4.2.25 - The One to Become the Third pt 4

PARABLE IV: Steel in the Silence

A week passed in Port Bausae, and the rhythm of survival settled into the house. Soet had laid down planks of ash-oak scavenged from the edge of the port, making the floor less hostile to bare feet and tiny limbs. Epsul spent her days training with Zarash, trying to refine his brute use of runeweaving into the focused art of runedancing.

Zarash spoke little. His mind was often with the children—ensuring they ate, slept, didn’t wander too far—and with Mowa, whose age was catching up to her body. Every night before the fire, he counted the food. Then he counted the mouths.

Each dusk, the small clan headed to the forest. They foraged wildroot, old berries, chased the occasional dox. They’d caught only one kozhaka, its meat stretched across five dinners. They sold the pelt for a handful of shalts.

Midday, they returned—sweaty, sore, hungry.

Zarash dropped onto the bench beside the table, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

“Runedancing. Too slow. No react time,” he muttered.

Epsul collapsed next to him, flushed and glistening with sweat. She grabbed her water.

“It’s not slow, Zarash,” she snapped. “You’re fast, sure. But your body’s falling apart. I’ve seen you flinch every time you lift your leg. That’s damage. If you don’t redirect how your rune manifests, you’ll tear something you can’t fix.”

Soet stirred the pot over the fire and served three bowls. “Eat,” he said simply. “And rest. We have seven days before Cauma’s mission. A month-long op after that.”

The children ran through the house, bowls in hand, laughing. Mowa scolded them and corralled them into the back.

Epsul inhaled the food. “If Cauma assigned us, it’s because we’re disposable. He knows we have nothing. He’s hoping we die and he gets the gem’s reward without the liability.”

Zarash didn’t respond, but his eyes narrowed.

Soet added, “He’ll send me and Epsul to the front. You’ll come back and tell him what we found. He always does this.”

Zarash placed his bowl down. “There’s a nest. Gruhanas. Old. Their shells can fetch hundreds. I scouted it last sycle. If we take one down, we can leave Mowa and the kids enough to last until we return.”

Epsul tapped her spoon. “And their tokens?”

Zarash reached into his pouch and placed two shell-shaped stones on the table.

Real tokens. Not the brittle replicas given to dosijo.

Epsul’s heart caught. Soet froze.

“You’re giving us our actual tokens?” Soet asked.

Zarash nodded. “I didn’t ask to own anyone. I want to live. Eat. Protect my… family.”

Epsul stared at him. He doesn’t even remember last sycle. He lied to Cauma to protect us. To save our lives. And now he won’t even look me in the eye.

She picked up her token gently, cradling it like a seed.

“Mowa has hers. The kids… they don’t,” Zarash added.

Soet’s shoulders sank. “That’s why they never leave the alley.”

“I’ve saved enough for two. We’ll need one more.”

The fire popped. Wind pushed against the broken shutters. The silence settled.

“They’ll be safe if we succeed,” Epsul said.

Soet stood and started cleaning up. “Then we have to prepare. No distractions. We’re not surviving this mission unless we move like one unit.”

Epsul nodded. “Let’s train. One last week. Runedancing basics. Rune storage. Focus forms. Muscle reinforcement.”

Zarash glanced at the tokens again.

They weren’t just carved stones.

They were trust. Risk. A path forward.

He stood.

“Let’s go.”