The wind swept across the mountains like an ancient breath, heavy with stories and wounds. In this forgotten corner of the world, between shattered rocks and collapsed rooftops, life was trying to grow roots again. Slowly. Fragilely.
Isaac, walking ahead, his gaze lost in the ruins:
"This… this was my village. Every stone here knew my childhood. And now, it knows war."
Behind him walked a small makeshift family. Among them: Tailer. He slept on the cold floor during those first nights—not because he was denied a bed, but because his nightmares refused to let him rest.
He trembled, whimpered, mumbled in his sleep. And every night, he held Leon, the newborn baby boy, tightly in his arms—like a treasure someone might steal at any moment.
Tailer (in his sleep, voice broken):
"Dad… Mom… don't go… please… I'll protect them… I promise…"
He woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, arms locked around the infant.
Tailer (looking down at Leon, forehead resting against the baby's soft head):
"I swear… I won't let anyone take you."
Not far away, Jason had been watching for days, intrigued. He had never seen someone cry so much—without making a sound. One evening, he finally approached.
Jason (gesturing at the baby awkwardly):
"That your little brother? What's his name?"
Tailer (quiet but clear):
"Leon. He's all I've got."
Jason didn't reply. But from that night on, he sat next to Tailer every morning. He didn't talk much—he showed.
Jason (holding a bit of rope and a bent twig):
"This is a rabbit trap. You place it here, near the bushes. Don't ever touch this part, or he'll smell it."
Tailer watched. Memorized. Learned.
Tailer (softly):
"Show me again."
Isaac watched from a distance. A faint, knowing smile touched his weathered face. One day, he joined them.
Isaac:
"Learning to survive is good… But learning to understand—that's what changes everything."
He began taking them into the forest, teaching them signs, footprints, the language of wind and trees. But also… history.
Isaac (crouching by a faint footprint):
"That's a deer. Three days old. And this here—see that print? Too small for a grown man."
Tailer (staring at the mark, lost in thought):
"They were running… like they were fleeing."
Isaac (solemnly):
"Exactly. That's what the innocent always do. They run while others pull the strings."
Tailer no longer sought vengeance. He wanted to understand. He needed to know why. Why them. Why his family.
Time passed. Two years, maybe three. The world had forgotten their village—but it still breathed.
Tailer had grown. His features were harder now, more mature. Pain still lived in his face—but now it burned as strength.
One day, while they were training with knives, Jason spoke quietly, eyes on the horizon:
Jason:
"Do you think one day we'll do more than survive?"
Tailer threw his knife. It hit dead center.
Tailer:
"No. One day, we'll live."
At night, in a cabin dimly lit by improvised solar lamps, Tailer wrote in a weathered notebook Amara had given him. Inside, he sketched plans. Wrote thoughts. Dreams.
Tailer (whispering to himself while writing):
"I won't run anymore. I'll find the truth. I'll protect those the world forgot."
One morning, Isaac returned from the black market. He placed a sealed envelope on the table without a word. Inside: a wrinkled map. Names. A coded message.
Isaac (looking Tailer straight in the eye):
"You need to know. There's a camp… near where we found you. The 'Tearless Ones'. I thought it was destroyed. It's still operating."
Tailer (reading, hands shaking):
"That's where… my parents tried to run from. I know it."
That night, Tailer didn't sleep. He stared at the stars. Jason joined him, quiet as always.
Jason:
"You're going, aren't you?"
Tailer:
"Yes."
Jason (after a long pause):
"You want me to come?"
Tailer didn't answer. But Jason understood.
At dawn, Tailer left alone. A bag. A canteen. His notebook. And an old revolver Isaac had buried.
But Jason followed, quietly, hidden in the shadows.
Three days of walking. The forest tested him—heat, rain, creatures… memories. But he kept moving. Fueled by purpose.
At last, he reached the hill. Below: the camp. Barbed wire. Children in gray uniforms, marching like ghosts. A man watching them, dead-eyed, whip at his side.
Tailer crouched, pulled out his notebook. He wrote everything down. Every pattern. Every face. Not to run… but to return.
Then—
A scream. High-pitched. Raw.
Voice of a beaten child:
"Aaahh!! Stop!! I didn't do anything!!"
Tailer's body froze. Rage surged through his veins.
Tailer (inward monologue, clenching his fists):
"That scream… that was mine, once. It could be Leon's, if I fail. Enough."
He drew his knife. Slipped into the trees like smoke. Silent. Deadly.
A guard. Taken down with a precise blow to the neck. Another. And another.
He moved like a shadow. Every step a lesson. Every breath—war.
He reached a large shed. Heard whispers. Carefully, he opened the door.
Dozens of eyes turned to him. Children. Thin. Wounded. Broken.
A boy, no older than 10, stepped forward.
Child (weakly):
"Who… are you?"
Tailer (kneeling, his voice full of pain and promise):
"I'm you… before someone reached out for me. Now, I'm the one reaching back."
But deep inside, something darker had awakened. Not the rage that destroys—but the rage that saves.
Tailer (inner voice, as he looked at the children):
"This is no longer a mission. This is a promise. No one will break you again. Not while I breathe."
To be continued