A cold white room covered in screens faced the man seated upon the high throne.
The man turned his head. "Silo, it appears my lens cannot capture them. Is there any other way we can keep tabs on them?" He tapped his fingers lightly.
Behind him, the logician gathered an assortment of documents laid flat across the floor.
Without looking up, he wiped sweat from his forehead. "We could use the flashlights in their beaks, but that would only cause more problems for us. I say we let the two be for now. It'll take a while for them to find a place, since all the houses are the same," Silo mumbled.
"I'll take your word for it." Noticing his distress, he added, "Is something the matter, Silo? There must be a reason you've sprawled those folders across the floor."
"There will be, if I do not find what I'm looking for, Head-Bearer," Silo replied, his words slightly slurred.
The masked man tilted his head. "And that is?"
Gulping, Silo answered, "I cannot find today's Solythe document for the island. I didn't want to believe what I saw, but it is the truth. There is a presence around the likes of the bullet ant, near Nawra." He sighed.
"Nawra, you say." The Head-Bearer shook his head and pulled a rRestless Nightemote from his pocket.
With a click, the screens shut off and displayed a new projection. It showed the layout of the island. It resembled the palm of a hand, severed from its fingers.
A light formed two intersecting lines on the map, creating four quadrants. The lines stopped at the island's edges, avoiding the ocean.
"Relax, my subordinate. Inform me through this projection. The tribe of Marah was where our beloved ant ended up, but you say the tribe of Nawra, the nearest to it, holds another bullet ant?" Head-Bearer Jibril asked.
Silo adjusted his glasses. "Marah sits in the bottom right of the island, exactly where their ship miraculously collided with the mound. But in the bottom left, the tribe of Nawra holds a presence. I would not call it an 'Ant.' It is more akin to a fungus. A decomposer, if you will."
The logician pointed to the remaining quadrants. "I saw it in the documents. They all hold presences now. The tribe of fear, Nawra, will prove its name. The tribe of grief, Penthos, will grieve over their losses. And the tribe of forgiveness, Selicha, may not forgive what is to come."
Jibril facepalmed against his mask. "Oh... so that is what this is. What a bother. Just when things were getting interesting with our favorite ant."
"Fear not, Head-Bearer. The only notable presence in Marah, the tribe of joy, is our subject. Perhaps they chose the right tribe to settle in. I am not one to invoke luck, but this is fortunate for them," Silo muttered.
Jibril scoffed. "Ha. I would not call them lucky. I would say they forced their hand and made their neighbors deal with the consequences. The lengths they go to maintain the status of their tribe know no bounds."
Silo straightened, collecting the folders and aligning them neatly before holding them to his chest. "Remind me, sir. How could they have possibly altered the presence of those things?"
Suddenly, the screens went dark. The fluorescent lights above flickered as the man on the throne turned his chair to face him.
"You are a sharp man, Silo. Surely you do not think they maintain their bread and circuses by playing ethically. Know this. The spears they use are not solely for entertainment."
. . .
For them, a dark bowl encapsulated their world.
For Malik's world, the bowl had holes, and something beyond seeped through.
A glimpse of what lay beyond engraved itself into his mind. It glistened. It felt sharp merely to look at. The abundance of light reminded him of static, the same static he no longer wished to hear.
Looking away, he saw Zayne's stern gaze.
"You seeing anything, bro? You're my eyes since you can see in the dark. I wonder how you even sleep at night."
Frowning, Malik replied, "That's not how it works. I've told you time and time again, the lights above guide me."
Laughing, Zayne shook the lantern. "Are you some prophet? I've never seen you read scripture in my life. You talk about it like a blind man describing what nothing looks like." He patted Malik's back.
Rolling his eyes, Malik smirked. "Since I'm blind and you're not, if I ran off and left you here with your lantern, how would that go?" He lightly punched his shoulder.
"Yeah, let's not test that right now," Zayne said nervously. "But seriously, who designed this neighborhood? All the houses look the same. Do they want people getting lost at night?"
Malik inhaled slowly. "I don't think anyone is supposed to be out here at night..."
Zayne noticed his tone. "It's no big deal. That's on them for giving us that meal."
"You mean for giving you that meal?" Malik replied.
Zayne laughed, easing him. He always noticed Malik's nervous tone and made a fool of himself to diffuse it.
Silence followed as they marched through the neighborhood.
Zayne followed the beam of his lantern. Malik followed the endless light of the stars above.
One house after another, like an aisle stocked with the same toy. Yellow-golden walls. Black roofs. Identical ambience.
Their muscles tensed. Why was no one outside?
A second of silence corroded them. All they heard were their thoughts.
Malik twitched. A smile curved across his face. When he looked up, he saw another smile in the distance.
A golden smile.
It illuminated the path before it.
"Hello? We're lost. Can you help us out?" Zayne called, teeth faintly chattering.
It stepped forward. The golden smile dimmed.
"You shouldn't be out here today of all days. It's a special curfew."
He stood before them, wide frog-like mouth beneath a hood.
"Awan?" Malik and Zayne said in unison.
The tribesman lowered his hood. "You had us worried. Follow me to the house. I was afraid something caught you."
Malik raised an eyebrow. "And if we were caught?"
Awan swallowed. "I wouldn't have found you."
He gestured for them to follow. As he smiled, golden light leaked from his mouth like a watchtower beam across a prison yard.
They soon reached the house.
"You might've missed it if you'd kept walking," Awan said.
The door opened slowly. An old woman stepped out, wearing an endearing grin.
"Oh yes, please come in, you three," Adirah whispered. She scanned the darkness behind them.
Once inside, she shut the door tightly.
Malik absorbed the interior. A warm fireplace. Two rocking chairs. A modest dinner table. A chandelier overhead.
And in one of the rocking chairs—
Her.
Instantly, he rushed forward, knelt, and held her hand. He could not meet her gaze. Her eyes were wrapped in bandages.
"I can't believe I left you out there, Kaya... How could I have listened to them instead of you?" Malik tightened his grip.
Kaya did not respond. She felt cold in his hands.
Zayne had never seen this side of him. The guilt in Malik's voice sounded less like remorse and more like debt.
Adirah approached. "She's alive, child." She tapped his shoulder gently. "Her eyes need rest. So do you."
Malik turned.
She saw bold grey irises. The whites stained red.
Adirah inhaled sharply.
Malik walked away and sat against the wall near the table, hugging his knees to his chest.
"I only have one bed for me and my husband," Adirah said softly. "You'll have to rest on the floor."
Zayne and Awan settled near the doorway.
Kaya continued rocking. The chair creaked rhythmically. Her breathing rattled faintly.
The fireplace burned low.
Adirah entered her bedroom.
One side of the bed bore a sunken pillow and disheveled sheets.
The other side remained untouched. Neat.
She tucked herself in and kissed the untouched pillow goodnight.
Then she turned off the lamp as tears soaked into fabric.
. . .
Night continued brightly as starlight filtered into the dark room.
Malik remained awake, staring at the light spilling through unseen cracks.
Awan and Zayne slept deeply.
Kaya's breathing rattled.
Then another rattle emerged.
From beside him.
It vibrated in his pocket. A muffled murmur. The static again.
No. Not again. Please, just let me sleep.
Then—
"Look where you are, boy. Nothing rests here except the dead."
Malik unsheathed it.
Aurora light shimmered along its edges.
The Bayonet gleamed.
"I would not let you forget me so easily."
What do you want? Why wait until now to speak?
"You corner yourself within golden walls. You cut chains but ignore the threads surrounding you. Have you no shame?"
Shame for what?
"Your gilded joy. Your underlying fear. Your unresolved grief. Your nonexistent forgiveness."
Is your only purpose to critique me? I was tricked. I know the man who pushed us is involved.
"I lead you. Whether you approve is irrelevant."
Was forgetting the restaurant your doing? I made a mistake. We move on.
"You never move on."
Malik scoffed as cold air passed.
Then what is the point? How does confusion benefit us?
"You would not hold my handle so gently if you understood."
And what do I not understand? It feels like you're stealing my memories.
"I am the abandoned one. You are the renewed one. I take what you cannot comprehend. Prepare yourself for tomorrow. And the days after."
. . .
Malik argued with the blade—
Until a voice spoke softly.
One he recognized.
"Malik..."