Chapter Five:

“Skyborne”

Their shelter wasn't much, but it was home, for now. A crumbling schoolhouse on the outskirts of their ruined village, its walls scorched from the fires that had swallowed their past. Asha Okoro had made use of what little remained, old desks fashioned into barricades, a tattered map of Kenya pinned against the wall, bottles filled with the last of their scavenged water tucked away in a bag.

For emergencies.

Amari lounged against a broken chalkboard, tossing a pebble in the air and catching it absentmindedly. "You know, if we were kids, we'd be running around here playing warriors or something."

Asha arched a brow, stirring a small pot over a makeshift fire. "We did play warriors here once. Don't you remember?"

He grinned, propping his spear against the wall. "Yeah, except back then, I was the legendary sky pirate, and you were the grumpy witch who lived in the mountains."

Asha smirked. "You were an idiot. Still are."

"A very stylish idiot." Amari sat up, stretching. "Remember when we built that 'fort' out of grain sacks, and you refused to let me inside unless I answered your riddle?"

Asha snorted. "And you failed miserably."

"To be fair, 'What has roots but never grows?' was a stupid riddle." He flopped down beside her, shaking his head. "It was a mountain, wasn't it?"

She smirked. "Still is."

The memory passed between them, a brief moment of warmth in a world that had turned too hot.

Asha stirred the pot slower now, the scent of their meager meal barely enough to disguise the ever-present dryness in the air. The world outside wasn't the same one they'd played in.

Amari exhaled sharply and nudged a half-empty canteen toward her. "Drink up before we head out."

Asha took it, tilting her head. "Oh, so now you're rationing my rations?" But she took a measured sip, her throat grateful for even that small mercy.

"I'd rather not deal with you passing out mid-mission," Amari teased, standing and rolling his shoulders. "Bad for morale."

Asha capped the canteen. "Right. Because you'd definitely survive without me."

"I'd manage. Might cry… a little."

“You’d weep, and you'd be dead in a day."

"Fine, but I’d at least last two." Amari swung his pack over his shoulder, then nodded toward the doorway. "We should go before the heat tries to cook us alive."

Asha dusted off her hands, grabbing her satchel. "I'm already sweating. Let's move."

The wind howled through the broken ridges of Mount Kenya, dragging clouds of dust across the charred remains of the village. The heat pressed down like an unshakable weight, each breath dry and grating.

Asha and Amari moved in tandem, slipping between the skeletal remains of stone houses, their footsteps soundless on the scorched earth. Smoke still clung to the cracks of the ruined settlement, the ghost of a fire that had swallowed everything they had known.

The land was hollowed out. Where the rest of the world groaned under the weight of too many people, this place had been abandoned. The ones who stayed had withered under the sun, their bones left to bleach in the open.

Water was everything, and there was none. The few who still clung to the land were gaunt beings, watching from the ruins, their eyes hollow, their lips cracked. They did not ask for help. They knew none would come.

Asha inhaled sharply, sorting through the scents, dried blood, burnt flesh, the acrid tang of old gunpowder. No fresh smoke. No new fires. Whoever had come and gone had left their destruction behind.

"What's the call?" Amari asked, his spear angled low, body loose but ready. The ever-moving part of him that never stilled.

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Asha crouched by a fallen beam, brushing her fingers through the ash. The embers were cold. "They're gone. But they'll be back."

"Oh good. I was worried we might have a dull evening."

She shot him a look. "I swear, if we weren't related-"

"You'd still love me." He grinned. "Now let's see if we can make ourselves scarce before our gracious hosts return."

They moved toward the village outskirts, cutting through the remnants of a once-thriving market. Stalls had been overturned, their wares stripped bare. Asha knelt, fingers skimming a scattering of dried beans spilled across the dirt. Someone had fought for this. Every scrap of food meant survival. Water was even rarer, and their canteens were nearly empty.

A noise. A scrape, faint, behind them. Asha tensed. Amari's hand drifted to the hilt of his knife.

Four figures emerged from the ruins, stepping from the ashes like carrion birds scenting the dead. Their weapons glinted in the dying light, crude machetes and old rifles slung over tired shoulders. The tallest of them, a man with a jagged scar tracing his jaw, smiled like he was already picturing the loot they'd strip from the twin’s bodies.

"Look at this," Scar-Jaw said. "Little lost birds still picking through the scraps."

Asha's fingers found the vials on her belt, each one carefully mixed using the techniques her mother had taught her years ago. The memory of those lessons surfaced briefly, her mother's steady hands guiding hers, teaching her which compounds to combine, which reactions to watch for, before she pushed it aside.

Now wasn't the time for memories.

Amari shifted beside her, loose and casual, but she could feel the energy in him, the way his muscles tensed. "I was hoping for some local hospitality," he said, flashing a grin. "You guys have a welcome basket, or...?"

Scar-Jaw's face twisted. "Empty your bags. Now."

Asha sighed. "You should leave."

Scar-Jaw barked a laugh. "Or what?"

Asha threw the vial. It shattered at Scar-Jaw's feet, and the chemical mist exploded in a burning vapor, curling into his nose and eyes, a mixture her mother had perfected, meant to incapacitate without killing.

The acrid cloud carried a distinct sweet-metallic scent that her mother had called "the warning smell." Scar-Jaw's eyes widened in recognition, these weren't the crude weapons most scavengers carried.

He staggered back, cursing, clawing at his face as the compound did its work, sending burning whisps of poison through his sinuses and down his throat.

Amari moved, fast as a striking hawk. His spear snapped forward, the butt slamming into the second raider's ribs. The man crumpled, choking on the pain. A third attacker moved toward him, but Amari turned and used the momentum to push his spear into the raider's midsection.

The final raider hesitated, his gaze darting between Asha and Amari. He saw the vials strapped across Asha's belt, and Amari's spear held firm in his grip, the blood-soaked steel glinting in the dying light. Fear flared in his eyes. He turned and stumbled away, fleeing into the shadows.

Asha exhaled, slow and measured, pressing the back of her hand to her face, wiping away the remnants of the chemical smoke. Amari stepped beside her, his spear now resting at his side, his eyes meeting hers, the unspoken question hanging between them. “He’ll bring others.”

“And we’ll be long gone by then. We're okay," she said, her voice barely above a breath. "For now."

Amari nodded, his gaze drifting west, where the setting sun bathed the mountains in red and gold. As they turned from the wreckage, the weight of the unknown pressed against them, a reminder that their journey was far from over. They moved together, steps in sync, hearts steady, ready to face whatever came next.

At the edge of the village, Amari’s plane awaited, a battered Cessna, once a relic, now a testament to his determination. Asha paused, her eyes tracing the weathered fuselage, the patched-up wings, the propeller that had seen better days. The plane stood ready, as much a symbol of their resilience as the weapons they carried.

"You remember when you found this old thing?" Asha said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Amari chuckled softly. "How could I forget? It was a wreck, sitting in that overgrown hangar. I thought it would never fly again."

He ran a hand over the side of the plane, fingers brushing the places where he’d patched the body. "Spent two years fixing it, teaching myself everything, engines, avionics, even how to fly. Thought I’d crash the first time I took off, but here we are."

Asha nodded, her gaze softening. "You did it, Amari. You brought it back to life."

He looked at her briefly without turning his head. "The Ultimate Dive... it could be our way out, you know?"

Asha hesitated, searching his face. The thought of The Dive, the promises it held, had lingered between them for weeks, unspoken until now.

"Or it could just be another lie," she said, voice low. "But, you’re right brother, it’s a chance we have to take."

They entered the Cessna, with Amari in the pilot’s seat, adjusting the controls. The engine sputtered to life, the propeller spinning, kicking up dust and debris. The noise filled the quiet evening, drowning out the lingering echoes of the fight.

The plane lifted from the ground, carrying them away from the ruins of what had once been their home. The sky stretched before them, painted in hues of crimson and deep violet as the sun dipped below the horizon. They flew into the fading light, the mountains and valleys below falling away behind them.

A massive projection bloomed against the darkening clouds beside the plane, distorted by the waves of heat still rising from the land below. Gameweaver’s face materialized, eerily smooth, her expression frozen in a welcoming smile.

"The heat is merciless, the thirst unending," her voice echoed. "Why suffer? Escape the dust, the famine, the struggle. Enter a world of abundance, of cool water and endless shade. The Ultimate Dive awaits you."

Below, scattered figures gathered, their heads tilted skyward, drinking in the promise of salvation. The desperation in their postures, the way they reached toward the hologram as if it could quench their thirst, sent a cold weight pressing against Asha’s chest.

Amari let out a low whistle. "Subtle."

Asha exhaled, eyes locked on the shimmering visage beside them. "Vultures don’t need to be."

They soared past, the projection fading behind them, but its message lingered.

The world below was burning, but in the sky, promises were made, false or not.