The population of the rock isle stabilizes at 24 people as the holds cease their cullings and the desert claims the worst-hit survivors. Only 14 deaths have occurred among those culled and cast out here. There are several such oases where the exiled take shelter during the Sand Season, though it's uncertain how many remain. The gossip is optimistic—this is said to be the mildest Sand Season of this generation. From space, the storm is already dissipating, promising an early end. The holds have halted the season’s culling, leading to mixed feelings among those who have already survived their abandonment.
I watch from a rock cliff as the last likely to die is buried in the sand at the highest point of a rock’s shade. These people prefer being buried in the shade. I’ve watched seven people interred at that exact spot, marked by the crest of the rocks shadow, which always ensure there’s an empty space for another body. Noah says a few words before scattering with everyone else. I know he is sad, relieved, tired, and bitter—the last time I looked into him, those feelings were clear. I observe them as they find their little corners in their little groups, chit-chatting here and there, but mostly quietly suffering through somber feelings and the breathing technique. None of them have cores, so the benefits of their discipline and dedication are never permanent, but this is undoubtedly the foundation of what may someday become energy cultivation.
Tito’s head turns to gaze at me from across the distance before he refocuses on helping Capto sit up straight so he can breathe better. Tito and I are always connected, even without direct eye contact. Things are different now—I am more firmly grounded in my body, to an extent that it's stifling. As a result of tempering my body, it has become physically and metaphysically more solid and weighty, such that my presence cannot extend itself as freely as it once did. My presence is now only in me and in Tito; everyone else I connect with temporarily through eye contact to read them.
My revival or awakening on this world fits into a loophole that was snipped by reality behind me. Everything new I do in this world sets a precedent while the laws of reality adjust, limiting those changes and nipping chaos in the bud. My presence is limited in its spread because of my new physique, but that too can be cultivated further with time... I realize I like cultivating things—raising something up from a standard base and perfecting it to its utmost limits. I wonder what my limits are? I wonder what limits these humans have? Should I fear them?
I allow a spike of fear for humanity to shoot from my stomach and pierce my heart. I fear the worst, then let the fear melt away. I don’t fear them long, even when I allow myself to, but the fear has shown me how dangerous they are. Truly monstrous creatures. A grin plasters itself on my face at the thought of these humans' potential and destructiveness.
I’ve watched these people through several stages of grief and trauma, plain to me with a glance of eye contact. I’ve seen them abuse and fantasize about abusing each other, feeding on hate, anger, or lust like it’s a last drop of water. I’ve felt similar emotions in my own breast through Tito and reveled in them. I fear myself a little but I’m no direct danger to myself. In a similar way, these humans are no danger to me as of yet, especially these 24. I know them better than they know themselves in the few weeks I’ve spent cultivating them.
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I look up at Aetio just to see if his face indicates any of the schemes he's cooking up in that little brain of his. That's right, you have a little brain. Lalalalal, ahha...
"Softskin, help me up a bit." I help Inda sit up by supporting his back letting him distract me from the passanger in my thoughts.
"If you're tired, you can just rest for a while—"
"No. Haven't you noticed? Everyone who's left strong are those that started your breathing early enough. No. I need to get my strength back, and maybe I'll live to see my family," Indapa says, using the rebreather and working himself up for a single cycle of the breathing technique.
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Why does he care about his family so much after being exiled by them? Am I abnormal for being angry at mine? Why work himself like this just to see them?
Why don't you ask him?
I hate that you're in my head. Yet I don't hate it or fear it as I should, and that actually terrifies me. I hate that you are in me as you.
"Why do you want to see the hold that sacrificed you to the desert?" I ask Indapa.
I hate that I asked that question so transparently bitterly, and that it’s Aetio asking through me because he wants to know through my perspective, even though he's seen this sentiment in Indapa's mind. It's not hate as much as annoyance that I feel because I understand Aetio as completely as the little fucker understands me to the point that I think I died in the desert and this little fucker stole my body and mind. But if that were true, how do I know myself distinctly as myself? In fact, I’m even more myself than I've ever been, now that I have a passenger connected to me.
"We were running low after a flash drought emptied our reservoir... A few of us went out looking for worm sign almost immediately, but it took nearly a week for my nephew to find a tunnel still standing—it was a miracle to even find it. We followed the tunnel and found another water table to make a hold, but there just wouldn't be enough for everyone... I have kids, you know... and it wasn't easy for them either. They thought they were sending me to my death, you know..." He takes a few deep breaths, getting ready before removing the rebreather and taking another cycle.
"Plus, I'm old, nearly 50—can you believe it? Lost my teeth a third time already."
"Don't you have to be like 80 to lose your second set?"
"Well, I didn't say it was due to old age, now did I? But yeah... I'm practically a legend in my Hold. 'Old Man Socks,' the kids call me. I'm probably the oldest person you know."
"Graves was older."
"Yeah, well, Graves was a stubborn fuck. Took a while for the world to kill him."
Another breath is cycled. My own energy levels are slowly depleting but still high enough that the elements won’t be a problem, and I won't be tired or thirsty for hours yet. So, I help the others cycle, listening to their wisdoms and nonsense if it means staying far away from Aetio—though I am never away from Aetio.
The days fall into each other, and instead of growing weaker, every one of us gets stronger as we practice the breathing technique. I am proud of myself as though the accomplishment is my own, yet I don't trust the sentiment as my own. Everyone looks at me with worshipful eyes and gives me the last word in everything that's said—it's best I don't say much. It's good that these are fiercely independent people who have faced death and survived. I can't imagine the horror if they wanted me to lead them.
Do I want to lead them? Even if I did, I wouldn't trust it as myself leading them but Aetio leading them through me. I watch him interact with the others casually—they have no idea what he is, how strange he is, how alien.
He is shameless in his curiosity/naivety/manipulations of people, looking into them without a second thought, reading their inner worlds without them realizing how transparent they are. Everyone is a sort of plaything to him, and he lets me experience that through him. I know what he wants me to know about everyone, and it's more than I should.
In his own mind, he refers to himself as human, like it's a skin he is wearing instead of something he is and always has been. Sometimes I fear he is a demon possessing me, maliciously ready to conquer the world. This amused him so much that he let me see how little he actually thinks of my world to begin with.
I sometimes spend hours doing nothing but cultivating and locking into his perspective as he allows. Ironically, or intentionally, his looking into so many people has allowed me to learn to look into him. He allowed it and scared me even more. Aetio is like a god, a child, and a war survivor—he knows nothing, yet he knows things about things I've never even thought to think about before.
The days roll by with the sandstorms becoming milder and milder. Aetio does nothing untoward. I have to keep reminding myself to be vigilant of him because it's my acceptance of him that I don't trust. Even as the connection deepens between us and my heart settles, knowing this is my savior from whom I will only continue to benefit, I remind my mind to be wary. I stay obstinate and think bad things of him just to confirm I can. I don't do what he wants just to confirm I can. I stay physically distant even though I've never been closer to anyone or anything.