The training grounds were a mile east of the sleeping tents, near the cliffs. They jogged through the dusty afternoon heat, carrying backpacks filled with water and rations. Thanks to its strategic location on the stone plateau, Rykuunh was known for producing skilled rebel snipers. Lex could see them in the distance, lying flat on the ground near the edge of the cliffs, peering through the scopes of their rifles into the vast valley below. Gunshots echoed from all directions, their sources impossible to pinpoint in the sprawling landscape.

After emptying his first magazine, Lex holstered his weapon and took off the scratched welding goggles he used to shield his eyes from the harsh desert sand. The sunlight glaring off the dry clay ground forced him to squint. He grabbed a pair of binoculars to check his shots. The results weren't great. A few bullet holes in the human-shaped target, but most of the shots had missed completely.

"What’s so funny?" he asked.

Mirela tried to keep a straight face, but like the rest of the group, she burst out laughing.

"It’d be easier to hit the target if I could actually see it," he said.

She paused mid-laugh. "Wait, are you saying you need glasses?"

He didn't answer.

*****

One evening, the recruits sat around a campfire, eating vegetables they’d grown themselves in the wasteland and beef from Rykuunh’s labs. Arif strummed his guitar, singing songs that some of the more talented recruits joined in on. Mirela explained that the instructors emphasized returning to humanity’s roots, and Lex suddenly remembered the little note that had fallen out of the picture book back at the orphanage in Bancarduu, meant for his mother. His father, Liam, had written the same thing. Back to the roots. Lex thought he finally understood what his father had meant. In that moment, he wondered if his parents had been part of the resistance, and if he was now following in their footsteps, just as Tayus and Morisa had always hoped he would.

*****

Sometimes, long after the others had gone to bed, it was just the two of them left sitting together. The fire burned down to embers. He would tell her stories about his past life, freely speaking about his time on Limbo. The chains of the TC were broken, maybe they'd snapped long ago, but this time, he truly felt it. The silence contract no longer held any meaning.

"Are you happy?" Mirela asked him one night.

He thought about it for a long time, even though the answer was simple. He kept the fact that he had brought the Black Orb here, the one responsible for the war, a secret. That knowledge loomed over him like a dark storm cloud, heavy and foreboding.

"Lex, my question."

He snapped out of his thoughts. "Can’t remember the last time I felt this good," he said.

*****

One night, they sat at the edge of the cliffs with a mug of miner's piss in hand, looking out over the vast, star-lit plains below. The night itself seemed alive, with thousands of twinkling stars and the glowing airships, either sluggishly heading toward Rykuunh or setting off into the unknown reaches of the world. The Abraham River wound through the canyon below, and lush riverbank brush grew along both sides, silvered by the moonlight. The river itself was black, and the stars seemed to dance and flicker on its surface.

Hearing a rustle beside him, he glanced over at Mirela, who was pulling something wrapped in foil out of her uniform pocket. When she unwrapped it, he saw the bundle of twigs and leaves he had left behind during his first visit to the general store.

"We’re technically not supposed to bring this stuff into camp, but it’s the weekend, and I figure it doesn’t matter if we chew it out here in the wasteland or at home. Right?" She snapped off a small twig from the dried-up bundle and popped it into her mouth, stuffing the leaves into her cheek until it bulged like she was storing a ping-pong ball in there. She pushed the bundle across the dry stone floor to him, and he broke off a few leaves. He hesitated, brought them up to his nose for a cautious sniff, and wrinkled his face a little. The smell reminded him of a visit to the men’s room at a dive bar on Limbo.

"I hope it tastes better than it smells," he said, laying the dried leaves on his tongue before pushing them between his back teeth and tentatively chewing. He squinted, forcing himself to keep chewing, and Mirela burst out laughing.

"Tastes awful."

"Yeah, for now," she said, "but after a while, you won’t be able to get enough of it."

"I’m not so sure." He mumbled around the leaves, propping himself up on his elbows in the sand as he gazed out into the quiet darkness.

"Lex?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you swallow the leaves?"

He looked at her.

She poked him in the side, laughing again. "You’re not supposed to swallow them. You’re supposed to spit them out."

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He turned his gaze back toward the endless expanse of the land.

"What’s your full name, anyway?" he asked.

"Ma’vena," she said. "Mirela Ma’vena."

Lex nodded. "Mirela Ma’vena," he whispered. His breath puffed out into the freezing night air. He tore off a few more leaves, chewed on them, and pushed them to the side of his mouth, storing them in his cheek like she had.

"How do you feel now?" she asked.

"Like a king," he said. "I’m starting to get why everyone’s always chewing this stuff. It makes you feel pretty good."

"Maybe it’s not the leaves. Maybe you’re just happy. Here with me."

He was quiet for a while, thinking she might be right. Then he looked at her, chewing, studying her. "I never asked where you’re from."

"That’s true."

"So, where are you from?"

She pulled her arm out from under the thick blanket and pointed into the distance. "See that shimmering city over there, on the edge of the canyon?"

He pushed his new glasses (really just an old, bent frame with lenses that were barely intact and somewhat adjusted to his prescription) up the bridge of his nose with his thumb and gazed at the flickering lights in the night sky, like still stars. The distant city perched on the steep canyon edge was shrouded in mystery.

"You’re from there?" he asked.

"Yes."

"So you can see your home every day."

"I can. And every day, I imagine my parents and my siblings soon dying. We haven’t just been abandoned by the world government, they're actively helping destroy this continent, piece by piece. The government is corrupt and controlled by corporations like Thandros and Snackbite, both of which have been hurting our people for decades. And now, they've declared war on us. When it’s over, they’ll leave us in ruins. That’s why people chew the leaves. They want to forget how hopeless their future is."

He didn’t dare say anything, and she fell silent for another reason. After a while, she spat out the chewed leaves. He followed her gaze out into the night, into the quiet. "I’m afraid of the war," she said suddenly. "The World Union has taken Sekuur, Reluunh, and now Sheel'val too. And they’ve seized many nearby villages. Their armies are just a hundred miles away."

"I know."

"Sometimes, when everyone’s asleep, you can hear the rumbling of the bombs. It sounds like thunder, like a heavy storm rolling in, but you know it’s not." She shook her head and stared again at her distant hometown. "Every night, when I see my home, I can’t help but imagine how they’ll march in there soon."

In her dark eyes, the stars above them reflected, glimmering.

"So why did you come to Rykuunh?" he asked.

"You’re asking me why? You think everything has to have a reason?"

"That’s what I’ve come to believe," he said. "Yeah, everything has a reason.” And as he said that, his mind drifted to Veela. The girl from Vega Prime had only ever wanted him to bring the Black Orb to Luvanda. The unknown material that was worth more than the lives of millions of innocent people. Getting that thing to the other continent and into the hands of the Crimson Dawn faction... that had been Veela’s most important mission. She had been willing to let him die for it, just like Earl Tardino and the others were willing to leave him to die on the ST SAMSON in the asteroid field.

"I actually wanted to stay home."

She traced meaningless patterns in the dust with her finger. She glanced thoughtfully again at the distant city on the canyon. "But my father wanted me to join the rebels."

"He forced you?"

"It’s not like that," she said. "This is the right path for me. I know it. I feel it. Like you, I believe everything happens for a reason. My father wanted me to learn the world’s language. Why, I wonder? Did he know back then that one day you and I would meet?"

She leaned back, propping herself up on her arms. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, and a slight goosebump pattern appeared on the fine lines of her neck. But the cold didn’t seem to bother her at all.

"Your father must know what’s best for you," he said ironically.

But she nodded. Either she hadn’t noticed the criticism hidden between his words, or she had chosen to ignore it. "Papa always told me that one day I’d understand why I had to study for so many hours. He’s a wise man, and I’ve never doubted his words." Mirela looked at the boy, the cold desert wind playing with her curly hair. "Have you ever met someone who seems to understand so much more about life than you do? More than anyone else, I mean. Someone connected to the mysteries of the universe, who can’t tell you everything, but knows more than they let on. Someone you trust completely."

The boy thought of the hermit from the exile and his words. Inevitably, his thoughts turned again to the Black Orb and the fateful destiny it had brought upon the old man and now, too, on his own life. But the person he trusted blindly had been someone else entirely.

"Well, I’ve told you about my life on Limbo," he said later that night, "but I never told you how I ended up on Cetos Five or here in Luvanda. Wanna hear it?"

"Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to know since the first time we met."

He followed the shimmering band of the Milky Way from one side of the slope to the other. It was time to explain that he was responsible for the war, he thought. It took him a while to work up the courage.

"So, there was this strange material the old man gave me when I was in exile," he said, and then told her the whole story from beginning to end, occasionally checking her face for signs of boredom or fatigue. He wasn’t a great storyteller, but she listened intently, and her interest in his life seemed genuine.

"I almost died again," he said when he got to the part about the rebel attack on the camp. "They would’ve killed me on the spot if they hadn’t seen the butterfly amulet in my hand." He shook his head, kicking a rock with the toe of his boot. It rolled away, wrapped in a cloud of dust lit by the glow of the Milky Way, and disappeared into the abyss.

"And when the commander pried the Black Orb out of the butterfly amulet, I suddenly realized that the material the whole world had been searching for had been with me all along."

A moment of silence spread between them. Just as the cold of the desert nights froze their bodies, his words sent a chill through the girl’s soul. She seemed to have finally understood what he was telling her. And why.

"Are you saying that the thing everyone is after, the thing Thandro’s been hunting, is really just a tiny black pearl?"

"Seems like it," the boy replied.

"And this little thing... the reason TC and the world government are raging through our country, you brought it here?"

For a while, the boy said nothing. But worse than the silence was the weight of the girl’s gaze on his soul, a look demanding an answer. It pressed down on his chest like a heavy stone. "I didn’t even know I was carrying it. Crimson Dawn gave me the amulet as a good luck charm. I had no idea the pearl inside was what TC was after." He tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over at the rebel. "Do you think I’m guilty? Do you believe the war in this land started because of me?"

Mirela studied him. "I think what happened was meant to happen," she said. "You were just playing a part. Whether you’re guilty or not doesn’t really matter." She leaned her head against his shoulder. The wind carried the faint scent of her slightly oily hair, and he nestled into it, as if resting his head on a soft pillow. A satellite blinked as it glided across the open sky.

"What does 'loa' mean, anyway?" he asked after a while.

"It means something like 'let’s go.' Why?"

"No reason." He thought for a moment. "What about 'may'? When I got to Segosa, I met this old lady at a food stand. She kept saying 'may, may, may' to me and held a hot bag of rice against my leg."

The girl smirked. "You should’ve bought the rice."

"That’s what I thought, too," he said. "And what’s the word for idiot in your language?"

"Lex."

"Very funny."

She laughed but eventually told him the word, and he tried to repeat it. What came out of his mouth sounded like "ou-you-kazzy," but he’d gotten it completely wrong.

"Ou-yo-jazzy," he said then, and at first, only Mirela laughed, but soon he couldn’t hold back either, and their voices echoed together into the wide, open night.