Dawn begins to break over the horizon.
We've been following the coast for hours. I haven't slept. I haven't calmed down.
"We'll be there soon," Kaelith says.
I barely hear him.
Everything feels unreal. The people I grew closest to—the people I knew—are either dead or suffering something worse. My thoughts begin to spiral again,Making my chest tighten—
"We're here."
I lift my head.
Ahead of us sits a ship made entirely of metal.
Metal.
Not wood.
Metal.
Three figures stand on the deck watching our approach. As we draw closer, one of them calls out
"Twenty-Four, the ship is maintained and ready for your arrival."
Twenty-Four.
So that's his rank?
A ramp lowers from the side of the ship with a heavy mechanical sound.
Kaelith dismounts. I follow him, my legs stiff and numb.
"Prepare to take off immediately," he commands. "We are going home."
The three figures smile and move quickly.
"I'll be taking the candidate to my quarters for rest."
They nod without question and disperse to their tasks.
Kaelith ties Buttercup's reins to a post on the deck.
"Follow me."
I do.
My heavy footsteps clang against the metal floor. The sound echoes strangely. The ship isn't large. It takes no more than fifteen steps to reach the room he mentioned.
It's simple inside.
A suspended sling for sleeping.
A desk.
Nothing more.
"Rest," he says. "It will take some time to reach where we're going."
I climb into the sling.
"Where is that exactly?" I ask quietly.
He looks at me.
"Home. The base of The 25."
Then he leaves, his heavy footsteps echoing behind him
My eyelids burn, but sleep refuses to come. I lie there for what feels like hours, swaying with the motion of the ship. The rhythmic movement should soothe me.
It doesn't.
The door opens suddenly.
I bolt upright.
"Easy, easy. It's just me."
I sink back down.
I hear him approach. Something rattles on the desk.
"You need to eat, Nyra."
I need a lot of things.
"I'm not hungry," I mutter, turning my face into the sling.
"I know you're hungry. You didn't eat breakfast. You didn't eat last night. Your body won't sustain itself without food."
I refuse to move.
He sighs.
A chair scrapes across the floor as he drags it closer. Then the scent reaches me.
Fresh fish.
It fills the small room.
"Look, Nyra," he says, quieter now. "I can't pretend to know what it's like to lose a home. But I do know what it's like to lose people dear to you."
I turn slightly toward him.
"What difference does it make if I eat now or later?" My voice shakes. "What difference does it make if I go somewhere new, only for it to be taken away again?"
"The difference," he says sharply, "is that you try. You try for the people of your past. And you try for the people you have now."
Silence lingers between us.
"I'm not leaving until I see at least half that plate gone," he adds. "At least try. For them. And for me."
He sets the plate on the chair in front of me and steps away.
Now the smell fully surrounds me.
Perfectly cooked fish. Warm vegetables. Seasoning I can't quite place.
My stomach twists painfully.
Just one bite.
I swing my legs over the side of the sling. My hands tremble as I pick up a piece.
One bite.
The flavor explodes across my tongue—rich, warm, comforting.
Before I realize it, one bite becomes two.
Two becomes three.
The warmth spreads through me, chasing away some of the cold that has settled in my bones.
Before long, the plate is empty.
I look up at him.
"Guess the one dish my sister taught me really did come in handy."
I blink in surprise.
"You made this? You were a disaster in the kitchen last time we cooked."
A faint smile touches his lips.
"Oh, I am. But this one dish… my sister always let me cook it with her. Said it was easy."
"I can't wait to meet her, then."
He flinches.
Just slightly.
"You'll get along well," he says after a moment. "I'm sure of it."