In that moment, a heavy wire clung onto the floor, its fall echoing throughout the area. The distant echoes of emotions faded, but the wire still remained.
Kaya froze as she saw it stare right at her.
"Is something the matter, Kaya?" Sera asked with a gloomy expression.
The thought lingered in her mind as it repeated, louder this time. Her eyes did not need to shine amber for her to boldly read it.
"I also remember being told by my mother that I should always keep my head low to not face what's in front of me."
. . .
She listened to her heartbeat as she tried to find the right words to answer her.
A mother without a family . . . Right now, I am a daughter without a family, so that makes me merely a woman. But that wouldn't be what she wants to hear.
A silence too long emanated as she felt the woman's gaze pierce through the thick blindfold she wore.
The creaking of the chair unnerved her as the crescendo of fearful weeping from a house far away amplified.
Finally, Kaya adjusted her posture, "There are women with children and families that aren't real mothers. I would know best of this. But there are women without children and families that are real mothers. You would know best of this."
Slowly, Sera leaned forward and tightly gripped the wooden arms of the chair.
Kaya waited a second before adding, "The house you take care of, the grass you tend, the community you care for, and the ones who care most for themselves define a mother far more than anything else."
The town's emotions halted as the air flowed softly at the calming sound of her voice.
Sera smiled as she listened carefully. She brushed her hair over her ears to make sure she understood.
They both stared at each other for an awkward amount of time. Kaya gave an endearing smile, but stopped since she knew the woman probably couldn't see it.
I wonder if it would be a good idea to mention a tradition from my own homeland. Maybe it won't arouse suspicion.
Kaya cleared her throat. "In my realm, we harmonize with the greatest mother, who brings nature to us and gives the realms their color. Though the mother does not have descendants, the fact that she has taken care of us is enough for her to define herself as a mother. The greatest one can be."
Cicadas buzzed in the distance as the nearby leaves sung the song of the wind.
Elegantly, Sera stood up and faced Kaya dead in the eye through the blindfold.
She brought her hand out and offered it to her. "I learn best from experience. Show me the fruits of being a mother . . . Ghigau."
The wind stopped, as if it held its own breath.
Kaya's eyes widened at the word. They burned a bright amber. Her heart rapidly beat as she hesitated to speak for multiple seconds.
All she could hear in the woman's mind was: Ghigau, Ghigau, Ghigau . . .
The word replayed over and over as if she hadn't heard it the first dozen times.
. . . There's no way. There's no way she knows that title. Does she know who I am? Oh, who am I kidding, of course she does!
Mother never told me that whether I hang my head or look in front of me, I'd still be recognized no matter what.
How do I even respond?
Kaya exhaled. "I suppose I haven't been completely open, not with anybody at the very least."
. . . .
Meanwhile, in Noam's house, Zayne began to regain strength in his decaying hand.
He lifted each finger carefully, but had trouble lifting his thumb since it pained him the most. Each time he tried, it sent a sharp pain through his nerves, and he had to hold his breath every time he attempted it.
To pass the time, he did squats in the corner of the cabin whilst Noam read an abundance of manuals on his bed.
Flipping to another page, Noam asked, "Leave your hand alone. Get some rest, man. You guys went through all that on this island in less than a couple days, and you're not tired?"
After finishing a rep, Zayne felt sweat drip down his forehead as his legs shook. "I am. I'm very tired. But I can't sit around and do nothing. Whatever happened to my hand is probably from my own lack of awareness."
Afterward, he sprawled on the floor and started doing push-ups on the tips of his fingers. He grunted heavily as he withstood the pain from each rep.
"You're not gonna get very far with that. It'll only hurt you more," Noam said, closing the manual.
Ignoring him, Zayne repeated the motion until his hands gave out, and he lay on the floor, hugging his bandaged hand tightly to his chest.
Zayne sighed as he mumbled, "So what if it hurts? Everything in this life hurts. Everybody else is hurting, so I can't just rot here."
Noam fluffed his hair, which buried over his eyes. "Even with that hand? It was practically flayed. I don't know how much more hurt you can get."
Zayne shook his head. "I can take it. If they can take it, then I have to take double to make sure they're okay."
Noam sat up, creaking his bedframe. "No you aren't. You aren't them, and if you think you'll get 'stronger' or whatever in that condition, that's plain ignorance. That gets you nowhere around here."
Zayne smiled as he stared at the hanging ceiling fan. He pondered within the embrace of the dim golden light.
I can't mention the fact that I lived on that ship by a strict routine, but how else am I supposed to prove that I'm worth something?
I always felt bad seeing others work. I'd even skip out on my breaks and pass out often from overworking simply because I felt incompetent compared to the others.
Why couldn't I fight with a blade? Why couldn't I navigate the ship? Why couldn't I mix chemicals? Why couldn't I weld stuff? Why, oh why, couldn't I have been a leader?
Why did I have to be the janitor?
Noam interrupted his epiphany. "See that right there?"
Zayne turned his head. "Hm?"
"You relaxed, man. I saw the smile on your face." Noam gave a smirk.
"Yeah . . . but I shouldn't," Zayne grumbled under his breath.
Oddly enough, chills ran down his spine as he felt his body submerged within the wooden floorboards.
He took deep breaths as his mind calmed. It left an almost euphoric sensation in his body.
"My grandma once told me a story about my grandpa before he passed away. He was in Zavha's Magen," Noam uttered, staring at the wall.
Zayne clicked his tongue. "Magen?"
"Right, you aren't from there. To put it simply, it's a religious military. He was one of the Deacons, who followed the Inquisitors. Think soldiers to their generals," Noam answered.
The Magen . . . where have I heard that name before?
Zayne felt skeptical as he continued to listen.
"It was a bit before I was born. They named it the Cycle of Conquest. It was that particular year seventeen years ago. They stood against the army of Ferugenstahl, but were ultimately cornered. Even the Inquisitors were beginning to consider a truce," Noam said.
Continuing, "They had fought with all their 'ammunition,' as my grandmother liked to call it, but what they really utilized was faith within their Solythe. My grandfather understood this, and he had far too much faith, a faith that people would also call him ignorant for." Noam's gaze focused on Zayne when he emphasized it.
"What did he do?" Zayne asked curiously.
Noam smiled. "While the rest of the Deacons and Inquisitors hid timidly in their base, my grandfather went outside of the base unarmed and sat still, even when the Sklaves, the military of Ferugenstahl, had surrounded them."
"What the rest had mistaken about faith was that faith was a ticket from Zaleth to save them, but my grandfather knew better. For him, faith was a tool, and he went outside with the full expectation of dying, but he wouldn't give up then."
"The Sklaves focused on evolution, and even they could not yet evolve past fear. My grandfather simply sat with his eyes closed and his arms and legs crossed as the ultimate form of disrespect toward them."
"Eventually, a top-ranking soldier for the Sklaves came to the frontlines when the others were fearful. He scolded the others, but they still maintained a distance. Then the soldier came forward and, with one fell swoop, managed to slice off a portion of my grandfather's arm."
"But he knew better. He withstood the pain and simply stared him in the eye. The Sklaves later left, and my grandfather and the rest of his men were able to return safely." Noam sighed.
Zayne raised his hand like a student. "Why did they leave instead of finishing him off if they had the power to do so?"
Noam pondered. "My grandfather never told us, but whatever the reason, it led to them living another day."
Zayne thought for a moment, but couldn't quite understand the moral of the story.
He turned his head. "What should I take from this story then?"
Noam turned around and grabbed a thick magazine off his bed. He flipped to a certain page and smiled when he reached it.
Showing it to Zayne, his eyes lightened in their azure gaze as he read it.
It displayed a simple message carved in stylistic handwriting. On one hand, it could've been chosen for marketing purposes, but on the other, it appeared to be harsh lettering from a soldier in war.
It read: "Helplessness is the greatest curse and asset to the weak. Stand strong when weak, lay weak when strong."
Zayne darted his eyes toward Noam. "Are you calling me weak?"
Noam facepalmed the magazine into his face and let out a long sigh. "Why'd I even bother?"
Zayne laughed under his breath. "No worries. I was just messin' with ya."
Then he got up and stretched his arms. The tension in his body released as his bones cracked.
He walked past Noam's bedframe and twisted the doorknob at the front of the cabin.
Noam scratched his chin. "Where are you heading to? You haven't even healed yet."
Zayne gave a wide grin as he slowly turned. "Malik's on his way to probably look for Awan and the others. Kaya's on her way to clear her mind or whatever. And I gotta go on my way."
Noam remained skeptical. "And what is it you're going to do on your way?"
Zayne gave a conniving grin, surprisingly wider than the last.
"I'm going to go on the grand journey . . ."
Noam leaned closer to listen. He gripped his magazine tighter.
". . . to get something to eat!" Zayne finished proudly.
"You're not a real person," Noam said flatly.
"I'm as real as a person can be. So, you comin'?" Zayne asked.
Noam shook his head and sprawled back on his bed, flipping through more pages of documents and anecdotes he had piled up in the thick booklet.
"Hey Noam, how many times have you read those books in all these years you've been here?" Zayne asked innocently.
After an awkward second, Noam silently closed the book, tucked it under his blanket, and slowly got up.
Adjusting his thick hair, he mumbled, "I'm only going because I'm hungry."
As Noam followed Zayne out the door, Zayne carried a sly smirk on his face as they left the cabin.
The sky was clear as day, yet nobody was outside. Even the leaves and trees had begun to fall asleep, as they hadn't made any sounds despite the sun blaring brightly.
Noam tapped Zayne's shoulder. "So where are we gonna eat from here? I don't think anybody goes out at this hour, except an old lady down the street. I heard she's like a ghost, but I've never taken the time to see her."
"Old ladies aren't the kinda meal I was thinking of. Trust me, I know a spot where we could get some good grub." Zayne confidently marched forward.
During his march, however, his breath began to give out slightly, and he shook his hand multiple times to ignore the pain, but he still kept on.
Noam shook his head. "For some reason, I highly doubt that . . ."
Soon enough, they reached the rampart of Nawra. Pulling a lever to open the crevice, Zayne opened his arms wide in excitement.
"Are you ready?" Zayne asked happily.
"Not really." Noam shrugged.
Zayne laughed. "Too bad!"
Noam whispered under his breath, "Of course I got him in a good mood."
. . .