Before moving into the monastery, Abin was born a bastard child into a noble family. He remembers the lavish roasts that servants would mount on their shoulders, drawing the wondrous gaze of hundreds of guests. He remembers glazed piles of persimmons atop a mountain of fresh cherry blossoms, perfumed by spring waters. Most of all, he remembers watching from the corner of the room, knowing that these festivities were only for his brothers who truly carried the family name — not bastard children like Abin.

It never bothered him much. He knew who he was born into and what that would mean for him. And that he never would have imagined anything like this.

To be fair, others probably wouldn't think that this is much. Left Behind is still on strict budget constraints, after all. But for the first time in months, the canteen is serving hot food and an abundance of alcohol, celebrating Left Behind's breakthrough success. All of the stern people that he's met over the past few weeks are slouched across one another, smiling and joking. There is a tension that's been released from the air.

And it's all because of him.

"Tell me honestly," says a heavily-pierced man, who claps Abin on the shoulder as if they're old friends. "You were shitting yourself there for a second, weren't ya?"

Abin smiles politely and takes a sip of his tea, while trying to remember the stranger's name. He draws blank, and decides that this is going to be one of those conversations. "I mean–" Then he stops short. He is so unfamiliar with the way these people joke and prod one another, as though there is no hierarchy between one another. As though no matter their background, they are equals. It would be improper for the other children to speak so loosely with the bastard. And even when he moved to the monastery, his peers outranked him in seniority and experience. "I suppose I would not like to be in that situation again, no."

"How humble!" The mystery heavily-pierced man guffaws. "Well, I'll tell you, I was shitting my pants. I thought for sure that we'd lost our magical monk as soon as we'd gotten him!"

"Cut him some slack, Maynard, he's earned it." Abin turns around to find Samantha Tran. She doesn't look a day over 20 but according to Fiona, she spent most of her childhood in one of the Sacramento gangs known as the White Tiger. Her streetwise and lethal background made her the perfect candidate for the direct action operations, which she's been leading for the past year since Shailene moved to a leadership position. Her partly shaved short straight hair is a chaotic mix between neon pink and azure, giving Abin a mild headache every time he looks at her. Those colors, as with most palettes in 2040, were not something he would have found back home.

Samantha glides over and sits next to Abin with ease as Maynard gets up for another drink. Her jet-black eyes look straight at Abin, twinkling with some new-found interest. Of all the Left Behind members, she has been the most distant during Abin's time here. Up close, Abin can see faint scar lines on her cheek and tiny tiger-shaped tattoos around her collarbone leading down to her swelled chest.

He snaps his gaze up, hopefully before she notices. Her smile meets his wandering gaze, and he is thrown off for a second by how normal she looks, despite the neon-colored hair, tattoos, scars, and the alleged history of violence, all of which would have made him steer clear in his past life.

"So tell me, Seraph," Abin notices glitter on her wet lips, and every word emits the sweet smell of alcohol. "How would you like to join my team permanently? You handled yourself like a pro back there."

Like a professional. Abin takes a moment to digest the word. A professional what, exactly? Abin realizes he doesn't know how to respond to Samantha's compliment. Samantha regards him for a moment, and leans closer to him, as though expecting something. Then he hears Maynard's jest from a table over. "Sam, I thought we were supposed to cut him some slack?"

The table around him bursts into laughter and Abin takes the opportunity to find Fiona's shining red hair amongst the din of the party. She sits near the back of the room, quietly picking away at her food while listening to the man next to her chat away. Abin can't quite read the look on her face but he never can — her delicate features seem serene, as though sleepy, but her soft lips slope into a frown.

When Abin had returned from his mission, Fiona hadn't said anything. She hadn't whooped or congratulated him like the others. She simply tippy-toed and threw her arms around him, hugging him quickly before pulling away. "I'm glad you're okay," she said, so softly that he could have imagined it. Abin has no memory of ever hugging someone before, and he couldn't get a single word out of his mouth before she turned away and walked off. He might have imagined the hug if he couldn't still smell the faintest trace of warm vanilla on his shirt.

"If you'll excuse me," Abin says to no one in particular, as he scoots his chair back and rises from the table. Everyone is too drunk to notice.

Abin is about two feet away from Fiona's table, with absolutely no plan on what to say, when a breath-taking force slams into him. He looks down to see a grinning Shailene, who has shoved him playfully despite the way he towers over her. Abin, for a moment, spots partially rubbed off glitter on her slightly swollen lips.

The commotion catches Fiona's attention, who looks up with a slight "o" on her lips. Abin catches her eye but she looks back down at her food, nodding along as she listens to her neighbor's story.

"I hate to say it," Shailene says, eyes accentuated by skillfully-smeared kohl. "But you might just be Left Behind's most valuable weapon."

Abin shifts on his feet. "I don't know if I'd call myself a weapon." As people walk past, they wave at Shailene or clap her on the shoulder as a greeting. Abin feels like he's talking to the crown jewel of this strange underground community.

"Well, you are," Shailene says gleefully, full of mirth. "The Capitol issued an emergency statement this morning. That factory didn't know what hit them."

Something scratches at the corner of Abin's consciousness. Something before all of the chaos of the explosion... "What were all of those items at the factory?"

"You mean the weapons?" Shailene takes a sip of her spiced mead, unaware of the shift in his disposition.

Abin swallows thick. Over Shailene's shoulder, he can see Fiona looking up once in a while, clearly trying to ascertain what they are talking about via body language. He straightens up, trying not to look... whatever he looks like. "No," he says, trying not to feel like he's asking about something he shouldn't be. "Like the stuffed bear I tripped over." He squints, trying to recall other images through an adrenaline-filled haze. "I think there were some sleeping mats, maybe some children's shoes, some board games...?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Instantly, Shailene wipes herself of any effervescent warmth that she emanated just two seconds again. She sets down her glass of mead. "Are you asking me a question? Or are you looking for confirmation for something you already know?"

"I am unsure," Abin responds evenly, trying not to look at Fiona who's openly staring at them now. "I do not know why children would be staying at a weapons manufacturing plant."

Shailene looks off to the side, expression unreadable. She only half-heartedly greets a passerby who hugs Shailene. Finally, she takes a breath. "The building doubles as a government-sponsored orphanage. But you don't need to worry. They get taken away once a month for check-ups and inspections."

Abin feels his stomach sink. "But I destroyed everything. All of their belongings, their toys, their homes."

Shailene laughs, but there is no joy in the sound. It's harsh, cold, and sorrowful all at once. "That place is no home for children."

"I mean, if they live, eat, and sleep there, I would say that it is their home—"

"You misunderstand me," Shailene interrupts. "I have no sympathy for any government operations of any sort." For once, her voice is quiet, hushed, and that scares Abin more than anything else. "They had their chance to do the right thing. Before countries disappeared into the ocean, before fires wiped out entire cities, before everyone descended into the last Great War. Everyone begged them to. We protested, we lobbied, we did everything we could."

Abin looked dead in Shailene's eyes, unable to look away. They were like molten fire.

Shailene gestures to the party all around her. It's festive and people are laughing and drinking, but it still takes a macabre tone being underground. "You weren't here to see it all. The communities who died, while the government kept their factories and oil drills to line their pockets. How they watched as the Asian refugees rushed over here, just happy to have more people to sell their shit to. How they put all of their money into space exploration, instead of focusing on how to fix this planet they've ruined." She takes a deep breath. "It's what my parents died for. What Fiona's mom died for. Because we've all known for a very long time that the government doesn't care about us, and everything now is just damage control."

Abin is at a loss for words. He struggles to clear his throat, to ignore the pit in his stomach. He knows he will never truly understand Shailene or this world that he has been brought into. But in this moment, he feels like he might get it, just a little bit. "And that's why Left Behind still fights."

Shailene nods, and he might even think he sees a glimmer of tears before she looks away. She says nothing for a moment. Finally, Shailene turns back to him, her eyes dead. "My sibling Evie was at one of those orphanages, when our parents first died."

"Oh," Abin says, for some reason never having imagined Shailene to have a family.

Shailene picks up her glass of mead again, slinging back the whole drink. "I tried to find Evie for a while. I saw the way those children are treated like cattle. Why do you think the government housed the orphans there? Out of sympathy? Oh, no, they are there for child-labor. Those factory orphanages can all blow up to seven hells for all I care. My only regret is that there weren't soldiers in there when you ran the op."

Abin feels his jaw muscles tense, with pins and needles stabbing at the back of his mouth. He thinks back to the scorching heat inside the factory. Shailene sees his expression and turns back to the party. Her voice is quiet. "I haven't seen Evie for over ten years."

Abin shudders at the thought. He is the first to know what it's like to have no family, to feel untethered in this world. But he knows how much worse it is to lose a loved one, after finally finding that tether through all the loneliness. "I'm sorry, Shailene."

Shailene smiles. "Don't be. In life, you're always going to lose someone." She squeezes his arm, neither affectionately nor aggressively. "And most of the time, it comes way too soon and not fairly at all."

Abin remembers Master Ji-Ham's eyes, staring up at the endless forest. His wrinkled hand on Abin's. "I understand what you mean," he says finally. "I really do." And he does.

----------------------------------------

The party reaches a critical point where Abin feels that he can safely duck out without anyone's notice. Once the operations team starts showing off their new weapons, slurring and stumbling around, Abin even maybe feels that returning to his room is the smart thing to do.

The lights are out in the hallways since everyone's in the canteen, but Abin knows his way well enough now. There are still so many things about this world that befuddle him, but the smooth contours of these underground walls have been a nice constant.

With his eyes still adjusting to the dark, Abin reaches out his hand for his room. But instead of finding the industrial knob of his little room, he feels the familiar figure of a vanilla-scented girl.

Fiona yelps as she trips, startled by his presence, and without thinking, his hands shoot out to grab her wrists. She's close, entirely too close, and Abin might even be able to feel her erratic heartbeat through his robes. Or maybe that's his. Either way, he drops her hands immediately and straightens up.

"Sorry," he says gruffly, making sure to give an extra wide berth when he side-steps her. "Have a good night."

"Wait," Fiona says quickly. He wishes he could see her face, but he can only feel her presence in this darkness. "How- How was your night?"

Abin is taken aback by the casualness of the question. To be honest, he has no idea why there has been so much tension with Fiona lately. She was just the first person to find him when he was dropped into this world — sure, she's the reason he's here right now, but he isn't quite sure why that means he looks for her fiery red hair every time he enters a room. For some reason, he is reminded of a moth that hovers above a flaming lamp light at night.

As for her, he has no idea. Maybe she disapproves of his mission? He knows that she has a strange relationship with Left Behind, but he still doesn't quite understand her strong resistance to everything LB-related...

"Abin?"

He blinks. It still startles him to hear her call him by his name, when everyone else here just refers to him as Seraph. "It was nice." God, that's all he can come up with? He is thankful that the darkness veils his blushing cheeks.

Fiona nods in the dark. He can just barely see the outline of her, see her soft hair brush lightly against her shoulders as she breathes. She seems to be working up the nerve to say something. "Why... what did you and Shailene talk about?"

"Oh," Abin exhales, surprised at her interest. "She told me that the factory we destroyed was a government-sponsored orphanage."

Fiona sighs, and he swears he can taste the strawberries on her breath. (Where did she get strawberries?) "I was worried that that might be the case."

"It's okay," Abin says quickly, the words coming out in a rush. "Shailene told me a bit about Evie. About your government. And what they did."

He waits for her reaction. She seems to turn the words over in her head, pondering. When Fiona speaks, her words have hardened. "I miss Evie, too. But it's never really as black and white as that, is it?"

She seems frustrated, and for the second time that night, Abin has no idea how he managed to piss off the girl in front of him. "I suppose. But all Left Behind wants to do is good. And I want to do good. So I am happy to help in any way. Maybe this is my tao, a path to..." He trails off before he says the word. If he says it out loud, it may become trivial.

Suddenly, Abin feels Fiona's fingers brush against his. She grasps them in her smooth palm. "Oh, Abin," she says. "What did you do?"

A lump forms in his throat. "What do you mean?"

He can barely see Fiona in the dark, but he can imagine the way that her doe-eyes are blinking up at him. Expectant. Curious. Kind. He feels warmth from his chest cascading throughout his body, as if a delicate glass bottle shattered inside him, spilling its contents everywhere. "What are you punishing yourself for?" Fiona's grip on his hand tightens. "I could tell since we met that something is weighing on you-"

The warm and fuzzy feeling dissipates as suddenly as it enveloped him. Abin stares at her large emerald eyes. They are glistening in the dark, with a few drops of tear hanging onto her long eyelashes. For the second time that night, Abin drops her hands against his own will. "You must be tired, Fiona. You're seeing ghosts where there aren't any." He rushes past her, hoping she doesn't catch a glimpse of his face. "Get yourself to sleep, alright?"

His door clicks closed but not before he hears her soft, "Okay."