The night was absolute.
Deep in the heart of the desert, beneath the jagged ribcage of a collapsed highway, the world had gone still. The wind—so fierce only hours ago, had died completely. Only the stars remained in motion—spilling across the sky in quiet procession, ancient and silent and painfully bright.
The fire cracked softly.
It was small—contained. No higher than a foot. Green tongues danced lazily around a nest of gathered stone. Its glow painted the underpass in strokes of green and blue, casting long, broken shadows across the cracked foundation.
They all sat in a circle around it.
Each wrapped in identical green-threaded blankets—elegant, functional, faintly glowing with the signature shimr of Lucien’s thread-light. The blankets were warm, they repelled the cold, adjusted to each body, and settled over their shoulders in a quiet presence.
Julian sat closest to the fire, knees drawn to his chest, his eyes locked on the fla. His golden irises reflected it almost too clearly—like mirrors, warped by exhaustion.
Max leaned against a fragnt of concrete, his legs stretched out before him. His shirt was torn at the side, bandaged roughly with what appeared to be a strip of his own undershirt. His breathing had evened out, but he hadn’t spoken since Lucien carried him back from the blast.
Isabelle sat cross-legged with perfect posture, her hands resting gently over her knees. She looked serene, as if trying to set an example.
Kieran sat beside her—silent, unmoving. His eyes were fixed forward, not on the fire, not on his family, but on the figure that stood several ters away.
Lucien.
He stood alone, centered next to a pillar that held what was left of the highway, arms crossed, facing the open desert. His back was to them, a green-threaded coat stirring faintly on his shoulders. His silhouette was lit by starlight, and the occasional flicker of thread-light across his fingertips.
He hadn’t said a word since the battle. Not since he cleaved the alien in two.
He simply stood there—like a statue, breathing calmly, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Sothing about the way he stood made it feel like the desert was his, like ti itself had bowed to his presence.
And no one dared to break it.
***
Julian’s gaze remained on the fire, but his voice reached through the silence—gentle and low.
“W-what are we going to do?”
The others turned their heads slightly. Max didn’t move, but his eyes shifted. Isabelle’s lips pressed together. Kieran’s brow furrowed.
Julian spoke again. “I-i an… we can’t be the only ones who’ve had to deal with that thing. There must be more. People are going to panic. How are they going to survive?”
His voice cracked at the end.
“We have to help them.”
Kieran nodded once. “The world isn’t ready. It doesn’t understand what it’s facing.”
Max snared. “It’s not like we know much of it either.”
Julian glanced toward Lucien. “We do… Dad does.”
Lucien said nothing.
Max exhaled through his nose. He sat up straighter, eyes flicking between them. “Assuming Lucien tells us. Assuming they believe us. Assuming they don’t panic, riot, or declare us the threat.”
Julian looked at him. “Then we show them. We prove we’re on their side. If we help them, they can’t suspect us—”
“I envy your innocence sotis,” Max cut in, not harshly, just tired. “You never know how the world is going to react. Especially when fear takes the wheel.”
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Julian fell silent.
Isabelle shifted closer to the fire, fingers curling around her blanket. Her voice was warm, gentle.
“We have a responsibility to withhold. We built this, all of it. We can’t stop now. It’s too late to abandon ship.”
Kieran’s voice ran steady. “Chronos has contingencies. Old ones. Ergency protocols Lucien created all the way back. We just follow them.”
Max looked over. “You’re assuming governnts will cooperate. That anyone will.”
Julian interjected, firr now. “They’ll listen. They have to. We’re the only ones who won’t be running.”
Lucien turned slightly. Just enough for the firelight to brush across his features. He’d been silent too long.
His voice, quiet and firm.
“They’ll turn on us. Eventually.”
The sentence landed like a hamr.
No one replied.
Julian lowered his head.
Lucien continued, still looking in the dark.
“They’ll welco the help at first—accept our grace.”
He turned fully now, facing them. The fire reflected on his eyes.
“But the mont fear outweighs trust, they’ll look for soone to bla.”
“And the obvious choice will be us. They’ll question our knowledge. They’ll identify why our technologies resemble the threat.”
“These ‘aliens’ are not here to destroy the earth. They’re here to destroy us. .”
“The one that built them, they knew that’ll happen. It's what they do. They manipulate. They don’t fight force with force. It’ll be a losing battle if they do that.”
Julian looked up again. His voice was barely above a whisper. “T-then what do we do? Just let it happen?”
Lucien’s expression didn’t change. “We accept our fate.”
Silence returned, but it wasn’t empty now. It was heavy. Shared.
Above them, the stars shimred—unbothered.
Lucien’s gaze drifted back to the horizon.
Max broke the silence, “You’re going to sacrifice your empire… to save those that’ll betray you?”
His reply was simple—calm, and quiet.
“Yes.”
***
The fire burned lower now, casting lower, gentler shadows.
Lucien sat with them now. Beside the fire, legs crossed, one hand resting on his knee, the other still faintly pulsing with thread-light. The mont was still fragile. No one looked directly at him.
Then Julian broke the quiet.
“So… you have… super powers?”
Lucien watched the fire.
“That could be a way to describe them.”
Julian sat silent for a minute.
Then he continued. “When? How? Why did you keep it a secret?”
Lucien kept his eyes on the fire.
“Since my first lifeti.”
”I’m not sure of that myself.”
”I thought it better kept a secret.”
Julian’s brow furrowed. “So all this stuff about your real companions—the ones you’ve been looking for. Is it all true?”
Lucien glanced at him, “I was 19 at first. Japan 1868. I died after 2 years. Killed by the sa one that’s sending these machines after us today. But not before my companions were all slaughtered before .”
Lucien continued, voice flatter now, “Germany, 1884, after. This ti I was 22. Died only a year later. Sa enemy. Sa companions. Only more tragic. More devastating. More terrifying.”
Lucien bowed his head down slightly. “Now- alone…. Imprisoned in this man-made heaven.”
He fell silent.
No one spoke.
The fire cracked once, embers fluttering softly into the cold night air.
Isabelle reached out and placed her hand gently over his.
“I believed you—always did. I just… couldn't believe it myself.” she said quietly.
Kieran followed. “I’m sorry… I just couldn’t wrap my head around it all.”
“So you really are the ‘Father of Ti’ ha?” Max said, trying to lighten the mood.
Lucien chuckled slightly—a rare occurrence, it brought smiles to everyone around him.
Then-
Julian’s voice rose again, steady despite the weight in his chest. “Who… was I supposed to be…”
Lucien looked at him.
There was a pause—hesitation.
“I only have fragnts of it, where it all started. But… You- or rather who you’re made to be. I had a deep connection with them. Sothing deeper—more than a friend or a lover.”
Lucien continued, “Their life, it's one of chaos…. They endured a lot. I feel their suffering. Sotis… I fear they’re broken beyond repair. but they seem to brace it all.”
A slight pause. Then—Lucien added.
“I don’t think anyone can handle their pain.”
***
The fire had died down to a faint ring of green hued ash and dim coals.
It was early. The sky was pale blue, still holding onto the last threads of night. A quiet wind stirred the dust, soft and cool.
Everyone was asleep.
Lucien sat a few feet from the others, back against a broken piece of concrete.
Isabelle sat beside him, their shoulders close, both looking up at the sky in silence.
“I’m sorry,” she broke the quiet.
Lucien looked at her.
“You shouldn’t be. I’ve done much worse toward you… and the rest of them.” he said.
She shook her head. “I didn’t believe it. I should’ve. Maybe not at first, but… after all these years, I should’ve trusted you more.”
Lucien leaned forward, resting his arm on his knees. “You trusted what you could see. That’s not your fault.”
“I still hurt you,” she said.
Lucien replied, “I hurt you too. Worse. I made you feel like you weren’t enough. Like you were just a stand-in.”
Isabelle fell quiet.
“For a while… I really thought you were her,” Lucien admitted. “You reminded of her in every way I could rember. The way you talked. The way you cared. I let myself believe it… I fell for her manipulations.”
Lucien continued, “But when I started noticing the differences… I didn’t know how to be close to you without lying to myself.”
“I felt it,” she said, voice low. “Every ti you pulled back. Every ti you looked at like I wasn’t who you were hoping to see.”
Lucien’s voice was low—fragile. “That wasn’t fair to you.”
Isabelle looked at him for a long mont, then she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I’ll stop trying to replace what you lost,” she said. “But I’ll still be here… to help ease the pain you endured.”
Lucien placed his hand on hers.
They sat like that, pale blue light rising slowly over the desert.
And for the first ti in a long ti, neither of them felt alone.
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