather striking man around my age, and he’s been oh so helpful through all this. I’m sure Father would approve if asked. Day 45(?): It’s been a good minute since I’ve journaled, I see. Things have quite busy, now that the farm is set up. I still have yet to hear from anyone back home directly, but Father heard several families made it out safe. There are others like us who found new homes or made their own, and are also setting up new lives for themselves. We have plans to trade a couple birds for goats tomorrow with one of them. The farmer and I have started courting recently as well. Father gave his blessing, although he’s still gruff about it most of the time. That’s just how Father is, however. I can tell by the sparkle in his eye he’s happy for us. The path forward is still rocky and uncertain, especially now that the Queen has declared a kingdom-wide emergency, but I believe things are changing for the better.

The fire destroyed half the city, and so many families were lost. I know that feeling all too well. My parents were heroes, running into and out of buildings to save people trapped inside. They were saving lives, but in the process, they lost their own. I walk around the remnants of what used to be my home, my life. But I don’t have a home here anymore. All of the memories I made here with my family are gone. And I can’t stay in this city if I want to move on. I have to go. The gates around our city were meant to protect us, and as a child I would always wonder what was on the other side. Now, sneaking around the guards as they opened the gate for the trucks that transported supplies, I got to see the outside for myself. Looking over the vast landscape of vibrant grass and clear waters, I had finally escaped the chains of lies that held me down my entire life. They told us that the outside was a desolate, dangerous place. But now I see nothing but light. I’m ready to start my new life, my new adventure

"Get in the car now!" Dad shouts at my younger brother, Matthew, who is crying and squeezing his teddy tightly. His crying picks up, so I reach over and scoop him into my arms, pull him into the truck, buckle him into the middle seat, and climb in behind him. Dad throws our things into the back of the truck, and we rip out of the driveway, speeding towards the evacuation route. The storm has been plastered all over the media for weeks, yet Dad decided just now that we would leave. It is his fault we are rushing out of here like this. I've been begging him to go; I knew the hurricane heading our way would turn toward us. Anyone watching the recent trends of these storms could have predicted it, so why couldn't the weathermen on TV? But I knew, I warned Dad, and now Matthew and I are suffering the consequences of Dad's ignorance. We make it to the highway, which is packed with others who heeded no warnings. "We could have avoided this if you had just listened to me," I huff in a whisper. Dad still hears me. This is no time for your petty little comments, Cassandra! " he shouts at me, making Matthew cry even harder. I roll my eyes in the back seat where he can't see me, "Where are we even going?" "To your mother's house." He retorts with something that sounds a lot like a grunt. Matthew and I sigh in unison. Dad tells us we have nowhere else to go, so obviously, this is the only place to turn with a hurricane barreling towards our home. "We might be there for a while, so just make do," he reassures us. "It is not ideal." Mom has not been in our lives for years. She might remember one of our birthdays or a Christmas card once every other year, but that is the extent of her existence. She left when Matthew was only two years old, and I was ten. It was harder for me when Mom left; I now have vague memories of her. I think I blocked them all out to save me from the trauma, but I had her in my life for ten whole years. Imagine how difficult it is for a young girl to have her mom up and leave without so much as a goodbye, never to be seen again. Kinda. With our mom's early departure, I grew into the role of Matthew's caretaker. Dad did his best, but there is only so much a single parent can do to raise two kids while working full-time. We always had food on our plates and clothes on our backs. I am grateful for Dad, even if he can sometimes be stuck in his ways. A few hours later, we pulled up to Mom's massive home. When she left us, it was to further her career, as we were "holding her back. "However, I don't remember asking to be here in the first place. Mom stands at the top of her grand staircase, lined with perfectly trimmed bushes; some contain roses, while others are bare and vibrantly green. She looks perfectly poised, waiting at the top of the stairs. Her butler hobbles towards Dad's 1992 Ford F-150, his lips pursed as he reaches for the door handle to the passenger side door and begrudgingly opens it for us. As Matthew and I climb out of the car, we gape at the house before us. While we have been struggling to get by in our small, two-bedroom villa, Mom has been living in luxury and starting a new family—a better family. "My darlings," she rolls off her tongue with posh arrogance, "I am so happy to have you here; it is about time." She says this as if it has been our doing for her lack of motherhood. She runs to us, squeezing our shoulders while holding us at arm's length. I cringe backward, and she notices. She drops her hands and turns to Matthew, tilting his chin up so he is looking at her. "My, you have grown so big," she coos. Matthew starts to whimper, and I pick him up into my arms. He is six years old and still wants me to carry him everywhere. We follow the butler into the house, and he leads us to our room. I set down the luggage and looked around. When I first enter the room, there is a young girl's bed to the right and a crib in the back corner. A cot has been placed on the opposite side of the room, next to a bookshelf filled with children's books. The more I look around, the more I realize what this room is or was. Pictures of Mom, Matthew, I, and a few with Dad are placed throughout. I look in the closet and see clothes I remember wearing as a girl. Matthew has curled up on the bed and continues to cry. I sit beside him and wrap my arms around his shoulders. "It's okay, Matty. We will be out of here soon." As I stand and walk towards the window, I see Mom and Dad still outside, talking to each other and laughing. Days passed, and the hurricane barreled toward our villa, but at the last minute, it turned south and missed our home. Neighbors have been giving us updates on the state of our area, and while there is some damage from intense winds, our house is intact. We can finally head back home. It has been strange being in Mom's home. She acts like she never abandoned us, makes us breakfast every morning, and tells us to pick up our clothes off the floor. We sit on the back patio each afternoon and drink tea; I almost don't mind it. But I am not letting this woman walk back into our lives after how she treated her kids and her husband. One day, while sunbathing on the back patio, I mistakenly asked about her new husband and son, our half-brother. She became tense and told me they were visiting her husband, Kevin's family, overseas for the summer. Since then, she has been avoidant and keeps busy whenever I enter the room. Dad seems not to care that Mom even has a new husband, laughing and flirting with her as if nothing has changed, and Matthew is too young to know the difference. To him, his mother is acting like a mom again, and I won't let her break his little heart twice. I am ready to leave this place; it feels wrong. I find Dad out back mowing the lawn. "What are you doing?" I shout over the mower's whirring. Dad looks at me and smiles, his eyes glazing over as if he had no clue what I was talking about. He has a picture-perfect look of happiness on his face. How he can stand to be around Mom is beyond me, but how he can look so happy is beyond what I knew about my father. Conflict stirs in my belly. I want to leave this place, but Dad and Matthew seem so relaxed. I don't want to ruin a moment of joy we will never get again. I turn back around and catch Mom staring at me from the window. She probably is just watching Dad mow the lawn, dreaming of what she missed out on and pretending she has it now. I hate her even more. I wait a few more days before I say anything to Dad, but as the days go on, the sense that something just isn't right grows on me. Dad has become almost robotic, smiling at all times of the day and not saying much. Even Matthew has started to notice that something is off. We sit on the back patio in the same spot at the same time every day. Mom brings the tea out and hands Dad a glass and one for Matthew and me. I feel like I am in that movie where the guy wakes up, and it's the same day over and over again. I finally turn to Dad, "When are we leaving?" I wait for him to turn towards me and say something, but he stares into the distance, "Dad! We need to go back home," I plead with him. "Oh, Cassandra, why would we leave such a lovely place so soon? Let's stay here a little longer and enjoy having your mother around for once." He lets out a deep laugh like he is enjoying the conversation. Something is not right. Later that night, after pleading with Dad some more but seemingly getting nowhere, I pretend I am sleeping when Mom comes in to say goodnight. She goes to Matthew's bed and kisses him on the forehead, then to mine to do the same. It takes all of my willpower not to reach up and wipe the kiss off my face. When Mom leaves the room, I get up quietly so as not to startle Matthew. After silently tiptoeing over each floorboard to get to the door, I reach for the handle and try to turn it. The doorknob doesn't budge. I'm locked in here. Mom locked us in here. I go to the windows next, being a little less quiet with panic now setting in. I push on the windows, but they are jammed shut. There is nowhere out of this room, and my Mother locked us in. The sun rose through the window the following day, and I lay in bed, sleepy from staying awake all night tossing and turning. After hearing voices stir throughout the house, I go to the door and try again on the knob; it turns. Did I imagine the door being locked, or did someone unlock it, thinking it would be before I realized it? I race down the stairs, searching for Mom. I run into her in the kitchen, nearly knocking the breakfast she prepared for us out of her hands. Why she prepares us food and drinks when she has a butler is still beyond me. "Did you lock the door to our room last night?" I accuse her. She looks baffled by this statement. "Of course not, darling. " She purses her lips, "Why would I ever need to lock you in?" Another couple of nights pass, and the same thing happens. Each morning, I wake up and ask Mom about it. No matter what I say, she denies it, and no matter how much I plead with Dad, he has that same glossy look on his face as if he has no clue what is happening. Tonight, after searching through the random stuff in the room, I found a tool with a sharp tip. When everyone sleeps, I quietly approach the door and pick up the lock. It works. As I make my way downstairs, I hear a faint mumbling of voices. They sound as if they are coming from the back of the house—no, below the house. I follow the sound to where it is loudest and find a door slightly ajar in the back of the kitchen. I open the door and see a stairwell that wraps around the wall, descending into a basement I did not know existed. As I slowly walk down the steps, the voices grow louder, and I can hear unpleasant noises coming from further below. I continue to go closer and closer to the bottom of the stairs. As I go to the last few steps, I look up, and my eyes go wide, breath catching at what I see before me. "Dad?”

Boom. That's how it all started. I heard a crash, a loud crash, and light streaked the sky. Then it hit. The zig-zag stitch in the night quilt crashed into my house with a deafening roar. Fire burst up around me like it was having a party. An arson party. I jumped out the window, broken from impact, and hit the gray solid pavement. I jumped back up, my skinned knees burning, and ran, ran forever. That's what it felt like. Pain. Burning pain. Fire. Flaming madness. I sat in the green grass, wet from the rain, and cried. Bawled my eyes out. My knees weren't the only thing that was hurt. I knew, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, my family was dead. Ashes, left in the house. As my knees burned, and bled, my thoughts drove grooves in my head. Burned pictures. Focused on the only answer. The thought- the thought I couldn't bear swam in my head. Starve. Dehydrate. Strangle myself. I wouldn't. For them. I would try, try to play this game. But I had to find a home. I stared at the sun, letting hopeful thoughts fill my head. I will start tomorrow. Everything would be fine. Everything is certainly not fine. I wake, tongue dried to leather and stomach growling. A creature inside me claws at my stomach, growling for food. I get up, weak from starvation. I grip my stomach and drag myself slowly across the horizon. It's been almost 2 hours since I started my ‘adventure’. I haven't seen any single human beings around. Almost like they all disappeared. Then I saw smoke. Gray billowing smoke coughed into the sky. I smiled. Then I ran, ran like a cheetah catching her prey. A log cabin came into view. There I would be able to eat and drink and… I opened the door. It creaked loudly, and as I stepped in the light flickered. On a chair, a white, pale white figure sat… oh no. A skeleton, tiny bits of skin and blood still plastered to the bones, sat on a ripped-up sofa chair. I screamed. My heart racing, I ran out of the cabin crying. It all happened again. The burning thoughts, the burning heart, the bawling. It all came back. It started over. Except there wasn't hope left, and hope was the only thing that mattered. I had run, ran far away from the broken-down cabin, and collapsed in the fresh grass. When I woke up a creature sat by me. Brown fur bunched up. I threw a rock at it. A sound squeaked out of it and it jumped, flipping backward, and before I knew it, I had fur in the face. Stinging pain. The rabbit's back legs kicked me in the face, causing my nose to bleed. As I felt the red liquid sink into my mouth, I ran. Ran again, and never would stop running. My eyes closed, and I passed out. I wake up, my eyes are bloodshot. Then I feel a slithering on my legs. A long and quiet hissing sound hints at the animal. I jump up, then scream. But I'm frozen in place. The snake has brown scales and black spots. It flattened its head and hissed, louder than before. It curls around my legs. It doesn't harm me. It just curls around me, like a hug. I put him on my shoulder and smiled. I knew I had found my home. I would survive.

The stars were out, the air was clean and crisp, then the tragedy started. Someone threw a firecracker in the slot of the mailbox connected to the door. that fire cracker landed on a rug in the house. It started a fire. Luckily, the young son woke up And called for his parents. The house was on fire. A neighbor called the fire department. Luckily, they escaped. It was a family of four mother, father, and two children ages two and 10 .as they’re watching the firemen put out the fire they lost everything they owned. The mother was hysterical crying, but the father tried to give comfort by saying it’s only a house. The little girl of two years old was in tears, what happened to Charlie my teddy bear?.. when you lose your house, you lose part of your life. Everything you worked hard for was destroyed. ThankGod for families. They stayed at their sister’s house until they could find an apartment. The house was only a house. but the memories and the laughter and the birth of the. children those memories are now only in your head all the pictures are gone, but the memories will last forever.

I wake up to a sharp cold pain as the night air touches my skin. I look over at my wife, my dear sweet Celeste, and see she has managed to roll herself up in the blankets. I know better than to try and take them back. I slowly rise from the bed, wincing as my bare feet touch the cold floor. Doing my best to stay quiet, I search through our meager belongings for something to bundle myself in. In the faint glow of the moonlight, I spy the wood stove in the corner. The cold black metal taunting me with the promise of warmth it would not be providing. I eventually find what I’m looking for, my other set of clothes, and put them on. The extra layer helps against the cold, but not by much. I lay back in bed, now far too awake to fall back asleep. It’s only been a week since our lives were turned upside-down, but it all seems like a lifetime ago. Celeste and I were among the lucky ones. Not only did we survive, but we were taken in by a lovely elderly couple the next city over, Andrew and Susan Copperlight. They found us wandering down the main road, carrying what few belongings we had left in a sack over my shoulder. At their insistence, we followed them home, where they graciously let us stay in their spare room. “Our children moved out years ago, and the house is far too quiet with just the two of us” Susan explained. Andrew nodded along, adding “Don’t worry about any kind of payment. Consider it our gift. Just worry about getting yourself back on your feet.” A task easier said than done. —————— Despite being able bodied, well educated, and knowledgeable in several trades, it has been exceedingly hard for me to hold down a job. It’s hard to stay productive and useful when you keep unexpectedly freezing up, unable to work for extended periods of time. My bosses are always sympathetic, but they’re also fully within their right to let me go when I prove I can’t be productive. Most jobs don’t last more than a day or two. I look down at the list Andrew provided of people in the city who’d be willing to let me try working for them, most of them crossed off now: the blacksmith, the a baker, several local restaurant owners, a jeweler, a glass blower. I even did a stint as a member of the guard. That one lasted the longest. It wasn’t until the fifth day that things went south. I was posted outside, and the last thing I remember was a flock of geese flying overhead before waking up on the ground, tears streaming down my face. The captain didn’t need to say anything, I made my way back to the garrison and returned my gear of my own accord. I approach the city’s library, the next stop on Andrew’s list. It’s an old building, probably one of the oldest in the city by the looks of it. As reach for the decorative knocker on the door I notice the sign posted nearby. ‘_Always open! Let yourself in. If you need help, all you need to do is ask._’ I push to open the door, it gliding surprisingly quietly on its hinges. I admire the amount of care and craftsmanship that must have gone into it. As I am lost in thought, a voice cuts through the air. “Ah, I was wondering if you’d turn up here.” I turn to see the source of the voice. A thin, elderly woman stands between two towering book shelves, hunched over a cane. Her silver hair sticks out in every which direction, as if arguing with itself which way it wants to go. In a voice that matches her calm, soft eyes, she continues. “I am Agatha DeCarte. I told Andrew to put me near the top of the list, but he insisted that you should try out some ‘real’ jobs first. Bah! Come now, join me and we can talk over some tea.” I follow her into a side room where she has a small table set up. The inside of the building is lit with the soft glow of arcane lamps. A wise choice for a library, as they don’t need fuel and don’t risk damaging anything. She gestures for me to sit before she disappears into the next room. I hear her shifting things around, clinking dishes together, as she calls out “So, tell me about your journey. I’ve heard some, but I’d like to hear it from you.” I swallow heavily, and begin to recount my tale. “Well, I suppose my journey starts the day… the day…” I break out into a cold sweat as my voice clams up. My mouth dries, and I struggle to find the words to retell what happened. The warmth in my hand draws me back to the room, as I find a cup of tea has been pressed into it. Agatha gently grabs the sides of my face, turning me to look her in the eyes. In her soft, soothing voice, she says “I’m sorry my dear. I didn’t mean that. I don’t want you to have to talk about _that _part of your journey. I meant your time here in the city. I should have been clearer.” I take a deep breath, letting the herbal aroma wash over me as she sits across from me with her own cup. Then, I tell her of my time in the city. Of the kindness of the Copperlights, and of my struggles holding down a job. As I spoke, I realized that for the first time, someone in this town was looking at me without pity. Her eyes showed compassion, kindness, and a genuine interest in my life. The job she had for me was simple: transcribing old books into newer tomes. In order to preserve the originals, she would copy the text down into a book anyone was allowed to access and read before locking the original away into a secure and safe place. “My fingers are old, and it takes me far too long to write them out myself” she said. The job was easy, if not a little tedious, and it paid well. So every morning, I arrive and carefully copy the text over. As I finish stacks of books, she would stop by and take them away, both the original and the new copy. Occasionally, as she brought over stacks of aging books for me to copy, she would take one out of the stack and tuck it into her robe. When I asked her about it, she would just reply “Don’t worry about that book sweetie. It’s not for you.” I decide to not question it. She seems to know what she’s talking about. —————— It’s been a little over a year since we moved to the city. Thanks to some frugal saving, and a generous gift from the Copperlights, Celeste and I were able to purchase a small home. Just in time, as we were expecting, and she was starting to show. We invited all of the friends we’ve made in town to celebrate the occasion. Everyone packed into our tiny dining room, bundled up against the cold. Many of our friends brought foods to share, warm meats and freshly baked desserts. Celeste made her famous tossed salad, and we brought out the preserved fruits we had been making for the occasion. As the night drew on, the drinks started flowing. Humorous tales of the past year were recounted as everyone laughed. That is until Jerry spoke up. He clearly had had a lot to drink as he slurred his words, his eyes trying and failing to focus on me. “You know >hic<, if it weren’t for that dragon attack, you never would have come here. That’s a nice silver lining, ain’t it?” The room fell silent, save for Jerry’s wife trying to shush him. My blood runs cold. I can feel Celeste’s hand on my leg, but whatever comforting words she’s trying to say are drowned out by the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I can’t catch my breath and I desperately gasp for air. The room spins, and I realize I’m curled in a ball on the floor. At some point, all our guests left. I do not know when, because it was some time before I was able to pull myself off the floor. Celeste brings me a glass of water, and I slowly sip it. Eventually, I notice Agatha sitting in the corner, a sadness in her eyes. I rise to meet her, embarrassed and ashamed for what just happened. I sit down next to her, and she pulls me into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry” she whispers as she pulls a book out from her bag and hands it to me. “I should have given this to you long ago. I thought that I could wait for a better time. But a better time never came. And now…” she trails off, gesturing to Celeste “if we wait any longer, it will be too late. You have a long road ahead of you, but know that there are plenty of people here who love you and will be by your side the entire time.” Celeste joins us, tears in her eyes. I pull her close, placing a hand over her belly. I look down at the title of the book Agatha brought me. ‘A Fresh Start: Learning to Live With and Overcome Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’

It was my ninth summer. I lived in Nerheim, the Jewel of the Coast. Its walls never shone as gold and bright as they did during the midsummer festival each year. The sandstone spires seemed to glow in reflected sunlight. The seagulls cried out. To the west I could see the merchants setting up their stalls, the ships' masts glistening, filling the port like a forest. The great mountain to the East smoked as if with great fire. The dark smoke seemed to glow orange with the sunrise shining through it, and was beautiful. The mountain had smoked all my life, and all of my father's life before me, though some said that the smoke was thicker of late, and it seemed true, for the smoke did not often catch the sunlight so beautifully. Today was the beginning of the midsummer feast. It was early, and the festival had not begun, but there was energy in the air: the prickling feel of strong magic, the collective held breath of the thousand thousand people, prepared to laugh and drink and dance, the festival banners raised high. The great ports smelt of salt and spice. In the markets, the smell of savoury meats and vegetables filled the air. "Aedric, son, look," my father whispered. He had named me Aedric, after his own name. It was an old and strange name, but my father was a scribe, and he liked old and strange things. I liked the stories of old. The love of the old and strange was not lost between generations. I looked to my father and saw him stopped at one of the stalls, hunched over a small carving. The merchant at the stall was an elf, tall and fair. From the sword at his hip, long and straight, instead of curved like the ones made by the smiths here, I could see he was from very far. I looked at the carving my father was peering intently at. A dragon locked in battle with a god. I knew the story. "Magnar," I said proudly, "he was a king in the south. In Echoriath, he and his children fought that god," I pointed to the carving. "And tore out his heart." "You know a lot, little one." The elf seemed impressed. "That is an old legend from Kesna that few know of." "I know a lot of old legends!" "Yes, you do," my father said proudly. He put the carving down and ruffled my hair. "Alden Varos." I said. I had found another carving. I knew his story, too. He was a storyteller who had travelled the world, collecting stories and writing them down. Several of his books dwelt in the great library. I had seen them when my father had gone down there in his scribe-work. He was my favourite, for he had the same initials as me. "Yes." I stared at the face, memorising every detail. "It's beautiful." My father glanced up at the elf. "How much is it?" "2 Golden Paros." My father sucked in a breath. He was not poor, but all the same it was a steep price for a little carving. I stared at him. It was not my place to beg of him to buy it. I was a child, and taught well to respect my elders. But I wanted it, and I could not be punished for making a face. For begging with my eyes. It was midsummer feast. Surely he would. He sighed, "It is the midsummer feast." My father handed the coin and I took the carving and leapt around as my father took me down the stalls. I was excited and saying words faster than I could think them. "Dad. Dad. Did- did you know. He- he- he went around. He collected stories!" "Yes." My father said dryly, "I'm the one who told you that." It was, I thought then, the best day ever. --- The eruption happened on the third day after the summer solstice. The feast was still going. I'd been sitting in the market square, watching the fire-eaters perform their tricks. The sky above was thick with smoke from the mountain. It darkened the sky, making the lights and flames seem to shine even brighter. A city of lights, of beauty. The earth trembled. Everyone cheered. Perhaps it was some trick of the performers. I clapped. The street dogs began to bark. There was a rolling, trembling sound. The earth's trembling increased. My honeycake fell on the ground. People began to get up in confusion. Some clapped, still. My father pulled me close. Clapping stopped. The bells began to ring. First one. Then another. Then another. A beat of silence. A moment of stillness before the storm. Panic seemed to rush through everyone at once. People screamed. Crowds rushed past. The earth trembled again, fiercer still. Glass exploded. Pottery shattered. Screams and shouts filled the air. My father yanked me towards him, but in a moment he tripped and fell and let go of me. The crowd pushed me away as it ran, trampling over him. The black smoke of the mountain tinged itself orange. It shone with light. But the sun was setting to the West, over the ocean. This was not the light of the sun. "Dad!" I was pushing against the crowd, trying to find my father. People rushed past. Pushing me along. Someone grabbed me, and pulled me out of their way. I stumbled into an alleyway. There was a great rending sound. A wall of dust and smoke flew through the air. I began to cough. Fire and stone began to rain down from the sky. It struck down at the crowd. I could see rivers of fire streaming down from the the mountain. People pushed against me. I cried out for my father again and again. I fell backwards through an open door into a small home. It was ransacked. The food had fallen from shelves. Clothes lay strewn on the ground. Another great rumble passed through. Rocks crashed through the wooden roof. I was already leaving the building, pushing against the crowd. "Dad!" I called out. I wasn't even sure where I was. I stopped pushing. I stood still in terror. I couldn't find him. I was alone, alone. I ran and ran. Trying to find him. Pushing through the crowd. Climbing walls and roofs. Calling out. Stone and fire fell faster and faster. The crowds no longer ran through the streets. Those who did fled faster and faster. The earth trembled again. Buildings fell. Stones battered and bruised me. A streak of fire burnt the side of my face. By some luck, I was not struck down. I kept on running. I reached my home, near the palace. Ransacked. The bookshelves fallen. Ink splattered across the ground. My father was nowhere to be seen. "Dad?" I knew only one other place he could be. I darted to the palace. The guards were gone. Servants ran through the hallways, trying to leave. I ran down and down, to the great library, far far beneath the ground. Perhaps he was there. Where he worked. Protecting the books. No one was there. Books were falling. Sections of the roof were caved in. "Dad!" Nothing. I ran further in. Surely he'd be here. Surely. Around me, books fell. Rubble fell from the roof. I tripped and fell. Books kept on falling. Stone kept on falling. I tried to unbury myself. A great stone fell, and I knew naught more than darkness. --- I awoke to silence. An eerie, strange silence. My head hurt. One of my eyes was squeezed shut, caked in blood. I could see nothing. Breathing hurt. The air was filled with dust and smoke and ash. I threw up. I tried to stand, and when that failed, I crawled. I was trembling. Coughing. Where was I? I instinctively found my way to the staircase. It was blocked up. I tried to call out, but my voice didn't work. I could hardly breathe. I was scared. I tried to calm myself. My father would find me. He always helped me. He would find me. My hands found it's way into my pocket. A small statue lay in it. A wooden carving. My head pounded. I tried to make sense of it with my hands. But the pounding just got worse and worse and I dropped it back into my pocket. I started sobbing. Voices. Movement. I sniffled, trying to compose myself. I called out again. Louder. My voice was hoarse. The voices picked up. They came closer. I called out again. I heard some crashing. Some lifting of stone. The voices were closer now, sharper, clearer. "Can you hear us?" The voice had an accent. It was not of here. Not my father, as I had hoped. "Is my dad with you?" I shouted back. The voices muttered amongst themselves. I could just about make out the word "child." Then an answer was shouted back. "No." I felt a stabbing sensation in my heart. I couldn't swallow. There was another crashing sound and then some steps, and the voices got closer. I could hear them on the other side of the rubble. "Are you hurt?" One of them asked. I sniffled, "yeah." "Call a healer." Said the voice, the other voice said something in agreement, and I heard someone running up the stairs again. "How old are you?" "Nine summers." I started coughing again. My head hurt. I was trembling really badly. "We're going to get you out," the voice said, "you'll be okay, little one." I started answering and he shushed me. Something moved. I could see light from my open eye. My head hurt even more for a few moments. It was streaming from the top of the blocked stairway. I could hear the rubble shifting. In a few moments I saw an elven head pop in above me. He saw me and sucked in a breath. He popped away. Some more shifting. A moment more and he crawled through. He coughed. He looked at me for a few seconds as I heard people marching down. "Found one! A little boy. Human. Injured, but capable of moving." "Don't let him sleep." I heard some sounds. He turned towards me. "Want water?" I nodded. He dribbled a bit of water into my mouth. I swallowed. I wanted more but he shook his head. "A little at a time, little one." I heard grunting and shifting. Rubble moving. The man stayed with me. "What's your name?" I almost answered. Aedric Valmorin. But I didn't. That was my father's name, too. And it caught in my throat. I shook my head. He seemed to understand, because he didn't press it. "You're in the great library." He said, I nodded. He saw my nod, and continued, "you can read?" I nodded again. "What stories do you know, little one." "Many and many more." "Which is your favourite?" "Eolande and Lysiria, who tricked the evil demon." He nodded. "That's a good one. Shows elves and men cooperating." "And they were clever!" I said. I regretted my excitement. I shut the eye that was open. "Yes, they were." Another voice cut in. "I've got it from here." I felt a warmth spread through my chest. My pain receded slightly. I slowly opened my eye. Other figures had crawled through. The opening was clear. One elf was crouched over me, muttering spells of healing. "Sleep," she said. And I slept. --- I awoke to a rhythmic rocking. My eyes opened, slowly. My body ached. Bandages were wrapped around me. The world swayed and I gripped the edge of what I realised was a small cot. The smell of salt hit me. I could hear canvas sails as they billowed and caught the wind. I could hear distant voices speaking in unfamiliar melodic tones. Elves. Barest glimpses of memory struck me. Fire and stone. My father lost in the crowd. On the table beside me stood the carved figure my father had bought, Alden Varos the storyteller. "Awake, are we?" It was one of the elves from the library. The healer. She was tall, her dark hair in braids, with a sharp angular face. Her eyes were an unsettling silver colour. I swallowed and nodded. I didn't say anything. The elf scared me, especially without my father. "You're safe, little one. Aboard the Windrunner. We left Nerheim two days ago." Flashes of memory. "My father! Did-" She stopped me. "We found few survivors, less than a handful. Relatives of people in Nerheim were helping the rescue. Of them only you had no family claim you. A few ships did flee the port, so it is not... impossible. But... I doubt it." I said nothing. My fingers gripped the cot so tightly it bit into my palm. The elf spoke again, gently. "What is your name, little one?" I should have said it. I should have held onto it because it was all I had left of my father. But when I opened my mouth the name didn't come. It had been swallowed by the flames of Nerheim. I shook my head. The elf furrowed her brow but said nothing. By the end of the week, I answered to a nickname. Theriad. I knew what it meant: "little survivor." For they had called me that as I slept, amongst themselves, and I gave them no name. --- I sat in the cot, tracing the figure of Aldren Varos. I was alone. My father was gone, fully. I was truly alone. "You do not weep." It was the silver-eyed elf. Elara, I had learned, was her name. I was unsure of how to answer, "I did weep, before." "And now?" "And now I don't." "Why?" The words caught in my throat. Because my father was gone. Nerheim was no more. Because if I started crying, I wouldn't stop. "It would change nothing." Her silver eyes seemed to pierce the truth from my heart. Then, after a moment, she said, "you are wiser than your youth." I was unsure to what she meant. "There is a saying among my people, translated to your tongue, it would be 'we carry our grief, but we do not let it carry us.'" I stared at her. A moment later, she added, "of course, that's easier said than done." --- The Windrunner made landfall at Ilithandor, by the emerald cliffs. I knew they were not made of emerald, but they shone bright green, and I was in awe. The port was unlike the great sandstone towers of Nerheim. This was a city of Nolorei, woven into nature itself. Bridges of silver-twined marble spanned waterfalls. Pale towers faded into the mists, grown of living trees sung into shape and spired taller than anything ever built in Nerheim. I had dreamt of seeing cities of elves. Cities of story and wonder. But it brought me no peace and no comfort. The tongue of the elves, melodic and soft seemed to lose itself into the rustling of the leaves and the calling of the birds. They stared at me openly. I did not belong. There was much whispering. I was an outsider. A stranger. I gripped the figuring my father had bought. I wasn't meant to be here. I was meant to be at home, with my father. Learning stories. Walking through the old streets. Buying wheat and rice and honey and lentils from the markets. They brought me to the Silverwood Hall. Three elven lords stood on a balcony, looking down upon the hall. One sat upon a great seat. The captain knelt before them, and spoke in rapid Elvish, and I caught only a few words I had learned so far. He gestured and the rest of us walked closer and knelt as well. The elven lord on the right said a word and it was Elara who rose and spoke next. I knew then they spoke of me, for "Theriad" was spoken, as was "Nerheim." The exchange went on for some time more, then the Lords spoke with each other, and the greater Lord in the seat spoke, not in the tongue of Nolorei, but in Choss, my own tongue. "The child has no name." My blood ran cold. "No," Elara said, "he has lost it." "Then he is to be named anew," the lord responded. "We have called him Theriad until yet." I nodded. The Lord spoke up. "You were found in the libraries of Nerheim." I nodded again. "You are familiar with the stories of old?" I found my voice. "Yes, my lord." "Much was lost in that library. A true shame. Can you read? Can you write?" "Both, my lord, though not as neat as..." I trailed off, "as others." I managed. There was some conferring in the native tongue, then the lord in the seat spoke. "One. Theriad, by virtue of his age, and no living relative, is granted leave to live here, and to live as one of our own," his eyes settled on me, "Two. The lost writings are a shame. You shall tell us the stories of your people, and write them down as you can remember them, before they are lost. In turn we will tell you are own. For this I name you Keladri, storyteller. This is a sacred duty." "I am honoured, my lord." "Then rise, Theriad Keladri, the last memory of Nerheim." --- Years passed. From the elves I learned their language, their magic, their ways of fighting and their worship. I was never truly at rest, there. A small part of me remained Aedric Valmorin, the boy from Nerheim who lost everything. But I never spoke that name again. I learned stories. I spoke to travellers and I collected books. I saw stories dying out, only last remnants of a legend as an ember dying out, and I breathed such stories back to life in my writings. In twenty years, few tales were told still of Nerheim. In thirty, only the last days were remembered. I hated it, and I grew restless. I made a decision. I would travel the world, collecting stories. I would tell and listen, read and write. I would make sure the memory of no place died out again.

“Elise! Elise! Wake up!” My eye shot open, my dad was shaking me awake from my nap with an aggression I’ve never felt from him. I searched his face, and all I saw was panic. His eyebrows rose up to where his hairline should be, his eyes wide, his voice booming. My father was a quiet man, a kind man. I could remember a handful of times my father raised his voice, but only ever in joy and excitement. My father was a reasonable man, who thought any disagreement could be resolved through calm conversation, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t defend himself or his family. Even in his 40s, my father towered over people, bulky and broad. To see him here, fear flooding his face, shocked me more than the way he woke me. “What-“ I started, but he cut me off immediately. “Elise, it’s bad. Worse than we thought. The droughts have been too long. There’s no more water left in the stores for us, let alone enough to fight this fire. We waited too long, it’s close now. We need to leave. Pack your things, hurry!” He said, panic biting into his words. The fire was big and spreading fast, the hot, dry winds only making it a more ferocious beast to fight. A lifetime of memories and belongings in this home that we couldn’t take with us. Pictures still hung on walls, clothes still in the dryer, fresh groceries still in the fridge. We packed as much as we could, bartering sentimental with essential. I tucked as much as I could into my bags, the seats, two bags even sat between my legs as we loaded the car. I watched my father’s shoulders sag with a new burden as he took in the sight. The fire was so close now, we could feel the heat of the wave as it inched closer and closer. It wouldn’t be long before it engulfed everything he worked for. Every late night he worked, every overtime shift, and weekend to provide a little extra for us. To make sure we still had money for things like college and school dances. I watched as we drove away leaving the flames behind us, but it seemed that the real challenge, the real fear lay in front of us. We only drove for thirty minutes before we came to a dead stop, when I peeked my head up to investigate. I saw long lines of cars on the highway, some pulled over to the side. People out in some cars, windows down on most, some people were walking around, talking to others. But the situation was clear, everyone was stuck, and they’ve been stuck for awhile. A small women was standing behind the car in front of us as we slowed to a stop. She was heavily pregnant and had an chubby infant in her arms. She stood next to her husband, he was a tall wispy man and he leaned over the trunk appearing to change another child’s diaper. My mother and father exchanged a long look, and then glanced back at me. I was 17 now, only a few months off 18. I was finishing my senior year, which I guess is now postponed? God I hope not, I thought, Ive been eagerly counting the days until college. But now with all of this fire and brimstone, things have felt more scary and uncertain rather than exciting. I knew what that look was, I’ve been an older sister for 12 years now, and everytime that look is followed by a plead to watch Elowyn. But I felt the gravity in the situation today and I didn’t need to hear them repeat it, I nodded my head, foregoing any of the usual argumentative antics I normally deploy. My mom smiled gratefully, and my dad cleared his throat to speak, “We’ll be right back, we’re gonna go figure out what’s going on. Elowyn, you know the deal, behave for your sister.” Elowyn nodded, she too was old enough to understand what was happening and knew today was not the time to dig her heels in the sand. Me and my sister generally had a good relationship, as most siblings do, along with the occasional bickering. Okay more than occasional, but you’d get it if you had to live with her too. I watched Mom and Dad exit the car, and walk up to the couple in front of us. The woman smiled warmly and touched the elbow of her husband to grab his attention. He smiled and offered his hand out to my father. I stopped paying attention, my thoughts turned toward the fact that we are now homeless. I was supposed to start college in the fall, was that still happening? I mean they didn’t have a home anymore, barely any clothes, nothing but a car and themselves. She couldn’t think of a time when she had so little to call her own. Would her parents recover from this? And what would that look like for her family? My sister looked at me, fear prickled her features. “Do you think everything’s gonna be okay, Ellie?” She was looking at me differently than she normally does. I knew that in this moment she saw me as more of an adult than I actually was. Hell, I was scared too, I didn’t know if everything was gonna be okay a month ago before the world was on fire, let alone now! But I knew I couldn’t tell her that. She was counting on me, and I knew it was my job to reassure her while my parents were away. I tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and stroked my thumb across her cheek, “Of course everything’s going to be okay.” I said, “And I bet the hotel we stay at will probably have a pool, ooh and the continental breakfast will definitely have pancakes.” She cracked a smile, “You’ll swim with me tonight when we get there? Pleasee”. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, I’ll swim for a bit but then I’m getting my butt in the hot tub and you can’t stop me” I laughed. She conceded but I knew she’d put up a fight later. Mom and dad reached the car and got back in. They were silent, but didn’t look too worried. Or at least anymore than they had previously. “So?” I asked a little frustrated, “What’s going on?” “It’s nothing to worry about, honey. People started running out of gas, and now the gas stations are out too.” He gestured around to the people, “Most of these people are camped out here waiting for the next exit to get gas when it’s delivered to the stations. Either way though, they said we could go around and continue on.” He said, starting the engine. We continued on driving, on and off the side of the highway to move around stopped cars. Some people had made little camping setups on the side of the highway, complete with a tent and a camping grill. Others it seemed were resigned to walking up to the next exit for some good sleep in a bed. A sight had never felt so apocalyptic before, felt more like a scene of the walking dead than a moment in my life. But it’s just a fire, I reminded myself. We’re getting out, we’re leaving, everything will be okay. I took a long breath and rested my head on the window. When I woke up, the world was dark outside the window. The dash glowed in the night and my sister lay sleeping next to me. I sat up and stretched. “Have a good nap?” Mom asked, noticing I had woken up. “Yeah, good enough anyways.” I yawned, “Where are we anyway? What time is it?” I asked, trying to regain my bearings, the day coming back to me. “Almost to a hotel, we’re about 3 hours from home now. It’s almost 9 now.” I relaxed back in my seat and waited for us to get to our stopping point. By the time we pulled up to the hotel, Elowyn had woken up and was anxiously awaiting the swimming trip I had promised her. The hotel was as basic as any other right-off-the-highway-Inn. Tall, white and lots of parking, but complete with a pool which made it worth it. We stopped by a fast food joint and got some burgers to eat up in the room. As quick as I had taken my last bite, Elowyn had her swimsuit on and was haggling me to get mine on. If I’d let her, I’m sure she would’ve dressed me herself. We walked through the long quiet hallways of the hotel, the gaudy carpet taking so much visual real estate I couldn’t focus on anything else. Elowyn walked next to me bumping me with her hip to lighten the mood. “Hey at least we’re going to grandma Lenny’s and not nonna Rita’s,” she laughed, “grandma Lenny always lets us do whatever she wants, and she has a pool.” She waggled her eyebrows at the pool statement, I snorted. “Elowyn, you and pools, you may as a well be chlorine-water mermaid.” I scoffed jokingly. It was a modest pool, rusty colored tile lined the room, but it had a large pool and even better a nice sized hot tub. I gave in and played mermaids with Elowyn. She of course was a chlorine-water princess mermaid with a pink tail, and I was delegated to being a peasant mermaid with a green tail. More people began to pile in, others who have been displaced in the fire. A little boy cried on his mothers lap for his dad while his siblings played. I couldn’t help but overhear from the hot tub, he was still out there working to keep the flames from consuming more homes, and there had already been injuries, some fatal. We made our way back up to the room, the news was on. It was all I could hear while my parents shuffled around the room preparing for bed. People who had died in the fire, those who were lost in the fire, clip after clip of the fire eating up homes like a monster at sea. “Honey?” My mothers soft voice pulled my attention. I turned to look at her, “Things are going to be okay.” She reassured me. “How?!” I exclaim, it was louder than I meant it. But everything was hitting me now, it was real now. I scoffed as if it hadn’t been real already. Tears began to well in my eyes. “Elise, we will always find a way. We will always take care of you. We are together, and we are safe. That’s more than a lot of people have right now” my father said, taking my face into his hands. He wiped my tears with his thumb and placed a kiss on my head. “We will all have much grieving to do, for our home, our community, for even loved ones we do not know we’ve lost. But we will be okay. You are not alone.” The well broke and Elise sobbed in her fathers arms. Her mother joined in, and she saw that she too was crying. When she looked at her father, there were tears streaming down his face. She knew in that moment that it wasn’t okay, nothing was. It was horrible and tragic, but she also knew that he was right. They would be okay. This next year or maybe longer would be a lot of compromises and going without. She knew this wasn’t the end of the hardship by any means. But the world wasn’t ending today, even it felt like it. Even if her world was ending, it would start again, and again.

Its been two dawns and one night since my running from the mount mist started. And here i am watching Another dawn and yet i am wondering where my feet’s leading me to. the only the thing scratching my thoughts is how could for a girl to survive in this island and more than that helping you the small baby i found in my way runing out. I am still hoping for the king’s guard to find us. But this is far away to be possible the mist had moved and spreaded across other villages and even the fact that there is someone survived the first mist wave is beyond belief. And yet here i am, the last time i saw the king’s guard or like my village calls them **_The Legions of the mist_** thinking that if they call them by this name the legend might come true and the Misty warriors power shall spread across the promised Legions. My village always believed in myths and legends that was told as tales for thousands of years. And that just brings us the doom of ours, you know my father ones told me how did we end up in this village. Before 300 years whene the island’s third war ended The war of the ancient warrior. This war lasted more than 500 years and for that five islands had draawned in her guards corps or even drawn in**_ the sea of darkness_**. And all this years people feared the mountains of the mist and other prayed for the mist rage. The war emded and nothing happened and people start to believe that the mountain mist are just a myth a legend and not true. But in the east in **_island of Bor_** named by one of the eight warriors as much as the other big island. in the kingdom city there people leaved in happiness despite the hard work and fightthe nature hardness trying to rebuild the kningdom and extend the size of after a lot of refugees has come to the islnd of bor after the war. But there is one old man called Evan kept warning the king from the rage of the mist because the war has cost a lot of blood and drained the islands. But the king always calmed the man and promises him that ther nothing to fear of and even if the mist rage we are far enough from it. But the old kept doing that and one day the king lost it and tells him in loud voice there is no mist there no rage it is all lies it is legends and tales. That is the first time and first king admits that. The old felt betrayed and announced that he would walk out the kingdom “**_I requested expulsion”_** tha was like demanding to kill yourself. Because out of the kingdom walls arr no human just death. Evan walked out from the kingdom with a bunch of other people that didn’t like what king admits .after three dawns walk and evan tribe found themself under the mist mountain, and they decided to build there home under it in request of forgiveness. Years and years passed, evan died and his friends also died and village get bigger and other village two dawns far they took a place close to the kingdom for farming land under the king’s guard watch. The people of our village also devided into two people the ones who believed that there none such mist rage or warriors power and took it as tales and other becomes extreme believers even they build stute of worship to evans and his fellowship and gave them the warriors cloke. The thing didn’t take long and Evan village woked into fight between the workers and believers and ended by the believers leaving and they take the mist mountain caves as a home. But three dawns ago everything got changed i lost everything i lost my home i lost my father. It was a shine morning i woke up with my father to learning how to throw arrows and it was my first day training after i mastered horse riding, i always wanted to be the village guard as my mother she was the best who throw an arrow even the king asked her to join the king’s guard but she refused and stayed with us but not for long and the sickness brings her time to the end. Whene we where training one of the believers comes walking in fall blood in his body walked into the middle village and we all watching him and he looked at us and smiled and said the mist is coming and drop dead. People started to wonder what’s happening but not for a second. We heard the death screams wich known as mist sound and we saw a white mist wave runing from the mountains towards us but it didn’t take long to reach us at the same time king’s guard reach the village and all the people runned to them the mist killed half of us in blink of an eye and the homes goes in ashed ad if there where never existed. Father holding my hand trying to cath place in the guard horse cabin, like i heard crying scream i turn my head i saw you falling in the ground and your mom beside me trying to get place i runned to catch before the mist catches you and i kept running from the mist tryes to catch me and left my father with guardsi didn’t why i did that i just felt it is the right thing to do. And that how i met you. **_ Jace_** stared longer to the little baby and stared crying. She grabbed her knees to her chest and put her head down and carried for what it comes to her. **_we are the people of the wild we accept the nature law as much as it is, we hunt to eat, we fight to survive and we learn to live. My dear your mother never gone and you’ll meet her again because only the mountain who never meets _**than she said looking to the sky will i might again dad. A sound of baby crying touched jace ears and she wooke in shock with the mist images in her brain. She stood and walked a bit on the she talk as little camp. The mist is reaching us, she took off her jacket and ripped it off and made with it shoulder bag to the babe. In here way in the woods she start searching for reen plants it is a plant to make sleep she herd tales that the warriors used as a painkiller or drugs to sleep short whiles. Why not to use tales as guise in her way and she saw the mist in front of her. After i while of searching she found it innside a dead tree as it told in the tales. She talk a bunch and put it in her pockrt. she took a piece of it and chewed to go soft and juice of the plant make her go lazy. She takes from her mouth and rubs it in baby mouth to stop cry and go to sleep and that raises her chance to stay under The Ghouls sight. And than she washed her by the river to walk her self up and remove reen’s plant effect. But she saw the mist getting more closer, and she realized that she needs to walk faster with rest for more than two dawns and she said ( and to reach the shore it is the only way out of Bor island) Dawns past and she still walking. Her body got weak and tired and she didn’t eat for days now but she kept walking and the mist is no further away. And her body is not that taught and she felt on the ground and her eyes closed and she got no resistance. She opened her eyes into the sky and she saw tress dancing with the winds. The balnket warms on her the smell of the food boiling. A baby cried and that let her jumpe looking for it. She immediately grabbed a rock and screamed into a tall man with thick browse and long beard his eyes were sharp but each one has it’s own color black and white and he was bald but he baldness was covered but a tattoo over it. He wearing a shattered black cloak with a V shape at it end and the cloak has a golden sword shape button in his neck. The man was calming the baby in his arm and turn to jace and said**_ you are still weak to fight me I prepared for you some food and you need to eat you hadn’t eat for 10 dawns now _**she had mixed thoughts she was going to drop the rock than she raised her arm again and she asked him in high pitched voice **_how do you that i didn’t eat for that long _**with looking at her ge said**_ i can tell stuff _**than he looked her into the eyes and add **_now please eat a bit of food and rest a bit more because we don’t have time the mist is getting close and the ghouls are starving._** Jace didn’t bother her at the moment with and she eat like she never did. After that he told her how found her in river valley and took by his horse. To her he found the baby calm and he was not that hungry because she took care of him. And she toold him about how she left her father what the mist did but he didn’t seem so suprised after she added that she need to go to the island shore because it is the only way to escape the island the man asked her about your father she didn’t answer him he understood that there nothing to do. After days of walking the girl reachs the shore and she found old war ship that still do the job and she asked the man if he wants to come with her. He removed his cloak and put around her and he brings from the horse bag map of the sea of darkness and marked for her the close islands and that he also grabbed and daggers made of glass and gave to her and told her **_the road you will take is non safer than this island this map is just a guide and this dagger to keep the monsters of sea away from you._** Than he helped her prepare the ship. Than she asked him again what don’t come with me the island is dying. This time he answered her with a smile and said and to save my island. She stared at him and said **_you are a strong but the mist kills everything and also there nothing to be saved_**. He smiled and pushed her ship from the shore. She wondered how powerful he is to push a ship this big and she told him **_you never told me your name._** He walked to his horse and said **_i am Bor the east island warrior and i am gonna save the island as it requeste._**

In the shadowy reaches of the world between the Northern and Eastern Kingdoms, where the craggy peaks claw at the heavens, there dwelt a Nephilim named Methariel. As a mystic of the North, gifted with prophetic visions, Methariel foresaw the devastating flood that El Olam would send to cleanse the world of its corruption—a divine reset in response to the chaos sown by Lumasariel and his dark legions. Methariel, unlike many of his kin, did not stand in open rebellion against the decrees of the Supreme Lord, nor did he align with the malevolent Lightbringer. Instead, he tread a solitary path, guided by his visions. As the signs of impending doom grew clearer, he set to work, constructing a vessel capable of withstanding the divine wrath—a sturdy boat hidden in the depths of the mountains where no other being dared to roam. When the heavens finally broke, unleashing torrents that drowned the old world, Methariel sealed himself within his ark. The floodwaters surged over lands and kingdoms, obliterating all traces of the world that once was, sparing only those chosen by El Olam and those few, like Methariel, who had heeded their own forewarnings. After what seemed an eternity, the waters receded. Methariel’s ark came to rest on the slopes of the now-sacred mountains, the boundary line between the transformed Northern and Eastern Kingdoms. Stepping into the new world, Methariel found it a place of raw creation, where humanity—newly crafted from the divine will—began to spread, innocent and unaware of the world before their time. Choosing to remain hidden from both divine entities and dark forces alike, Methariel adopted the guise of a humble hermit. He lived on the fringes of human settlements, his longevity and the light in his eyes the only hints of his true nature. To the men and women he met, he was a sage who appeared in times of need, offering wisdom that seemed ancient yet perennially pertinent. He spoke to them of ways to harmonize with the earth, to respect its cycles and to glean its bounty without greed. He taught them the language of the stars and the secrets of herbs for healing, weaving his teachings with enough myth to inspire but not enough detail to reveal his origins. Always, he maintained the delicate balance of helping humanity grow without steering its destiny. As centuries passed, Methariel’s legend grew, but his true identity remained a carefully guarded secret. Only the most perceptive saw the sorrow behind his serene eyes, a melancholy born of memories from a world lost to time and flood—a world where he had walked among giants and battled against the spawn of darkness. Thus, Methariel continued to live, a bridge between what had been and what was to come, a silent guardian of the past and a gentle shepherd to the future, forever marked by his origins but committed to his self-imposed exile among the children of a new creation.

After a earthquake destroying my home and me losing everything. I started living in the streets and life was hard I called for my parent they accepted for me to live with them. So I walked over to there house and iq as dirty from all the destruction that happened. When my parents discovered what happened they said they won’t help with anything else other than giving me a home they wanted me to know the adversities of life and unfortunately they were right I had to learn I was being spoiled for to long no matter how much I did not want to do it i knew eventually I had to.So while I was on the couch thinking about what my parents said I didn’t know where to start because there was so much to do I wanted to get rich for my parents fast but I didn’t know how to it was such a struggle just to start and find something productive to do so I can get from the starting line to the finish line. And my mind is fighting itself and I felt so confused so then I had to ask my dad for advice and he said “ son starting is a very complex thing to do it’s normal all you have to do is just start somewhere and discover what you like once you do that the rest will come easy to you.” After hearing those words I started going online and trying things that seem like it was going to be interesting or easy to do so I decided to sit down and remember what I like To do in childhood and I was liked to write because it showed how much I could just put on a sheet of paper and how I express my emotions and my logic to the world and imagining people reading my thoughts and feelings it mean the whole world to me.So then I started to write down my feelings on a paper but I didn’t know what to write I think of writing in my perspective a way as conveying a universal language in some sort a way to convey ideas so I thought of ways to start. For 5 hours I been thinking well and playing around which is something I shouldn’t have been doing but I decided on a title called “puking pow board” it’s about a board that has the ability to throw up but the throw up is magical it can make the board float and also attack people with slipory attacks and it can also evolve into something even better called the gaming board making it able not to only throw up but to go 2x faster and to become a unstoppable force to be reckoned with. So then when I first created my book it didn’t get much views at first but then I started spreading the word and it became something even my friends liked and then people started liking it. They didn’t like the fact that my creativity was about barf but at the time I couldn’t think of anything else and all the comments were about stuff I needed to improve on and I took it into consideration and it took time to apply these things. But in the end it worked out but when people started getting the book I started making profit and stuff but I needed to work even more so I got myself a side hustle to make money I worked at a pizza shop to make some more money of course and with my book sales I started making a little money as well so I’m midway of my race and right now this is a hard part trying to figure out ways to excel but in all I should be patience and become more careful with my money so I can become something in life. So 2 years later I waited and my book still making some sales and me working at a pizza place then a writer company called me it was a new one so I went and his name was John he said”we have seen your book and your book piqued my interest and I was wondering if you wanted to work for my company for a very good profit.” So I asked what the profit was and it was quite hefty amount and so I accepted the job and was now a writer now I new I had to be writing a lot but this is what I signed up for and I was happy with it now all I had to do was become a famous writer and then I will have made it to my finish line. And so I was getting ready for my next book but while I was doing it a lot of stuff were going on like me having to get a house and pay bills and buying a lot of stuff to keep the house and make it homey I was behind on a lot and I was under stress so then after assorting those feelings I made a book called Lester and Bailey a cat and a mouse as a cat being peoples lives and cat being the life of the world and how the world works we are endlessly working and running but yet we don’t know where to run to or how to go somewhere without being stuck in the same place and the cat controlling the events and where we go in our lives is what makes all of us wonder how we get out but the solution isn’t that easy we just need to do things to get out of our comfort zone. And after I wrote that story the sales started blowing up and I became who I wanted to be and then I told my parents I knew I was gonna become a great person some day and the only thing they said was “you finished the race” and that was all the words I needed to hear.

Beginnings. Built upon the ruins of its previous foundation, the guidelines were set. The house was different but its warmth felt the same. The fireplace in the center, burning, a soft orange glow. A birch door swinging open and closed bringing in the scent of fresh flowers and baked goods. Tall windows peeled back to let the morning doves’ song caress the walls, singing nothing but sweet praises. Passion. The dry season approached. A groan now sounded throughout the house, aching. The fireplace was unlit, but the warmth spread; hot and burning. Through the door came smoke, and ash. The morning doves’ song, now a lamentation. Freedom. Debris lies in piles, scattered. The foundation now charred and split in two. But a breeze now blew without walls, windows, or doors to restrict its flow. Shades of green now peppered the remains and a new song filled the fresh air. A feather drifted toward a new path with more space for a foundation. The smell of smoke, now a memory and a lesson.

The sky was orange the day my whole world cracked open like an egg, the orange of a good yolk. But this egg was rotten. The air smelled of sulfur and woodsmoke, the stench of old growth burning away. I never thought the fire would reach my home, naïve I know, I thought the city would be safe. I thought my home would be okay. Wildfires happen every year in Alberta, but they never reached my home until this year. I thought it would be alright, but I should have known better to put my trust in fire. Even after I was told that the flames had reached my home, after we had been evacuated, I never believed it would happen to me. Not until I visited the wreckage of my home. When I visited, I saw that the once bright white, laminate siding had pooled into large grey globs on the ground, looking like a melted snow fort made with dirty slush. My belongings couldn’t stand a chance. My memories? Burnt away like offerings to a god I didn’t believe in. Why would I stay? How could I leave? The answer to that question came from my brother a few days later. At this point I’d been living out of a small suitcase in a Best Western for a few weeks and I was beginning to get a little stir crazy. My old job at a national park had been put on indefinite hold, so I didn’t dare go out to do anything that would use up what stores of money I had, or the pittance the government gave me to live on. I needed something to do. After stressful circumstances and losses, my brain always itches to do something. I can never rest when I’m stressed. When I had a home I would bake if something intense was going on in my life. Piles of cakes, croissants, and cookies would appear like magic from my hands, ready to be popped into my lunch bag or brought as gifts to friends. But those days were gone. Or so I thought. My brother had a professor who retired to run a bed and breakfast in Saanich, a lifelong dream of hers that took 40 years to come to life. He told me she had been a biology professor in her working life, but she’d always wanted to run a bed and breakfast. Why? She thought it would be an adventure. After university, my brother kept in touch with his favourite professors, so when he had his yearly check in with Dr. Richards, (“Call me Silvia!” She’d insist) he mentioned my predicament. “Send her to the island! I always need a helping hand at the B&B, and you’ve always talked about how your sister is an excellent baker! I’d be happy to have her here. I’ll even give her room and board along with pay.” So I went. I bought the cheapest ticket I could and flew into Victoria Airport. Silvia met me there in a beat up jeep and drove me to my new home. And it really was a home. The building looked like a cottage out of a fairytale, surrounded by thick gardens full of bright flowers and fragrant herbs. Each day I felt myself grow stronger, though my heart didn’t ache any less for the home I lost but my grief became different. I channeled it in the food I made to feed Silvia’s guests. It was soothing to just do anything that was not just dwelling on the past in a hotel room. Focussing my energy into something other than grief became my lifeline. There was a certain cadence to the B&B. A steady thrum in my heart that said “this is home.” And home it became. Over the years I’ve taken control over the B&B, since Silvia could not live forever. But I will always be grateful to her for providing me a place and a purpose when my whole life had been smashed like an eggshell.

Hyun Woo’s home is completely torn, with no where to go, he follows the ID card that was anonymously given to him at a strange place called Mirae Highschool. The card is dated 2017, and with great curiosity on his mother’s early departure from his life, he wanders to find her in hopes of a guiding light’s presence. Nao, his bestfriend, drives him to the mysterious location, not anywhere to be found on the map. Arriving at a mansion house, there is a party, and within him, the desire for warmth. Life couldn’t be the same, they’d taken his father. The apartment may still live, but the sense of home is gone. “Who is looking for me?” He concludes. “Would this have to do with my mother?”

When her island sank, Arihi thought she would sink with it. Oh, it had taken time. Made of stone, covered by moss and lichen, Arihi’s home was as long and as wide as she was tall, and barely above the waves on its best days. It was only recently, however, that the island was utterly submerged, never again to break the surface. The water had been rising for so long now, and it had become inevitable that her home would be eventually lost.  And still, it hurt.  Especially now, when she could not stretch her toes and touch stone and breathe the air all at once. She treaded water with slow ease, her chest tightening, her mind reeling, and Arihi thought she was sad. Probably. The feeling was foreign enough that she could not name it confidently, but she thought too she might cry, which she had done once before.  A part of her had always thought she’d die if her island was ever destroyed. Yet when she held a hand to her face and saw it lime-green–still normal, still okay–Arihi conceded not for the first time she would not die without her island. Exhaustion might take her eventually, which gave her time to work out whether or not she would save herself.  For the waves were so high, and her home was lost, and Arihi could not understand why. There was much she didn’t understand. Like, why the air was sometimes cold and sometimes hot, or why the stars became harder and harder to see with each passing day. Or why there had been that terrible red and gold bloom across the horizon some moons ago. Arihi knew it hadn’t been a sunrise, for the moon was still high when it happened, and the color had seemed so angry, the world so quiet after… A nudge. Something beneath her, something sliding against her heel. Then there was a nibble–something bit at her toes–and Arihi wondered if the big and the little fishes, the toothed and toothless, were getting revenge on her after all these years.  Then there was a force, a pushing up and out of water beneath her, and the nibbling and nudging vanished, and something massive and powerful and gentle rose and rose and lifted her upon its back to the surface with the great, rushing roar of displaced water, so Arihi did not tread for the first time in many new moons.  Rather, she lay on her stomach, her shell-strewn hair clattering about, her face pressed against something taut and rubbery and smooth. She could feel muscles moving beneath her fingertips, could smell brine and salt, and smiled despite herself.  A whale.  “Hello,” Arihi said. The body of the whale rumbled; a tuft of water spouted from the hole on its head, and Arihi understood it. “Hello,” it said back. “Have I met you before?” “Many times.” A warm feeling bloomed in Arihi’s heart. An old friend then. She did not ask for its name, of course, since whales had nothing of the sort, but instead said, “it’s good to see you again,” and fell silent.  Arihi had met many a whale over her years, though less and less as of late. They were usually friendly, if not blunt. They were proud too, of their heritage and longevity. Often they brought her word of places far away; news of great islands many, many times larger than her own, with life upon them. They spoke of this life often, of things that flew and things that walked–even things that swam when such was not natural to them, which apparently was impressive.  More than anything, they spoke of man.  She looked like man, they told her. They stood upright like she did, and spoke in that same odd way she did, with her mouth and not her body.  There were times Arihi had pondered if she _was_ man. Often, she pondered this question aloud with the whales. Always, they insisted she was not. Whenever she tried to pry why that was so, they never answered straight.  Arihi had always wanted to see this other life, man and otherwise, but never before had she been able to leave her island. For she had loved it and it had loved her, until it was too far gone beneath the waves to provide her footing any longer. With it gone, Arihi felt the sudden clarity only the promise of adventure provides. And so, pressing her face against the whale’s back and delighting in its warmth, Arihi whispered, “where are you going, friend?” “I do not know.” A wanderer. Some whales liked to do that. Arihi had never understood the urge to simply _exist_, to always be moving–not until now, at least. For now she knew, if there was no place to call home, what choice did one have, if not wander? “Might you take me somewhere?” Arihi asked.  The whale did not answer at first. It glided along the water, some of which seeped over its back and caressed Arihi’s skin.  “That depends where,” the whale finally said. “Why?” The whale didn’t answer this, so Arihi continued with her request. “You know of those great islands your kind have told me of? The ones with flying and walking and all manner of life? I would like to see one of them.” Its reply was quick. “No.” Arihi blinked. “No?” Her mouth worked wordless questions, before she asked again, “why not?” The whale rumbled, and Arihi thought it was a sigh. “Because you cannot. I’m sorry. You might have liked them once, but they are too dangerous now.” “Because of man?” “Because of what man left behind.” “Oh.” A realization struck her, and Arihi frowned. “Is man… gone?” “In great and terrible fire, yes.” The whale hesitated. “I hardly understand it myself. The Great Levellers were here one day, and gone the next. What remains is sickness–should any life slink too close to these islands, they die. I have not seen their stone islands of noise and smoke, nor have I seen birds or any other creatures that walk. It puts me ill at ease. I will not take you there.” Arihi wasn’t sure how to feel about this. She settled for insistent. “When did you last see these islands?” “Some time ago. I cannot say for sure.” “Is it possible that the great islands are no longer sick?” And before the whale could answer, she continued. “Or is it possible we could help them? I cared for my island deeply. I kept it healthy, and clean, and safe, for as long as I could. I could do the same for the great islands.” “You cannot.” Arihi’s brows furrowed. “I… cannot?” Up the whale’s tail went–Arihi heard it break the water behind her, felt it slap back down. They propelled forwards on the wide ocean, an empty horizon as far as any eye could see–utterly alone.  “There are things that can never be as they once were,” the whale said. Up again came the tail, and down it again it went. “The great islands are lost, same as your own. The very seas are sick, and perhaps not far behind the land. All there is to do, is what we can.” For the first time in as long as she could remember, Arihi was lost. “What should I do?” she asked. “I cannot say.” “Where should I go?” she tried. “Where you want.” “I do not know where that might be.” A pause. “Then come with me,” the whale said. “I have not heard another cry of my kind in… some time. Your presence would be appreciated.” “And wander?” Arihi asked. The thought was somehow soothing and oddly funny all at once. “For how long?” “As long as you need.” Arihi pondered this for a little while. She flipped on her back and stared up at the sky. The sun was out. The sky was blue. There were clouds. She closed her eyes, and felt anew the warmth of the whale, the cold of the water. She thought of her little island sunk beneath the waves, now of the ocean.  “If we find a new home,” Arihi asked slowly, “will you stay there with me?” “... Yes.” Hesitation. Arihi didn’t think anything of it. She had never known a whale to lie. And this whale was her friend.  “Okay,” Arihi said. “You are sure?” “Not at all.” And Arihi grinned, and hoped the whale could tell. The whale did not respond.  The propelled onwards. Alone, in the vast and empty ocean.

I can’t really remember the fire, I was old enough, sure but I just don’t remember. I remember the smell, the taste, mouthwatering but in a bad way. I know our cabin was destroyed, because I stood among the ashes watching them stain my ivory fingers pitch black. our livestock depleted, Papa, Mama, Cathrine, and Missy gone. I still wonder how such a thing could happen. The fire that was. We were a God fearing bunch at least my mother was, but nevertheless Irish Catholic on both sides. We genuflected to the alter every Sunday, ate His body drank His blood. Tithed. Still it all burned. Now there was no money in the bank. Papa didn’t trust the government with his money, he only ever paid the taxman and that was that. He kept our money in a hole in the mattress in his and mama’s room, I only knew because when Cieran died in Afgahnistan I became the eldest. I had the clothes on my back smelling of smoke and everything papa taught me. Men in our family always severed. It seemed like the right thing - the only thing to do. It wasn’t much different from home. Reveille at half past four, PT at five, then get clean… The only thing that was different was the food, I missed mama’s good eats, but I couldn’t complain, it was better than going hungry. I never made many friends and never did get used to flames and the smell of burning flesh, but I became accustomed to gunfire and the smell of metal, heavy artillery.

“Oh no! The jungle!” “It’s like the first time when we were marooned here. Wind. Fire. But this…” “My home!” Jane looked at her father. Tears streamed down here face. “My husband!” The two looked at the burning fallen trees that were once Jane’s jungle home. The smoke of the fire mixed with the smoke and ash that the volcano was still spewing. It was inconceivable that the lava could leave such destruction in its wake. Then again, Jane could see that the storm they had come through to get here had wreaked its own havoc. Many of the jungle trees were fallen before the blaze had even started. She saw that her own beautiful tree house, so near the beach, had fallen. It was not touched by the lava or the fire that the lava had started. But the slowly dying but still strong wind kept blowing like a blast furnace. It would not be long before there would be no trace that Jane had ever lived here. Jane could not take here wide, crying eyes from the scene. But her father had looked away and was scanning the jungle and the beach. Surely, his son-in-law had made it. “There!” He pointed down the beach. “Tarzan!” Jane ran to her husband and the band of apes he was leading. Tarzan embraced his wife. They held each other for a long time. Finally, Tarzan held his wife at arm’s length. He looked into her eyes. “We will rebuild our life here. We’ll go farther down the coast and find a place where we can build in the trees again. Where we can be safe with our friends.” Jane looked at the apes that had been her husband’s family when he was a child. She had come to love them too. She nodded at them, then at her husband. Yes. They wold rebuild. They would survive. They would thrive. After all… She was Jane and he was Tarzan. [My apologies to the fans of Edgar Rice Burroughs.]

The heat hit my face in a burning flash and the next thing I knew, I was running. Running faster than I ever had before. The village I had once called my home was burning, falling to ash, and for a second, I thought I was going to burn right along with it. But I couldn’t bear to let that happen. I was the sole survivor, so I had no one to depend on other than myself on my journey to find a new home. Run. That’s all I knew I could do at this point. So I ran, and ran, and ran. I had no notion of where I was going, how I was going to get there, or what obstacles would lie ahead, but I did know that I had to keep going, no matter what. I had to try, or my only chance at survival would disappear. My legs grew weaker and my movements grew more and more sloppy with each passing step. Eventually, I collapsed against a tree. I could not take even one more step, for I knew my legs would give out and I wouldn’t be able to get up again. I fell asleep, though it wasn’t a peaceful sleep, seeing as nightmares were all over my mind. Nightmares of my friends, my family, and everyone else who resided in the village burning. And it wasn’t a very long sleep either. I was almost instantly awoken by a loud growling. A wolf. It’s sharp teeth glistened in the moonlight, the teeth that would rip me to pieces if I didn’t get my ass up and run. Now! I leapt up and ran as fast as I could, though my exhaustion was too much to bear. I collapsed once more and the wolf pounced on me, I thought I was done for. But then… it happened. I heard footsteps, then a gunshot, and then the wolf flew off of me, blood leaking from a hole in its head. It was dead. Someone shot the wolf. “Who’s there?! P-please don’t kill me!” I exclaimed, on the verge of tears. “I’m not here to harm you,” a calm voice said. I looked up and saw a handsome man looking down at me worriedly. “I want to help you. But I have to know, why are you here? I mean, why are you alone in the forest at night? It’s dangerous…” Tears filled my eyes and I started to sob. “My village! My friends! My family! They’re all gone! Everyone, everything, it’s all gone! Burned!” I cried. The man’s expression was one of pity as he pulled me into his arms. A warm embrace. It felt as if it had been years since I had one of those. “So you don’t have a home?” He asked. I shook my head sadly, my heart breaking into tinier pieces every second that I thought of what had happened. “Well,” he said. “Would you like to come stay in my village? You can stay for as long as you’d like.” “R-really?” I stuttered. “Th-thank you so so much! H-how can I ever repay you?” The man chucked and smiled down at me. “Don’t worry about repaying me. Knowing that your ok is payment enough. Come on, it’s in our best interest that we don’t stay out here any longer.” He gently took my hand in his and I tried my best to hide the fact that I was blushing. _This man… _I thought. _He’s my home._ We started walking in silence, though it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was a calming, peaceful silence. I liked it. We eventually reached a beautiful village, glowing lights on every street corner. It was like a dream. “Wow… this is… gorgeous. You live here?” I whispered, clearly in awe. “Yep! And you, ma’am, are going to be living with me! I-if that’s alright with you.” He exclaimed, grinning joyfully. Out of pure instinct, I pulled the man into a tight embrace. “Thank you, sir! Thank you so much! You’re-you’re my savior! My home!” I exclaimed, blushing deeply. “O-of course, ma’am. Anything to help…” I looked up at him as he spoke, and he was blushing too. I took a moment to take in all of his handsome features, my heart fluttering. That’s when I noticed that we were still holding hands. My blush deepened, and so did his. I followed him into his house, and suddenly, he kissed me. It was a sweet, tender kiss, though I still wasn’t expecting it! But I definitely wasn’t complaining either! I kissed back, just as sweetly. I knew now that I had found a home, though it wasn’t a place. When we pulled away from each other and gazed deeply into each other’s eyes, I knew… this man, he’s my home, and I was happy with that.

The fishy and salty stench of the ocean hit my nose as I stood in the sand, hand in hand with my mother. We stared out at the calming waves ahead, less calm than we appeared. Our home on the coast of Chile had been destroyed. It was a seemingly normal day, my father stood in the kitchen sizzling up empanadas de pino while dancing alongside my mother to music I thought was quite corny. We heard a rumble. Before we knew it, the water had hit. It destroyed our home, our family, our life. My father was swept away and didn’t make it. They tried to save him, but failed. I still remember the feeling of clinging onto his dead body, the taste of salt water in my mouth and my wet clothes constricting my movement. We moved away, we couldn’t stay any longer. We fled across the globe to a cozy home in Spain. Sure, the place is nice, but there’s always the feeling of someone missing. It feels empty. We had walked down to the ocean trying to face the fears and forget the memories. I glanced up at my mother with a stoic look as my stomach grumbled. “Mother… let’s make empanadas.” I spoke quietly, glancing back at the ocean once again. She smiled softly, giving me a nod. We walked back home, choosing to face the ocean another day. At home, the nostalgiac scent of pastry mixed with meat hit my senses as my mother cooked. I flicked on the radio, playing the same corny love song my parents had danced to before the tragedy. Both mine and my mothers bodies swayed to the music, tears beginning to drip from our eyes. The tears didn’t feel sad, they felt nice. They felt comforting. I knew it was time to start a new beginning, and I knew I’d have support the whole way through. Support from friends, family, and from my father above.

A volley of stars collapsed from the ashen black sky with a bellow. Vetyn witnessed the fall from the circular window of the ship, a withering scowl upon her brows. The stars trembled in the roars wake, descending the earth with a mighty courage. The lurid, silver light that tarried with the meteors dragged it from the universe like a curtain, thieving the glow that once thrummed within its palm. The earth was to perish in minutes, and all Vetyn could do was watch. Her blood brewed. “Gods have mercy upon us,” Vetyn’s mother, Claudia, whispered, mopping the alcove of her eye with a handkerchief. “Our home is no longer ours.” “It was never ours,” she hissed. It was bound to be inhaled by fate’s maw, to be quashed betwixt its rotted teeth. It so happened the day was now. “Don’t say such things,” Claudia chided and glanced upon her daughter rather mortified, tears glossing her woeful cinnamon eyes. “It was always ours.” Was it? Earth and its council were forewarned of the prophecy to enslave the planet, and only some had harked. The remnants whom did not oblige to Fate were now deceased. “Is that what dad used to say?” She muttered and espied the chamber. The observatory was glossed in a sheen of pallid pearl, a colonnade of windows bolstered up upon the walls. Each window was claimed by a person or four, their woe begotten eyes veering into the frenzy that was once their galaxy. A sheaf windows, Vetyn had noticed, were a family with juvenile babes young as three, the innocence upon their countenance cleansed with a glum veil of fear. They clung to a towering adult, their bodies trembling. It made her heart prune. “Your father always believed in The Rite,” Said mother. “Not… this.” The Rite was parchment signed by an archaic race, supposedly within the dawn of creation, to preserve the universe and its gift to mankind from its malevolent counterpart Domnium. Mortals allotted Earth. The remainder conquered the obscured. “The Rite foretold the prophecy,” Vetyn mumbled and retreated the observatory with a march, hands shoved within her pockets. “I’m going to eat.” It was torment to stand there and witness the earth vanquished by the stars, let alone hark the sorrow oozing from the remnants from earth and listen to her mother vent about The Rite. It was enow to drought the soul within her dry. Claudia nodded idly, and shifted her attention upon the window, heaving a long sigh. “Return soon.” *** Shoving open the double doors with a shoulder, Vetyn was met with the ships galley. It shared the same hue of white as the observatory, but occupied less ocular windows. The only window she could witnesses was three stamped upon each individual wall. How generous. Cream, rectangular tables lingered within the chamber, timbre flat chairs dwelling behind them. A tedious and long, singular line lingered bestride the vast portions of cuisine, trays and silver platter bedded upon it. Vetyn thieved a place by the tail, and poked out to survey the prow. A gollumpous, middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, pouring sage green slop within a balding man’s bowl. A grotesque sneer was carved upon her pruned lips, her dull winter blue eyes pinched to a squint. A litter of pimples, anew and scarred, tainted the wobbling flesh upon her countenance every beat she scoffed a word, her bulbous nose twitching slyly. A pearl toque was perched atop her head, marred with a collection of oil and grease grime. “Next,” The chef rumbled, and Vetyn stepped forward. She plucked a tray and bloomed out the bowl. The chef poured a generous spoonful of dull green slime within it, causing the bowl to quiver. Vetyn’s lips curled. A redolent stench of beans and onions rippled through her senses, conquering the five others that threatened to depart her. She blinked away the burning tears plucking the apex of her eyes, and said in kind, “Do you have meat, or something else available?” The chef’s brows knitted, sniping a bone-numbing stare. “No,” She stated coolly. “I don’t. Only greens.” “I’m only asking because—”  “Next!” Vetyn gritted her teeth. “Asshole.” She seethed and lugged upon a table, surveying the macabre meal staring back at her with a queer leer. Disquiet, she frowned. She couldn’t consume it. It was vile, and would not provide her with the sustenance that was needed. Vegetables and the live crop upon the earth were not to be extinguished. They were the voice of the Creator, her— “Are you going to eat that or not.” She whipped her head upward. A male with jet black locks sat before her, the sides of his cranium shaved. The fringe on his forehead dangled by both tamed brows, a crimson healed scar dragging down the left. An assemblage of black-inked tattoos snaked up both toned arms, for he was garb in a black tank top, inlaid with a band logo. Silver cuffs gorged both wrists, the artificial light of the galley thrumming upon the metal. “Are you going to pester me when you know what my answer will be?” Vetyn huffed and shoved the tray forward. “I’m not eating this shit.” “That’s all we’ll be getting until we disembark for Planet Zero.” The male drawled, scooping a generous amount of slop with a spoon and inhaling it whole. She cringed. “I’d rather eat a dozen rats.” “We both know that won’t happen.” He retorted and shoved the tray back before Vetyn. “Eat.” Marcus knew the correct buttons to toy. “_No_.” “Mother wouldn’t be pleased.” Marcus arched a brow, the silver bar sewed within it jutting. Mother was hardly thrilled with anything. “I don’t care what she thinks.” A sigh escaped him. “For Alora’s sake, will you please just listen for once.” Vetyn’s heart sank to her gut. “Take that back.” “You know as well as I that she would have wanted you to eat and not starve yourself to death whilst we’re jailed here,” Marcus reclined on the seat, beholding Vetyn’s glower. “So eat, Vey.” “Fuck you,” She sniped and slipped the tray aside. “bringing our sister into this as if she were leverage to force me to erase my vow.” Grief plunged its blade into her chest. Alora wouldn’t daith resurrect the reasons she refused to lay a single leaf upon her tongue. Especially now. Marcus shrugged. “Just saying. Better to ask whatever God you lament to for forgiveness than shrink to a decaying husk.” Her fists curled. “I’m not decaying to a husk—” “Is everything alright?” Vetyn and Marcus veered behind them. A woman with silver tresses that cascade a shoulder greeted their gaze, her almond molded eyes warm with welcome. A pigment of cherry pink shadow dusted them, a narrow edged cut black liner dancing upon its nook. The stranger appeared youthful, Vetyn presumed eighteen, garb in a pearl tee that shimmered and shook with the light. She graced the pair a a wave, then pointed to the barren seat aside Vetyrn. “May I sit?” Vetyn pried her mouth open, but the stranger stole the chair before a word could escape. “I’m leaving.” Marcus drawled and fled, leaving the bowl behind him. The seraphic stranger dipped forward, whispering with a lilt of a jest, “Is he always this dramatic?” “Ask him yourself.” Was all she murmured, before she scrutinized the stranger. Up close, Vetyn could spy a golden cuff curved upon the crevice of their lemon tarnished lips. Ginger freckles were peppered on her meek cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, subtle to the far sighted eye. She leaned back, “Who are you?” “Maddie,” Her smile bloomed. “I saw you refuse your meal in front of Harriet.” That was the ogres name? Befitting for a miserable toad. “Great.” She scoffed. _What an astounding first impression. _ “Harriet doesn’t permit personal orders when it comes to meals”— Maddie’s gaze trekked to Harriet— “I’ve tried.” Then it returned to Vetyn. “And failed horrendously.” “Maybe she needs a clout to the head.” She said, and Maddie chuckled. “She may charge after you for that.” “She can bloody well try,” Vetyn huffed. “She wouldn’t be able to catch up to me, not with those feet.” The lights trembled and flashed. The gentle rouse of the galley melted to a numbing silence, heads clashing and peering upward to the source. The lights winked for three beats, gray smoke showering the chamber. A whistle sprouted, the poignant stench of sulfur flaring to life. Sparks soared like thunder, collapsing atop the tile and devouring the galley in darkness. Fear bit into her chest. Screams and wails imploded, grotesque groans of chairs dragging upon the surface echoing in its wake. Vetyn shot up from her seat, gasping when the floor teetered beneath her feet. She couldn’t see. All she could sense was the abyss dancing around her, and the screeches harmonizing with it in its wake. She brandished both hands violently to hunt for something, _anything_, to cling upon, but was met with the fleeting hands of bleak wind. The ship trembled and sagged left, the furniture gliding and colliding upon a wall with a thunderous slam. “Fuck,” Gravity yanked her to a keel, dragging her to the nearest wall with a mighty thud. A groan fled her as she slid down the surface, agony thrumming through the pillar of her spine. “Veytn?!” A voice cried, before an unearthly roar pulsed through the ship. The furor fell to a blinding halt, before it erected to a crescendo. They weren’t alone.