"You’re walking?" Lyra asked, her voice trembling. "I-i was so worried. When we came back and saw you were gone... I thought..."
"When I woke up," Sol said gently, allowing her to fuss over him. "I found I could walk around again. I’m okay, maybe this is the effect of that weird medicine of healer."
Lyra let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for days. She hugged him tight, burying her face in his chest. She smelled of earth and sweat... the smell of survival, not the musk of pleasure he was covered in earlier. It made a pang of guilt strike his chest, but he shoved it down quickly.
"Where were you?" she asked, pulling back to look at him. "The sun is down."
Sol hesitated. He looked at the meager pile of roots by the fire...barely enough to fill their stomach. Then he thought of the feast happening in the square, the grease dripping into the fire, the waste.
"I went to the square," Sol said, deciding to rip the bandage off. "To the distribution."
Lyra’s face paled. "Sol... you didn’t."
"I did," he said, his voice firm. "And I ran into Vurok."
He told her everything. He didn’t embellish it, but he didn’t hide it either. He told her about the mockery, the scraps of waste Vurok tried to feed him, and finally, the slap. He told her how he had knocked the hunter’s son into the mud in front of everyone.
He braced himself for her anger. He expected her to scold him for being reckless, for endangering the family, for making enemies they couldn’t afford.
But even waiting for a while, Lyra didn’t yell.
She just stared at him, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had just gotten heavier. Then, she pulled him into a hug again, tighter this time.
"You foolish boy," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I should have told you. I should have warned you not to go."
"Warned me?" Sol pulled back, frowning. "It’s the law, Aunt. Everyone gets a share."
Lyra looked at him, her eyes filled with a sad, weary wisdom that made her look ten years older than she was. She reached up and cupped his face, her rough thumb brushing his cheek.
"Sol, you are still young. You don’t understand," she said softly. "The Law... the rules... those things only work if you are strong enough to enforce them. They are not for people like us."
She gestured around the miserable hut.
"For the weak, there is no law. There is only what the strong allow us to have. It’s already good that they don’t bother us, that they let us live on the edge. Isn’t it good enough to just survive? To live a life like this, quiet and safe?"
Sol looked at her... at the resignation etched into her beautiful features. She had obviously been beaten down by this world hard.
"No," he said.
The word hung in the air, heavy and determined.
"No, it isn’t good enough," he said, his voice gaining strength. "We are eating roots while they eat delicious meat. I won’t live like this. I won’t let you live like this."
He took her hands in his. They were trembling.
"I’m healthy now, Aunt. I can feel it. The sickness is gone. I’m going to go hunting. I’ll get us meat. Real meat."
Lyra’s eyes went wide. She gripped his hands tightly, shaking her head.
"No! Absolutely not!" Her voice rose in panic. "It’s okay, Sol. We have roots. We have berries. Take it slow. Hunting is... it’s not a game. It is death."
"I’m not playing," Sol insisted.
"You haven’t even passed the Rite!" she argued, desperation creeping in. "The hunting teams won’t take you. They won’t let an uninitiated boy join the formation. You can’t go."
"Then I’ll go alone," Sol said calmly.
"No!" Lyra shouted, fear making her fierce. "Never! Do you remember what happened last time? You almost died! You were in a coma for three days! I won’t lose you again!"
Sol fell silent, but he didn’t look away. He remembered the memories of his predecessor...the fear, the clumsy attempt to spear a boar like animal, then running for his life. The previous Sol had been weak. Clumsy. Afraid.
But he wasn’t that Sol.
He could feel the Ash Gray energy humming in his chest, a dormant volcano waiting to erupt. He felt the strength in his limbs. He knew that if he stayed here, hiding in this hut, eating dirt, he would eventually die anyway... either from starvation or because some beast broke through the perimeter.
"Aunt," he said, his voice lowering, becoming steady and intense. "Listen to me."
He stepped closer, his presence filling the small room.
"I can’t just stay holed up in this village. We are sitting ducks. There are things out there... Thornmaws, Shadow-Stalkers... beasts that could crush this hut in a second. I saw the carcass today. I saw what’s out there."
"Exactly!" Lyra cried. "That is why you stay inside the walls!"
"The walls won’t save us if we are weak!" Sol countered. "To survive in this world, it’s not a choice. We must become strong. At least strong enough to not be prey."
He looked at the little girls, who were watching them with wide eyes.
"I won’t waste my second chance at life living in constant fear," he declared. "I won’t let Vurok look down on us. I won’t let us starve."
Lyra looked at him, really looked at him, and faltered. There was something different in his eyes. The cloudy, fearful look of her nephew was gone. In its place was a sharp, burning intelligence... an ash-gray brilliance that seemed to pierce right through her arguments.
"I’m not a fool," Sol softened his tone. "I know I can’t wrestle a beast. I know I’m not a warrior yet."
He tapped his temple.
"But I have this. I know things they don’t. I won’t hunt with a spear; I’ll hunt with traps. I’ll use my head."
He thought of his past life... the documentaries, the survival guides, the countless hours spent absorbing knowledge. He thought of the simple physics of levers, pulleys, and pits. The primitives hunted with brute force; he would hunt with leverage.
"I have to go out," he said, his voice final. "I have to see what this world is. Is it just a primitive jungle? Or is there more? I need to know."
As a man...especially a "cultured" one who had spent a lifetime dreaming of adventure through screens... he felt the pull of the unknown. He wanted to explore. He wanted to face the challenge. He wanted to write a saga that would make Vurok’s petty bullying look like a joke.
"I am going out," Sol stated clearly, leaving no room for argument. "No matter what."
Lyra opened her mouth to argue, to forbid him, to cry. But she saw the resolve in his posture. She saw the man standing where the boy used to be. She realized, with a sinking heart, that she couldn’t stop him. If she forbade him, he would just sneak out.
She slumped, the fight draining out of her.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Okay."
She looked up at him, tears gathering in her eyes.
"But promise me... promise me you will be careful. If you see a beast you can’t handle, you run. You don’t be a hero. You run home."
Sol nodded, a small, genuine smile touching his lips.
"I promise," he said. "I’ll be the fastest runner in the world."