“People believe they are masters of their fate. But Fate, which they worship and trust without question, is like a thread. So thin it snaps easily. And we are the ones holding the scissors.”
– Dirrid, archival records of the Beacon, from a Circle session in Year 2 after the Awakening of the Werrens
Ked, Fourborder
Year 383 after the Awakening of the Werrens, 23rd day of Drydays
Ked stretched with a grimace and reluctantly swung his legs off the bed. Every movement reminded him of what he had endured over the past few days. As always, a flicker of hope crossed his mind that maybe today something would change. Or maybe not.
Jara was quietly fastening the last buttons on her worn blouse, avoiding his gaze. She covered her emaciated body, fragile and almost out of place in a room full of dust and clutter. It was strange that she still lingered here, after everything he had already done to her. He didn’t know why. Or maybe he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t even remember anymore why he had hit her the first time. Maybe because she had looked at him in a way that made him feel even worse than he already did. Or because she lied. She said his face, disfigured by the blast from that cursed warehouse, wasn’t “that bad.” But he knew better. He had seen his real reflection.
That mirror. He remembered it. The rage, the horror, and the hatred he had felt for that reflection. And then he saw Jara. Lying on the floor, clutching her face. Pain, shock, and fear mixed in her eyes. He hated himself for it. But for the first time, he had also felt something else. Real power. Control. The fear in her eyes gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction. Suddenly, he was no longer the only one trapped in his miserable life. Now he controlled hers too.
So he took her. He didn’t ask and she didn’t resist. She just cried quietly, stared at the ceiling, and waited for it to end.
And still, she kept coming back. Despite all the pain and humiliation he inflicted on her.
Now she stepped quietly toward the door. Ked watched her from the corner of his eye as she buckled the last strap of her boots. She paused, looked at him, and spoke in an almost apologetic voice.
“I heard a transport during the night. Sounds like they’ve arrived. Maybe something will finally change.”
Ked chuckled.
“You’re still so naive. Why would anything change? Just more empty talk, like always.”
She didn’t answer. She only glanced at him, and in her eyes flashed something vague, something he couldn’t decode. Then she disappeared behind the door. She left behind the scent of cheap soap and the kind of emptiness that choked Ked just as much as his own thoughts.
He forced himself to get up. Got dressed, but then stopped in front of the mirror. The one he hated so much.
For a moment he just stood there, running his fingers over the scars on his face. The skin on the left side was bumpy, wrinkled like cracked earth after a long drought. In some places smooth and unnaturally tight, in others marked by deep furrows. The eyes, the only part that hadn’t changed, stared back at him from a face that was no longer his.
“Who even are you?” he whispered.
Then he couldn’t hold it anymore. His fist slammed into the glass. A web of cracks spread across the glossy surface. Ked lowered his hand and let his fingers slide over the cool, fractured surface. His reflection, broken into dozens of distorted shards, looked just like his face. Deformed, grotesque.
He turned away, took a deep breath, and wiped his forehead. The air in the room was heavy, stale, already breathed too many times. He needed to get out.
The door swung open and the heat smacked him in the face. The world outside was as merciless as his own mind. The sun scorched the dusty ground and from the distance came the echo of children shouting.
On the porch, he leaned against a wooden post and let his gaze drift toward Gramps’s house. Everything around him felt as empty and worn out as he did. The only sound breaking the stillness was the creaking of the windmill, which for days had been uselessly drawing nothing but dry air. No rain today either.
Fourborder was supposed to be their refuge, but it was already clear they would have to leave. They had taken over the old farm after their last action, trying to recover. The wounded who had survived had found at least temporary rest. The others had been buried in an abandoned cemetery. Unlike Gorun, who was left where he fell, with a hole in his head.
“You have to stop thinking about it,” Ked muttered. He ran a hand down his face, as if trying to wipe away not only the dust and sweat but also the weight of his own memories. He stepped down from the porch and headed briskly to Gramps’s house, pressing himself against the shutter of one of the windows. He strained to hear the muffled voices and, through a narrow gap, he could see inside. By pure chance, the opening was directly across from Gramps, who sat at the table.
Leimar and a gray-haired man were speaking quietly, as if they too were trying to hide from the outside world. Two cycles had passed since the last action, but only silence and inaction remained. Even Gramps now looked like a broken man. Ked flexed his fingers, trying to shake off the restlessness inside him. Something had to change. Or they would all end up like Gorun. Without hope, without even a grave.
He straightened and wiped his hands on his pants, as if that could also wipe away the weight of problems pressing down on everyone here. A heavy, defeated mood had settled over the abandoned farm, and even he could no longer muster the belief that things might get better. The hot season was approaching relentlessly and the future looked bleak. Some had already given up and simply vanished one day. He watched in worry as their group shrank day by day, and more and more often he wondered if leaving wasn’t actually the best option after all.
But he was afraid. He had never faced a decision like this on his own. He had always had someone to lean on. First his family, then Gramps. Even so, a spark of hope had taken root in him, the hope that maybe this could be his moment. Gramps had lost many of his best people and those empty places would need to be filled. Ked believed this might be his chance. He was one of the few who had seen Modificants with his own eyes and survived. These days, only a handful of people could say that.
“What are they talking about in there?” asked Lira quietly. She had walked up to him without hesitation and was also trying to eavesdrop on what was happening behind the closed door.
They weren’t the only ones feeling the tension in the air. Two men had arrived during the night, and it was clear that their presence might finally break the local stagnation. No one knew their names, but all signs pointed to one of them being the elusive Shade, who had helped Gramps coordinate operations in the past. Ked was betting on the first one, the man in the mask that covered his entire face. He clearly did not want to be recognized.
The bald bruiser had greeted them both with a respectful bow and a hand over his heart. His manner made it clear that at least the masked man was someone important. Yet he returned the same respectful gesture to Leimar as well. Judging by his clothes, the man had to be from one of the major oases, or perhaps even from Prim. The precisely tailored cut and expensive fabrics of his travel suit stood in stark contrast to how all the Scavengers looked, Ked included.
The second man was a little less conspicuous, but even so, his presence was more surprising than the masked one’s. His accent, despite a clear effort to hide it, sounded entirely foreign. He was from the South, and that sent a wave of dizziness through Ked. There was no doubt now. Gramps had allies even in places no one would expect.
The two strangers had been speaking with Gramps behind closed doors for hours. Leimar was the only one invited to the meeting. Everyone else was left waiting for the outcome. But Ked didn’t want to settle for just receiving orders from yet another outsider, without knowing why. He wanted to understand what was happening. So now he stood by the wall, listening in on fragments of the conversation. He lacked the full context. Names of places and people he didn’t know were being mentioned, but one thing was clear. After a long stretch of stagnation, something was finally starting to move.
“There’s no way we can hit Prim again. I don’t have the people or the gear,” said Gramps. His voice was heavy, worn down like the weight of the whole world rested on it.
“I can provide both,” replied the man with the foreign accent.
Gramps laughed. It was a short, bitter sound.
“Provide? And for what? Let’s be honest. That attack was a disaster. Instead of fear and calls for negotiation, we only stirred up more support for them. And the result? Now we’ve got those alters who ruined everything we tried to do in Sindar Lad. Without them, this might already be over.”
“They would’ve come into it sooner or later,” said the masked man calmly.
“They just forced the cards onto the table a bit earlier. What fascinates me more is how many times the Beacon has lied and no one seems to care. They swore they wouldn’t interfere, and then just a few days later they roll out the Modificants, complete with their little performance. They whipped the whole of Prim into a euphoria like I’ve never seen before.”
Leimar cleared his throat.
“That surge in public support is a serious problem. We can’t compete with media like that.”
“We can’t even compete with the fact that they wiped out several settlements right in front of us,” Gramps added darkly.
“Are you sure it was them?” the masked voice asked with a note of doubt.
“The Guard is investigating, but other than people talking about the Scavengers being to blame, there’s nothing concrete.”
“It wasn’t us, even if they’re trying to pin it on us. It was a false-flag operation.”
“I believe that. But we’d need proof.”
Gramps nodded toward the young boy who had been sitting silently in the corner, exactly where he had been told. Since the day they had brought him in from the burned-out settlement, they had taken him in, and ever since, they’d spent hours each day questioning him, trying to piece together everything he had seen and heard. Ked feared the boy might already be willing to lie, just to finally escape the endless, exhausting interrogations.
“He’s sitting right in front of you. The only one who survived.”
The man in the mask cursed quietly.
“What did he reveal?”
“Enough to be sure it was them. Not enough to prove it. He’s just a kid. No one’s going to believe him.”
“On the contrary,” the foreigner interjected,
“no one listens more intently than to a child.”
“There’s something to that,” the masked man agreed.
“And since then, nothing?”
Gramps shook his head, then admitted bitterly,
“We suspect there was a traitor among us. And it seems like he was either one of the dead or he ran. Hard to say. I’ve lost too many people lately. But the fact that it’s been quiet, even though we’ve been holed up like krelinyaks since the start of Drydays, leaves me with no other explanation.”
The outsider fiddled with his gloves, his gaze drifting to the floor.
“So a traitor,” he repeated thoughtfully.
“There were already too many of us. The question was never if someone would betray me, only when,” Gramps sighed.
The masked man gave a faint smile.
“Then it’s actually good news. The garbage took itself out.”
“Too many good people died in the process,” Gramps replied bitterly.
“And the ones I have left...” He hesitated for a moment but didn’t finish. Everyone present knew exactly what he meant. He had lost the best. Only the lucky ones remained, or those not good enough to be taken on missions.
“Maybe it would be better if you pulled back for now,” the masked man suggested, his tone walking the line between authority and advice.
Gramps nodded.
“It’s not like we have another option. It'll take time before we’re back on our feet. If you were hoping for our help, it won’t be coming anytime soon.”
“That’s unfortunate,” the southern man admitted.
“We’re under pressure down south. We won’t last much longer. The destroyed ammo depot complicated things for them, sure, but there are more like it across Raj. And now they’ll be even better guarded.”
“Is Letras planning to surrender?” Gramps asked sharply. His tired eyes narrowed, but in his voice was a flicker of something that had long been absent. Genuine interest.
“No, they’re not,” the southerner answered.
“But they might have to. They’ll give up the Southern Shore, but we all know Prim won’t stop there. Maybe it’ll buy us some time, but the same goes for Prim and the Beacon. Our scouts estimate they currently have about a hundred Modificants ready. How many will they have in a few years? And then they’ll take everything. In Letras, no one doubts that anymore.”
Ked felt his stomach twist. Everything he had heard so far turned his world upside down. So this was what it had all been about? Gramps wasn’t just fighting Prim. He was working with Letras, while hundreds of people were dying in a war whose true reason had been hidden from everyone. But now, finally, it all started to make sense.
“We can destroy the Modificants,” the masked man said firmly, his voice serious and resonating through the room.
Ked pressed himself closer to the door without hesitation. He definitely didn’t want to miss what came next.
“They have to lose the support of the people in Prim,” the masked man continued.
“The Beacon has a powerful voice, but they can’t go against everyone. If the people reject the Modificants, they’ll have to pull them back.”
“And who’s going to stop them from using them on their own people?” the southerner asked skeptically.
“The Werrens won’t see the difference between us and the rebels from Prim.”
“Spongus,” Gramps said quietly. The word nearly disappeared into the thick air of the room.
“Spongus?” the man from the South repeated, his voice tinged with confusion but also curiosity.
“That’s right,” Gramps nodded.
“Energy source. The Werrens need it not just for themselves, but for the entire Beacon. People extract it for them and keep a portion for their own use. It’s a deal that holds the balance together. And even if it doesn’t look like it, the Werrens need us more than we need them. Without spongus, the Beacon will go dark. Their technology will stop working. Their influence will vanish. And so will they. In the end, this whole southern mess is, once again, all about resources.”
Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint creaking of a chair. Each man was turning over the weight of Gramps’s words. For a moment, it seemed like no one knew what to say. Ked realized he was holding his breath.
“So you want to cut them off from their energy supply?” Leimar asked after a moment. His voice was quiet, and a note of doubt rang within it.
“That’s madness,” the masked man objected.
“Without spongus, not only the Beacon would fall, but so would we. Farming, transport, medicine. We rely on it for everything. Do you really think the people up north would survive if that agreement collapsed?”
Gramps shook his head.
“No. I’m just saying that if the people in Prim reject the Modificants, the Beacon will be in trouble. They’ll be forced to adapt if the pressure is high enough. We don’t plan to destroy the system. Just to disrupt it. To remind them who actually holds the power.”
Ked could almost hear the relief in their voices. The lines they weren’t willing to cross still existed. But he wasn’t sure how long that would last.
“So what do we do?” the southerner asked. His voice sounded tired, as if he no longer expected any real answers.
“We need material to discredit them,” Gramps stated.
“We have the witness from the massacred settlements, but there has to be something more. Something that will open people’s eyes. Maybe someone else who survived. Or something recorded during one of their operations. It needs to be raw. So raw it knocks people back in their seats.”
“Raw,” the masked man echoed.
“But how do we get something like that?”
“I don’t know yet,” Gramps admitted quietly.
“But I’ve seen those Modificants. They don’t feel human anymore. And that’s exactly what people need to see. They need to understand that those killing machines were once someone’s son, daughter, father, or mother. And what have they become?”
“Maybe I could try something,” the masked man suggested cautiously.
“There’s a mediator in the Beacon. Young, new, ambitious. She seems like she’s trying to think critically about what she’s part of. She doesn’t always agree with it. I wouldn’t swear by her, but she strikes me as unusually reasonable. She might be willing to share internal information. The problem is, since the last Council meeting, the Beacon has refused all my requests to speak with her. So I need to offer something really compelling to convince them I’m worth their time.”
“We could try to find her family,” Gramps offered thoughtfully.
“If we use them, maybe she’ll be more cooperative. Does she have a name?”
“The Beacon guards information about their mediators very closely. All I know is her name is Ela.”
Ked’s throat tightened. Ela? Could it really be her? Were they talking about his sister? The memories he had long buried were blurred, but he knew Ela had always had ambition. She chased after what she wanted. And it seemed she had succeeded. And now... a mediator in the Beacon? Coincidence? No. Fate.
Gramps reacted in a similar way.
“Ela? Red hair, mouthy?” he asked, and his tone suddenly changed, almost amused.
The masked man nodded.
“That’s the one.”
Gramps let out a laugh, though it sounded more tired than joyful.
“Well, I’ll be damned. That girl always knew how to stir up trouble. Must run in the family.”
“So you know her?” the masked man asked.
“That’s putting it lightly,” Gramps replied. His smile faded and for a moment he seemed lost in memories.
“I knew her. But I doubt she’d be willing to talk to me now.”
“Any real chance she might change her mind?” the masked man pressed, urgency creeping into his voice.
Gramps shrugged.
“Absolutely none. After what happened in Karhen Rouz, that’s not realistic.”
Ked’s heart pounded. Karhen Rouz. The name of his home oasis echoed in his mind, along with everything that had happened there. He had always believed he did the right thing. Was it pretty? No. But it was fair. Still, he wasn’t sure Ela had seen it that way. Yet they were still family. Same blood.
He leaned back against the cold stone. This was his moment.
“Maybe I could try,” he said aloud, making sure those behind the door could hear him.
For a moment, silence fell inside. Then came the heavy sound of a chair shifting and the creak of wood. The door opened. Leimar stood in the doorway, his expression grim.
“What are you doing here?” he asked suspiciously, casting a strict look at everyone gathered with him outside, who had also been listening in. Under his gaze, they all lowered their heads in shame, knowing they had no business being there.
Ked was the only one who straightened confidently and replied,
“I heard what you were talking about. You’re talking about Ela. My sister.”
Leimar’s eyes narrowed as if weighing the meaning of what he had just heard. From inside the room, Gramps’s tired voice called out,
“Let him in.”
Ked slipped past Leimar. All eyes turned toward him. The masked man remained seated, calm but attentive. The southerner leaned against the table, one brow slightly raised as he looked the red-haired, scarred boy up and down. And in the center of it all sat Gramps, whose gaze was a mix of fatigue and a spark of renewed interest.
“And why do you think you have anything to say about this?” Gramps asked, visibly trying not to sound too skeptical.
“She’s my sister,” Ked repeated. His voice trembled slightly, but there was clear resolve behind it.
“And if anyone can convince her to talk to you, it’s me.”
Silence fell over the room. Ked could feel all their eyes on him. Sweat broke out on his forehead. But he didn’t back down. He shifted his stance and tried to suppress the trembling in his hands.
Leimar tilted his head.
“And why would she listen to you? From what I know about the two of you, your relationship isn’t exactly… warm.”
Ked swallowed hard.
“Maybe not. But we’re still family. And Ela… Ela has always been stubborn. But she’s also always had a sense of justice. And a soft spot for the weak. If there’s a chance anyone can get her to listen, it’s me.”
Gramps rubbed his chin, his eyes flicking between Ked and the masked man.
“And what will you do if she refuses? Or worse, if she betrays you? Don’t forget, none of us would blame her if she did.”
“Then it’ll be all on me,” Ked said quietly but firmly.
“But I have to try first.”
A long silence followed, until the masked man finally spoke.
“Alright,” he said slowly.
“This might actually lead somewhere. Just make sure you understand. The moment the Beacon uncovers our intent, you’re done. And we won’t be much better off.”
Ked nodded, even as his mind raced, already thinking of what he would say to Ela when they met again. His sister might not see the world the way he did. But if there was even the slightest chance she would listen, he had to take it.
“I can do it,” he replied with confidence, and he could see that his determination had given at least a sliver of hope to those around him. It was now or never. And that was still better than just never.
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