"Did they think they would make it?"

Water laps at our feet as we look on into the distance. Resting along the horizon, the upper half of a ship's skeleton continues to brave the outside elements: an apparition of the world's dark past. The breeze still sighs with loss, and the sky still hangs above in mourning. But everything is calm. As if the Abandoned Kingdoms have come to terms with this piece of history, and so have the ghosts.

"I cannot say," Sohel admits, in response to my wondering. "Perhaps like the both of us, they thought it was their only choice." He pauses, remembering what I told him. "They still left us to the mercy of war."

"I left people I loved too. Twice."

He shrugs. "That was different."

I glance back at the carved headmarkers, which Sohel has yet to address. "Are you mad?"

"No, but I have not forgiven them." He sighs. "Does that make me a bad person? For holding a grudge against our deceased parents?"

"No one can tell you what to feel," I say. "You could question me on the same matter."

A comforting weight rubs my leg. I bend down to give Harun a good scratch behind the ears. Sohel looks on. "You so forgiving, Najm. So kind. I do not know how you do it."

Neither do I. The happier part of my childhood never consisted of Mother and Father. Our parents were forever occupied with...other matters. Tending what little crops we had left. Ensuring our stomachs did not growl at night. Clothing us. I do not know if that could be called love.

My brother's gaze at the horizon becomes unfocused. "You said they were shot down the same week they left?" I nod.

He sighs through his nose and says nothing. I know that look. It is the look that says you are tired of searching for a clear answer. The look of exhaustion that comes after unraveling the past, only to find more layers.

"They continue to cost us too much," he says. I know he is not referring to Mother and Father.

This was the conflict that took lives, plunged a thriving continent into shadows, and its poison continues to find its way into who is left. But although the Hunters will remain as the faulty ones in our eyes, this started long before the mention of Hunters. All it took was a drought and a clash of philosophies to birth what would become a perpetual war.

As if reading my mind, Sohel eventually nods. I breathe a sigh of relief.

We make our way to the granite headmarker. At first, I had been conflicted as to what should be inscribed. Even "In Loving Memory" seemed too artificial. But drawing inspiration from I did know about our parents, I settled with a wreath of sweet potatoes, peas and sunflowers. A part of me knows that it is not the same as a proper ritual with their remains. All I can hope for is that their souls will find their way to freedom.

I kneel down. My brother does the same. Looking down at the ground, images appear before my eyes. Before, it would have been hot flashes. Now they drift by as gentle echoes. I replay all of the emotions in my head, releasing them in the forms of deep breaths and a few tears. Nothing needs to be said to be understood.

I take a peek at Sohel's solemn face, and my gaze travels to his hand. His fingers are tracing a carved sunflower over and over, as if attempting to coax it to life. He swallows.

"Maybe," he says, forcing a half-hearted smile. "Maybe someday, I will have the courage to let go." His hand intertwines with mine, and I give it a meaningful squeeze.

After some time, we rise and walk to where the survivors are waiting for us. "I think we are done here," Sohel tells them.

"This was where I lived," the curly-haired woman murmurs. Avila runs a hand through her hair, gazing at the docks that have fallen apart. "Every day I'd look forward to unloading shipments crates, filled with wonders from outside Abandryaph. I'd dream of journeying to distant lands and leaving my mundane life behind. Who would've thought I'd miss it?" She sighs.

"You said we would be leaving for the Desert," the Northman tells me. "How do you plan to get there?"

With no other words, I gesture to the fast-approaching vessel. Crisp white sails flap in the wind as they glide towards us. Even from here, I can see the carved mast of a water serpent. Brandt immediately draws his sword.

"Let me introduce you to them," I assure them. "They are not as bad as you think."

The captain somehow hears my words. "You'd better believe him!"

Sitting in the shade, I fiddle with the Eye in my hands. My gaze wanders from Sohel and the others, who are engaged in a conversation, to the burial ground. The dry season is upon us, but thanks to the rich soil, the wildlife is flourishing in all its glorious colours. The sun has brought out the valley's most vibrant greens, deepest violets and brightest yellows. Flowers are thriving. Birds are chirping. And beyond what the eyes can see, I can imagine that they are happy, too.

"Are you not joining us?" my brother asks. His face has gotten brighter since we arrived. He offers me a casaba melon.

"Thank you, but I am not hungry," I say gently. Sohel's brows furrow in concern. "And I am not one to converse, either."

"Eat," he insists. He places the melon in my hands. "Let us all enjoy the feast you have prepared for us, together."

Hura gives melon a sniff before wrinkling her nose. She returns to Sohel's lap while I come over to join the group.

"Brandt, are you going to eat your greens or not? I'll eat them for you," jokes a green-eyed woman, named Caree.

The Northern swats her hand away. "Of course I will. I cannot refuse food from the Swift Master himself. That would be disgraceful."

"Then stop looking at your broccoli like they're a disgrace!"

Avila turns to address me. "Thank you for the food, and for inviting us here," she says, gesturing to the valley. "It was very kind of you."

I smile and nod. Out of decency, I begin fill my plate with the fruit and vegetables from the garden. It is hard to eat when everything tastes so good. But it would not be fair if I do not eat with everyone else. So I take a bite.

"Who knew the desert could hide such beauty," Dysung is saying in a hushed tone. "I can scarcely believe we are in the same world." The others nod in similar degrees of wonder. It is only then I realize how lucky I am, to be living in a place full of life.

They turn towards me. "Najm...can you tell us about your pupils?" Brandt asks.

"What...what about?"

"Anything," he says.

"Brandt, he already did so much for us, we should not force him if he doesn't want to talk-"

Sohel gives me a look that says, It is up to you.

I look across the valley for guidance. A sand lark trills, its song carried by the wind and its willpower to share music.

"...They were the ones to propose growing a garden," I begin. "Even before I became the Master, my friends and their younger siblings pushed for a garden that they could gaze at out the windows. The soil had not recovered from the severe drought, even with the underwater channels. But that did not deter them from continuing to try. I eventually joined the effort. Soon, we had the sprout of a joshua tree. It was not much, but it was something.

"We used to tell each other stories," I recall, the fresh memories overlapping one another. "They had come from all parts of the world—even from places I never heard of. We shared what had led us to become a Swift, the journey coming here, and, when the mood became heavy, someone would teach us about the fascinating legends they grew up with. The rest of the day would be filled with chatter about who had the best stories to tell." I continue to recount that particular memory. A few more, too. 

"My pupils were extraordinary people," I murmur. "They were so bright. So loving of one another. In spite of the horrors they faced, they helped each other find a reason to smile."

For a moment, I am left with my own thoughts and the rustling of leaves and my tears that I do not bother to wipe off. I clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking.

At last, the Northern speaks. "Thank you," he says. He looks out to the valley, where my pupils lie. "I can see they meant the world to you."

Sohel puts a hand on my shoulder. "We will make sure the world does not forget them. We will bring your pupils justice."

Justice. The word alone catches me off guard. I shake my head. "As you said, all those responsible are dead. To inflict any sort of retaliation or punishment would not change things. All I want is for them to be remembered."

"But how?" Sohel presses. "Action needs to be taken to make a lasting impact. The first step is to announce our presence to the world. What better way than aiming to defeat the Hunters?"

"Defeat them?" Avila asks. "You'd seen firsthand what they can do. That would be impossible."

"I know I have seen it myself," Sohel insists. He softens it tone. "All of us are direct victims of the Hunters. But if we use that pain, if we pour our grief into ensuring that no one else will suffer as we did, peace can be achieved."

Being part of something bigger...it is uncharted land. During all this time, not once have I ever taken the fate of the world into consideration. What horrors were unfolding as I stayed in the fortress? My concern had lied with my pupils, and myself on occasion. The thought of how self-focused I was makes my insides recoil.

"Najm?" my brother says. Taking my hand, he looks me deep in the eyes. "I will not pressure you into doing something. I want to help you. But the way I see it, this is the opportunity for you to commemorate your pupils. It will go a long way." He carefully rests his hand on the side of my shoulder, where the Shield of Abandryaph is. I involuntary pull my sleeve down to reveal the tattoo. A series of coloured loops and knots, resembling the different kingdoms, stand out against chocolate skin. My fingers trace the familiar patterns. 

Looking at the people before me, I realize that there are more, much more people who are like us. Who had their world torn to shreds by an unchallenged force. Even the Abandryan council avoided condemning the Hunters, because they did not want to fuel the uprising. 

But Abandryaph is no more. And from how it looks, a line has already been drawn in the sand. If I am not willing to fight alongside what I believe in, what would that make me in the midst of the next war?

"All right," I say. Sohel's eyes light up in relief. The others exchange looks; some of hesitance, some of determination. All that contain a spark of hope.

But for that hope to burn brighter, we first need to take small steps. Small steps towards the right direction, done in the right way.

We owe Saffiyah a visit.