The cry of an owl echoed mysteriously through the dark coniferous forest bordering the wide clearing around the small wooden house. The silhouettes of the trees and bushes were shrouded in deep blue, the dark night sky resting clear above. Warm light from the few lamps inside the wooden house shimmered softly through the windows. Occasionally, a cricket chirped in the distance, the meadow’s grass smelled fresh with dew, and a gentle mist drifted into the clearing from the forest, only to dissolve into the open field.
She inhaled the night air, savoring its scent, and stood still. Waiting. Watching. The small house stood at the edge of the forest, just a few dozen steps away. Behind her, the soft glow of her spaceship’s lights flickered, the vessel quietly resting on the meadow as its silent engines slowly powered down. One light after another faded, until finally, the dark, house-sized glider disappeared into the night’s shadows. She sighed and took a step forward, hearing the grass rustle beneath her feet. Then, she forced herself to walk purposefully toward the wooden house.
Young Milai was arranging cups in the kitchen corner when he heard heavy knocking at the wooden front door. Startled, he dropped the cups and froze, listening. At first, there was only silence, and he almost thought he had imagined it. But then, it came again—loud and clear. Knock. Knock. The sound sent a tremor through his spine. Terrified, he ran to his mother’s bed, where she lay sleeping quietly, blankets neatly covering her, with a large pillow propping her upper body slightly upright, as if she’d been there for a long time. Frantically, he grabbed her arm and shook it, as firmly but gently as an 8-year-old could.
“Mom! Mom! Someone’s knocking at the door!”
His exhausted mother opened her eyes, confused, her skin glistening with sweat. Groggily, she mumbled, “Knocking? Who’s knocking?”
The boy struggled to stay calm, stammering, “You said no one’s supposed to be here. But someone is! They’re knocking at the door!”
Her eyes widened with realization, and she turned her head toward the door. “You have to open it, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter now. Better to do it sooner than later.”
Milai stared at the door, fear tightening in his chest, but he slowly made his way over, his heart pounding like a hammer.
He carefully raised his hand and turned the metal latch. The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing the silhouette of a woman. The unexpected guest stepped forward into the faint light from the lamp, and Milai could see her face. She smiled warmly and asked, “Is this Joane Soi’s house?”
“Y-Yes,” Milai stammered.
“And is she home?”
“Yes.”
“Could you tell her that Vaude from the Bound has arrived?”
“I-I can do that,” he replied, relieved to escape the conversation, and quickly ran to his mother’s bedside.
“From the Bound?” his mother murmured nervously, trying to sit up. “How—how did they even know?” The sick woman grew more agitated, and Milai grew more concerned. After a pause, she sighed and said, “Let her in. I don’t believe it, but let her in.”
Puzzled, Milai returned to the door and told the waiting guest, “You can come in, but please, my mother is really sick.”
The woman nodded gently. “I know,” she said, stepping into the house. She followed Milai into the small living room, where his mother lay in bed. Joane turned her head toward the visitor, her voice weak but urgent. “Was my letter answered?”
“Yes,” Vaude replied, pulling up a chair near the bed. She sat down and leaned in closer. “Your application has been approved. Milai will be protected until he turns 18.”
“Oh, thank God!” Joane sighed with relief, but quickly added, “And after that?”
Vaude took a deep breath. “When we offer long-term protection, we ensure that everything is arranged for after as well. Your son will be safe.”
Joane shifted uncomfortably in her bed. “But if my application’s been accepted, that means…something terrible will happen, doesn’t it?”
Vaude nodded, her expression sympathetic. “Yes. Unfortunately, it does. But your son will be protected.”
“It’s not about me, then?”
“No. Your fate is sealed, as are many others’. We can’t change that. But this outcome is what allowed us to accept your application.”
Joane turned her head away, tears welling in her eyes. “This is all so awful. What would have happened if I hadn’t applied? My poor boy…”
“But you did apply,” Vaude said gently. “And I’m here now.”
Joane steadied herself, her voice trembling. “I did it on a whim. I never thought we’d actually be accepted.”
Vaude smiled faintly. “That’s your strength. You did it because you’re a remarkable mother. And now, here we are.”
Joane’s face relaxed, and she let out a long breath. “I’m so glad. Thank you.”
As if everything was settled, Vaude stood up and turned to Milai, who had been watching silently, trying to make sense of it all. She bowed slightly and extended her hand. “Hello, Milai. I’m Vaude, your warden. I hear you’re good at making tea. Would you teach me how to make some for your mother? I’m here to help.”
Wide-eyed, the boy took her hand and nodded. “Yes, Vaude. I’ll show you.”
##
Deep in the Valaida system, on the planet Derosia, life in the desolate city of Brimshaven continued its usual, monotonous routine. It hadn’t been long since the system-wide war between feudal factions had ravaged this neighborhood. The destruction was so widespread that people simply moved back into damaged buildings, even though most of the infrastructure was still nonfunctional.
The city’s districts were marked by partially collapsed high-rise buildings, surrounded by piles of rubble and twisted scrap metal. The residents had cleared the center of the streets, pushing debris aside to create a narrow corridor with a somewhat level surface. Hover vehicles could glide through, but maneuvering was tough with oncoming traffic. It was a challenge to get anywhere at all. Those fortunate enough to afford gliders could soar across the city, a luxury that explained why the new city administration wasn’t too concerned about clearing the streets. For the rich, it wasn’t a priority, and those stuck with hover vehicles didn’t matter.
After a war, people naturally wonder who won. On Derosia, that was a tricky question. In every region, the locals would tell you, “Well, we did!” According to them, everyone was a winner. But if you looked down at the planet from space, the devastated landscape painted a different picture. Still, the illusion of victory clung to the inhabitants. It was easier to live with the idea of winning. In the end, the war had fizzled out, not because anyone claimed victory, but because everyone ran out of resources.
One of the many so-called winners was Mace Dour. At least, that’s how he saw it. Even after the war, he maintained control over his neighborhood in Brimshaven. His prize: a towering building at the intersection of the central district. What made his residence particularly valuable was that on the 10th floor, where he lived, both electricity and running water were available—a rare combination.
The apartment, with its sweeping views, belonged to Mace alone. Although he had a family, they lived far away. For a man like Mace, solitude was a necessity. The nature of his dealings, both inside and outside the apartment, didn’t mix well with family life. For safety reasons, his business associates could never suspect how deeply his personal ties ran.
On weekends, Mace occasionally made time to visit his patchwork family. Rather than taking the sleek glider waiting at the 10th-floor landing, he preferred the long walk down the stairs to the inconspicuous hover parked below. Clad in a shabby plastic jacket and helmet, he rode the few blocks to another tower, whose ownership was obscured but traceable to Mace if one looked hard enough through the records. Annabell, his first wife, lived there with their nearly grown children. Now that Annabell was his first wife, it implied, of course, that there had been a second—and even a third. By now, all three had divorced him. Mace could be a gentleman when he wanted, but when he didn’t, things turned difficult for everyone involved. It wasn’t until after their divorce that Annabell could tolerate any contact with him. After all, they shared children—a daughter and two sons.
With a quick step, Mace dismounted from the hovercraft and walked through the large archway of the skyscraper's passageway, which was deserted. Inside the long tunnel, he reached the back of the structure, entering a courtyard connected to a lower building. He crossed the neglected gravel courtyard and ascended the open stairs to the second residential complex, its architecture jagged and haphazard, as though assembled from scattered blocks. Terraces and balconies jutted out, creating open spaces.
To reach his family, Mace had to walk to the far end of the complex. Along the way, he greeted the two snipers who stood guard on the flat rooftops flanking the narrow passage. The area was tight and hard to surveil—ideal for a fortress defense. Finally, he stepped into one of the stairwells and sprinted up two more stories. A little exercise didn’t bother him; he’d done this plenty of times. Mace had always messed up his marriages, but at least he wasn’t disloyal.
At the front door, Mace knocked briskly. The white door was soon opened by Annabell.
"Oh, finally. We've already started dinner."
Mace shook his head. "I had to finish something quickly, Annabell."
"Of course, what else?" she replied dryly, gesturing him inside.
She led him to the large table where her children, her new partner, and one of the guards, Louis, were already eating. They all nodded a silent greeting as Mace sat down. Annabell handed him cutlery, and he served himself from the bowls in the middle of the table. He looked around. “What’s new?”
The response was slow. Finally, Pete, Annabell’s partner, spoke up. "Well, the city committee wants to hold elections. Some blocks are against it, but they’re trying to push it through."
Mace snorted, "They keep trying."
Sidu, the eldest son, spoke timidly as he took more food. "They say it works great on Alea."
Mace grumbled through a mouthful, "Of course they say that. But Alea didn’t go through a war. It’s easy to vote when everything’s in order."
Sidu tried again. "Yeah, but they say the crisis is a chance to build something like Alea."
Reluctantly, Mace set down his cutlery. "Look, here’s how it is: If they start holding elections, soon all our property will be gone because some dreamer thinks it should be divided up. Then what? We’ll be as poor as everyone else here. Insignificant and filthy.”
Ada, Mace's daughter, spoke cautiously but firmly, "And without threat. And with the freedom to move around."
Mace shot her a glare. "It won’t get better by splitting everything up!"
"The kids just want to see a future," Annabell intervened, leaning forward.
Mace made a placating gesture. "I know. I’ll straighten things out with the Flam clan. Things will improve after that."
"What kind of solution is that?" Pete snapped. "They threaten to wipe us out, and you threaten them back?"
Mace fixed Pete with a cold stare. "I’ll find a solution. It’s not by accident that I held my position through the war."
Pete snorted angrily but said nothing more.
Annabell’s youngest son, Moi, looked up silently from his meal, his eyes flitting from one adult to the next. He said nothing. Just like always.
##
Weeks had passed. Vaude quickly adapted to the rhythm of Milai and Joane's everyday life. The little boy was happy to have company, especially when Vaude helped him prepare meals, wash dishes, sort medications, or care for his mother, as one does in nursing. Joane quietly and hopefully watched the new sense of liveliness filling her small wooden house. Vaude had become a steady presence for the young boy—something Joane could see with her own eyes.
But these moments of harmony couldn’t last forever. Joane knew it, Vaude knew it, and even young Milai knew it, though he tried hard to deny it.
And so the inevitable day came. Joane's strength continued to weaken until, finally, there was too little left to fight the illness. Her last hour arrived.
Vaude recognized the moment and asked Milai to sit beside his mother, to hold her fragile hand with him. Milai instantly understood what was happening and quietly, solemnly, followed Vaude's suggestion. He held Joane’s hand in both of his, staring at her as if his gaze alone could keep her in this world.
Joane smiled faintly, "My dear Milai. I won’t be able to walk through your whole life with you, but I’m so glad I could give you Vaude’s support. I will always love you, my son. No matter what you do, no matter who you become. I’m so very proud of you."
Her words brought tears to Milai’s eyes, and he managed only a desperate, “Mom.”
Joane turned her gaze to Vaude. “Vaude, I’d love to know what happens next. Can you tell a dying woman?”
"Joane, I could tell you, but then you wouldn’t be able to speak to Milai afterward. Besides, I’d have to send him away before I could say anything."
Joane’s smile faded. She tried again, "But what if I promise not to tell him what you say?"
Vaude shrugged. "Even unspoken things can give it away. If you still want to spend your final moments with Milai, I can’t. I wouldn’t recommend it."
Joane nodded and looked back at Milai. “You’re right, Vaude. This moment is more important. Milai, you are more important."
Milai and Vaude stayed with Joane until her last breath quietly slipped away. There was no grand spectacle. Milai kept his gaze fixed on his mother, as if denying the moment when everything changed. But his posture showed he knew exactly when she was no longer alive. Even so, he stayed still. And Vaude stayed with him. Minutes passed.
Then, Vaude leaned in gently and said softly, “There’s one great rule in this universe: nothing, and no one, is ever truly lost. Not ever. That includes your mother, Milai.”
Sobbing, the boy replied, “But it’s not the same.”
“No, it’s never the same. But there she was, and there she is. Imprinted on time. And you were, and you are, with her. That can never be lost.”
Freed from the freezing grip of death, the boy threw himself into Vaude’s arms and wept without holding back.
“I’m so sorry. You had a wonderful mother. But it will be okay. Things will get better. You’ll see."
##
Mace’s gaze was fixed on the mouth of the footpath leading into the square, directly across from him at the far end. Louis stood silently beside him, the picture of calm. His partner always seemed to have the steadiest nerves, but then again, it wasn’t Louis' name or reputation on the line. Louis preferred operating in the shadows, an éminence grise. Sometimes, Mace couldn’t help but wonder if Louis had orchestrated his life more shrewdly. After all, his family wasn’t at risk—assuming he even had one. Mace had to admit he didn’t know.
The site, a small gravel square roughly 25 by 25 terrameters, was enclosed by man-high mounds of scrap metal, loosely held together by temporary lattice fences. It served as an open stopover along one of the many winding paths cutting through the town’s towering buildings. Known as a trading hub for criminals, it was a place most residents avoided at all costs.
On either side, desolate skyscrapers loomed, their skeletal forms stretching into the sky. These particular buildings were entirely abandoned; not only was the infrastructure in ruins, but the surrounding area had long been deemed unsafe. The problem wasn’t a lack of space—there was plenty of that—but a shortage of livable, functioning places to call home.
There. Mace noticed movement at the mouth of the walkway. Two figures rounded the corner—two young men trying to appear as relaxed as possible. Too awkwardly relaxed. Mace knew these guys. They approached and stopped three meters in front of Mace and Louis, standing as tall as they could to look intimidating. If the situation weren’t so serious, Mace would have laughed at the ridiculous show they were putting on. But he couldn’t afford to.
"So, you finally showed up," Mace began, his voice serious.
“Yeah, we did,” one of them replied with a wry grin. “You look scared, old man.”
“I’m not scared. I’m here to warn you.”
The young man raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“Stop threatening my family, or your clan is going to regret it.”
The young man sneered, “Old man, you don’t have the resources or the people to take us on.”
“There are other ways to deal with you than you can imagine. Don’t worry about that.”
“I don’t see it. We own these streets. The streets want their blocks back.”
Feigning astonishment, Mace said, “You are the street? The very street I’m standing on?”
“Yeah, we are. And the street’s rising, old man.”
This made Mace uneasy. He hadn’t expected it to go this way. These guys were scum, and they didn’t care. In fact, that was what drove them.
But then a thought struck him, and he countered, "You want blocks? Blocks where people live? Throwing families into the streets? I don’t think you care about the people on the street."
"You’ve got plenty of empty space in your estates, you greedy old man."
"Those blocks are empty because they’re about to collapse."
"Then fix them!"
"We will. Why don’t you get your people off the street and help with the repairs?"
The young man sneered. "We’re not working for you, old man. Take your family and go. You’re the wrong kind of leadership."
Mace couldn’t resist a mocking tone. "And you’re the right kind? A clan that threatens lives? How comforting.”
The young man spat on the ground. "Get your things and leave. This is your last warning!"
"Never!"
With that, the two members of the Flam clan turned and left.
Mace and Louis both took deep breaths and exchanged glances. Louis felt compelled to comment. "We really need to improve your family’s protection, Mace."
Mace sighed. "I know, I know. But they’re not going to like it."
##
Vaude and Milai sat at the kitchen table playing pit-pat, a board game popular among children. Since Milai and his late mother, Joane, didn’t have many possessions, Vaude and the boy had to make the board and the game pieces themselves. Surrounded by the picturesque forest on this moon, it wasn’t hard to find nuts, twigs, and sturdy leaves to craft a handmade game.
For a brief moment, Milai was completely absorbed in the excitement of the game. Vaude was glad she could distract the boy’s mind for a while. Outside, near the edge of the forest, lay Joane’s grave. Vaude had dug it the night after Joane’s death, while Milai slept. The next day, they held a small funeral together. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking—a brave child saying goodbye to his mother. Since then, Vaude had tried to gently shape each day into a blend of old routines and new experiences. The game was one of those new experiences. Milai’s mother had been too ill to play anymore, but now the boy was slowly reconnecting with the world of play.
As young Milai pondered his next move, Vaude took the chance to glance out the window by the table. The sun was shining, and the perfect blue sky hung over the fresh green forest. This moon had been terraformed two centuries ago and then left to thrive. Humans were strictly forbidden from setting foot on it, but Joane had made a risky, illegal landing, trying to escape official records for herself and her son. She wasn’t the only illegal settler here. In time, they found an abandoned hut, made it their home, and later, when their distant neighbor Giddas decided to leave the moon, Joane sent a message with him to reach the Bound on Alea. That message, a request for help from the Bound, eventually reached its destination. No return address was needed—the Bound knew how to find them.
“Ha! Now you’ll see!” Milai shouted, moving a stone forward. Vaude looked at the board, furrowed her brow, and replied playfully, “Uh-oh, I’m in trouble!”
“Exactly! You are!” the boy exclaimed, beaming with excitement, waiting for Vaude’s next move. She circled her hand over the game pieces, “Oh no, how do I escape?” Milai grinned from ear to ear, “There is no escape, Vaude!”
“Yikes, I’m doomed!” Vaude stood up, made her final desperate move, and then Milai launched his last attack, winning the game. “I did it!” he cheered, throwing his arms in the air.
After the game, they prepared dinner together—fresh herbs and roots from the forest mixed with some canned meat that Joane had stored in the shed. Vaude could have hunted for fresh game, but she didn’t want to expose the boy to the harsh realities of life and death so soon after losing his mother. Besides, she knew they wouldn’t be staying here much longer, so it made sense to use up the supplies.
As they ate, Vaude decided to broach a delicate subject. “Milai?”
The boy looked up, still chewing a piece of meat. “Yes?”
“Would you like to come with me to Alea?”
“Why are you going to Alea?”
“I need to register there, and you could see the huge city of Magalon.”
“I don’t know. I like it here.”
“I know you do. But it would be good for you to see civilization, to learn a few things.” She deliberately avoided mentioning school. There was no point in getting his hopes up about starting school, only to have him leave after a few months. She had to be cautious.
Milai thought for a moment, continuing to chew thoughtfully before slowly nodding. “Okay. If you think it’ll be good, I’ll come.”
“Great!” she said with a smile. “You’ll see—there’s a lot to explore.”
##
The orchestra, made up of three brass players and a drummer, played the funeral march far too slowly. Yet it was the right pace for the mourners. Step by step, Mace followed the somber procession of pallbearers and coffins leading his family to their final resting place. Only one of them was still alive—young Moi, who walked silently beside his father. The boy, recently turned 14, had barely spoken since the tragedy, and now, during the procession, his silence seemed even louder as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, shuffling along to the rhythm of sorrow.
The grey asphalt, the monotonous piles of rubble lining the road, and the desolate blocks of lifeless buildings reflected Mace and Moi’s deepest feelings as they neared Brimshaven’s only cemetery. Not everyone could afford to be buried. This family could. But what good did it do them?
It had all happened right after Mace’s conversation with the Flam Clan ended. The attack on their block had been planned for some time. A single radio message must have triggered it. And then it began. The two snipers didn’t stand a chance, nor did the bodyguard with Annabell, Pete, and the children. At least it had happened quickly, they said, as a form of comfort. But Mace found no comfort in it. Only Moi had survived. He’d secretly left the guarded block a few hours earlier to visit a friend. When he returned that evening, there was no family left to greet him—only Mace and his men, frantically searching for answers. The father had embraced his son in tears, while Moi, still too shocked to fully grasp what had happened, struggled with the slow, brutal realization.
Now, a week later, they marched through the funeral. As they walked, they both wrestled with the emptiness inside them, though no relief from the pain would come. The entire ceremony passed like a surreal dream for Moi. Every second, he wished it were over. When the coffins were finally lowered into the ground, he felt a small sense of relief, freed from the weight of ceremony. All he wanted was to go back to his father’s apartment. Back to his new room. Just to shut the door and shut out the world forever.
His old home no longer existed. Now, it was just him, his father, and that unsettling Louis. Moi didn’t like his new life. But there was no alternative.