Lyra had been assigned to escort Ratom to the man named Cole. Ratom walked a few steps behind, still trying to make sense of everything that had happened. His eyes kept drifting to Lyra's red hair, bright against the fading light, the color catching him off guard each time.
She glanced back, catching him in the act. A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. Without a word, she slowed just enough for him to catch up, falling into step beside him. Their shoulders aligned easily—there wasn't much difference in their height, though Lyra's steady, purposeful stride made her seem taller somehow. Their legs grazed over the smooth enhanced grounds.
"I haven't had breakfast yet, would you like to follow me to a restaurant?" Lyra said. "Are you trying to ask me out? I'm kinda shy" Ratom replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Lyra shook her head, amused, and led the way to the same vehicle they'd used earlier. The ride was quick—barely a minute before they pulled up to a small restaurant with a worn but welcoming sign that read 'Kisilk'. As Lyra stepped inside, something about the room seemed to shift. Conversations softened, heads turned. The dull morning light streaming through the windows seemed brighter where it touched her. Ratom hesitated at the door, watching how easily she seemed to belong, as if the place had been waiting for her. He followed, the warm smell of spices and fresh bread filling his senses as he passed through the door. Lyra pulled back a chair for him and he sat still looking around at everyone living like the war had never happened. She took her seat on the opposite end of the table. She tapped on a screen in the middle of the table. "Give it a while" she said; "Things weren't these easy before, Everyone here lives like today might be there last because it might as well be" Lyra said solemnly. "Why did you tip the hives off about me, why weren't people surprised to see me at gunpoint" Ratom asked. She pulled closer to him, I can't tell you that but I can tell you that the divergent key will. Soon enough the tables opened up and two plates containing unfamiliar food came out. They both dug in "This is the best dish I've ever had" Ratom said. "I'm glad you like it". The plate and utensils went under the tables and then they headed off to meet Cole. They stopped in front of some building that seemed to be a dojo, it was bigger than the residential houses.
Lyra invited Ratom in, and as he stepped through the entrance, the familiar hum of activity greeted him. As expected, people of various ages were practicing moves—strikes, stances, and forms from different martial arts. The sound of feet meeting mats, the sharp exhale of focused breath, filled the air. In the middle of this, without a word, Lyra led him through and up a narrow staircase.
The higher they climbed, the quieter it became. The air upstairs was stale, as if no one had disturbed it for years. Dust clung to the edges of the steps and floated lazily in the shafts of light that filtered through cracks in the walls. Lyra let Ratom fall a step behind her as they continued upward, until she stopped beside a plain metal door and pressed a button on the wall. A faint click sounded, and after a few seconds, the door hissed open on its own.
Lyra gestured for Ratom to enter. He hesitated, sensing something heavy beyond the threshold. But curiosity—or duty—pushed him forward.
Inside, the room smelled faintly of disinfectant and old machinery. Heavy medical equipment lined the walls, beeping softly in steady rhythms. And there, on a low bed, lay a man so ancient he seemed carved from time itself. His skin was thin as paper, his face hollowed by age, arms tucked beneath a blanket that barely rose with his shallow breaths. He looked as if the slightest movement might break him.
Before Ratom could speak, Lyra stepped back into the hall. The door slid shut behind him with a finality that made his chest tighten. The room felt smaller now, filled with the man's sickly, almost suffocating presence.
"Good afternoon, young sir. I am Cole," came a voice—not from the man's mouth, but from one of the machines beside him. The tone was metallic but gentle.
"Please, have a seat."
Ratom stayed standing, unsure.
"I don't know who you are or why you did what you did," the voice continued, "but thank you—for releasing my brother from the clutches of the Iron Legion."
"I've done no such thing," Ratom said, his voice steady despite his confusion.
"You did," Cole insisted, the machine's voice growing fainter, as if straining to carry words the man no longer could.
"I've never been to the capital. How could I have saved anyone from the Legion?"
"My brother was the Shade you saved," the voice whispered.
"I don't understand," Ratom said, his confusion deepening.
Cole's voice softened, growing drowsy, like a man lost in memory. "Long ago... when the ground never stopped rumbling, when the air stank of blood and steel... back when hope fell like stars from the sky... my brother and I were inseparable."
Ratom listened, trying to piece it together, as the old man's words grew hazy.
Then, in a strange, robotic murmur, Cole said, "Thank you." And he fell silent.
Worried, Ratom stepped closer, reaching out to check his pulse—but the moment his fingers touched the man's skin, pain shot through his hand like a blade. Something had pierced him.
A flood of foreign memories crashed into his mind. Laughter that wasn't his. Screams. The terror of being trapped in someone else's body. The world spun as he struggled to stay upright. At the edge of passing out, he cried out, "Lyra!"
Then darkness swallowed him.
But it wasn't empty darkness—it had depth, weight, a sense of being suspended between life and death. Images formed. He saw two brothers: one dark-skinned, the other light.
"Why would our parents name me Coal?!" the dark one said bitterly.
"Don't you get it?" the other replied. "Coal is the fuel for a new dawn. You'll be the spark when the light goes out."
The sadness in Ratom's chest was crushing. The memory dissolved like smoke on the wind.
Another memory pulled him in.
"Brother," Coal said, breathless, "what's the point of Taekwondo classes when the world's ending?"
"It's better than picking fights with the neighboring shelters," his brother replied.
"They take our rations! Of course I'll fight them!" Coal snapped.
His brother grinned. "Then come at me."
Coal did, with swift, heavy strikes, but his brother matched him, reading his moves like a book.
"Stop pulling your punches—we both know what you can do."
"You asked for it," Coal said. He feinted, circled, struck—but his brother blocked and countered, a quick jab to the head bringing everything to a halt.
An old man watching from the side barked, "Are you trying to kill him?!"
Coal knelt, worried.
"That's not Taekwondo!" his brother said. Then, softly, "Whatever keeps us alive…" And he smiled. "You're going to light a new dawn. I believe it."
"Brother, stop spouting rubbish," Coal said at the the verge of tears.
The memory faded.
Ratom wanted it to stop, but the visions dragged him deeper.
"We're out of time," his brother's voice echoed. "They're here—the ones who took Mom and Dad. The ones from the war."
"Just keep digging, Coal. Get everyone underground. Seal the hatch."
"They brought a Shade unit," Coal said. "I'll hold them off..." the brother spoke
but Coal pushed him underground.
"Let my ashes be the fuel of a new era. Take care of Helen. Mention me at your wedding. Fill the world with your children. We'll meet again, brother."
his brother protested but he ignored him
Coal sealed the hatch.
The images blurred, speeding past—fights, blood, darkness.
"I finally killed a Shade," Coal whispered in one fragment, lying beside the shattered machine. "Too bad I couldn't stop the rest."
Ratom saw the Hive come for him, uploading a new consciousness, and it was like standing at the edge of infinity, watching nightmare after nightmare pour into the world.
Is this what the humanoids see? he thought.
And then, at last, the darkness took him.