The scent of aged parchment and dry stone filled the air. The desert wind whispered through the cracks of Shesep-Ankh, the Sanctuary of Life—the Kempian healing school where Joher Sudra had once trained.

Kaya sat alone in the dim corner of its vast library, an old scroll spread before her. The words unraveled the secrets of part breed physiology—secrets she could barely comprehend yet couldn't turn away from. For the first time in twenty years, she was learning the truth about her own body and mind.

Above her, the library stretched high, its vaulted ceilings adorned with fading carvings that once told the stories of divine beings and men. Thick columns, wide as tree trunks, bore the weight of centuries. The sandstone walls, worn and cracked, were etched with glyphs from a lost era.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the scroll in front of her, grounding herself.

It was nearly noon. She sat at a granite table, her earthy yellow linen dress flowing softly around her. The embroidery at the hem and neckline bore the distinct Kempian touch—a balance of elegance and practicality for the desert heat.

"Kaya."

A soft voice broke her focus. She startled slightly, looking up.

Sekhena Shiku stood in the arched doorway, framed by the corridor's golden light. She moved closer, her white robes gliding across the stone floor. A fine linen drape covered her head, though strands of black, wavy hair had slipped free, framing a face of quiet beauty. Her dark skin, delicate yet strong features, and gentle brown eyes carried a maternal warmth—one that reminded Kaya of her mother, Aiyana.

"Kaya." Sekhena's voice was calm.

Kaya straightened instinctively.

"Your uncle is looking for you," Sekhena continued. "I told him you were in the gardens, but we both know you've been here for days." A knowing smile touched her lips. "When will you speak to him?"

Kaya hesitated, her fingers tightening around the scroll's edges. She wasn't ready for that conversation.

"I'll speak to him soon, Sekhena," she said, biting her lip.

"Go now." Sekhena turned toward the doorway.

Kaya exhaled, pressing her hands to the table before rising to her feet. With one last glance at the scroll, she stepped out into the gardens beyond the library's entrance.

The space was lush, vibrant—an oasis of life against the sandstone walls of the healing school. Rows of papyrus reeds swayed in the warm breeze. Date palms arched overhead, their fronds casting shifting patterns of light and shadow along the earthen pathways. Flowers bloomed in vivid reds, blues, and golds. Lotus blossoms floated on still pools. The air carried the rich scents of jasmine, frankincense, and fresh herbs—some used for healing, others for rituals.

Kaya moved slowly, trailing her fingers over the cool, dew-kissed leaves of an aromatic bush. She took in the rich scent of the flowers around her.

Beneath a sprawling sycamore, Yoshua sat on a low stone bench, hunched over his tablet. The screen's glow lit his face. He was speaking to someone.

As Kaya approached, the figure on the screen shifted uncomfortably. Mazi.

He had seen her. He faltered mid-sentence. Words trailed off. Then, he nodded to Yoshua.

"I'll let you go," Mazi said quickly. His gaze lingered on Kaya—just for a moment—before the call ended.

Yoshua stood, tucking the tablet under his arm as he turned to face her. Dressed in a sage-green button-down and loose, sandy-brown pants, he blended into the earth tones of the garden.

"I've been looking all over for you. For hours," he said, with an edge of exasperation.

"Sorry," Kaya replied, though her words lacked conviction.

She wasn't entirely sorry. She loved this place—this sanctuary of healing and knowledge. It had become more than a refuge. It felt like a calling. She wanted to stay. To become a healer.

But she wasn't ready to tell her uncle Yoshua. Not yet.

Instead, she asked quietly, "How is he?" referring to Mazi.

Yoshua hesitated, his jaw tightening. "He's a good man, Kaya. But he's not a saint. His heart is breaking, and he needs an answer."

Kaya bit her lip, gaze dropping to the ground. "I know," she murmured. "I know."

Her chest tightened. Yoshua's words were a gnawing reminder of the choice she had yet to make.

Shortly after their return from the Western Lands, Mazi had proposed. He had been earnest, his emotions laid bare as he told her how much she meant to him. Overwhelmed, Kaya had asked for time—to think, to process everything they had been through.

She hadn't meant for her hesitation to stretch into weeks, but one thing after another had kept her from answering.

Then came the news.

Dr. Dubay and Joher had told them the worst: Yoshua's condition was deteriorating. The STIMs had interacted poorly with the Crimson Toxin in his blood, and IV therapy was failing. Joher insisted he seek treatment at Shesep-Ankh.

Then Geshar.

Joher had turned to ancient restraint runes—the same ones that had held Ashur captive for nearly a thousand years—to create a concoction strong enough to wake Geshar. It worked. But at a cost. Geshar's health collapsed rapidly.

Like her uncle, Geshar needed treatment in Kemp immediately.

To Kaya's surprise, Ibris had been frantic upon hearing that two of his closest friends were on the brink of death. He acted quickly.

Within hours, he secured an airship to transport Yoshua and Geshar across the continent to Monika City, arranging a private contractor for their international transfer to Kemp. Kaya hadn't hesitated—she volunteered to go with them, leaving Mazi without an answer to the question that still lingered between them.

Two weeks ago, their journey had ended here, at Shesep-Ankh, where Yoshua and Geshar were now under the care of healers who specialized in halfbreed treatment.

Kaya's thoughts scattered as Geshar stepped into the garden, cradling baby Kiran in his arms.

He was finally awake. He had been in an induced coma for the past two weeks.

A crane halfbreed, Geshar was tall, like Ibris, his wavy dark hair framing a face both strong and kind—the color of warm sand. His long, bird-like neck jutted forward slightly, and his crane wings rested neatly behind him. He wore flowing, earth-toned robes, their fabric catching the breeze.

The sunlight filtered through the foliage, casting dappled shadows on Geshar's face, highlighting the faint hollows in his cheeks—a reminder of all he had endured.

That morning, Sekhena had told Kaya that Geshar had finally woken from the drug-induced coma the healers had placed him in upon arrival. The induced state had been necessary, buying time while they carefully formulated a treatment plan for his damaged body and depleted energy.

The moment Geshar had regained consciousness in the Clinic and met Kiran for the first time, their bond was immediate. Joy broke through the pain still clinging to him. Since then, he had barely let Kiran out of his sight.

During Geshar's coma, Yoshua, Kaya, and the healers—along with their students—had cared for the infant. Kiran had brought unexpected light to the quiet halls of Shesep-Ankh.

Now, watching father and son together, Kaya felt a surge of relief. And for the first time since his birth— she felt a flicker of hope for Kiran's future.

Baby Kiran, now nearly a month and a half old, squirmed happily in Geshar's arms. His once frail form had filled out, his cheeks round and bright. Faint traces of feathers dusted his shoulders and upper arms—a quiet testament to his unique lineage. His soft cooing carried like a melody as Geshar approached Kaya and Yoshua.

Geshar greeted Kaya with a warm hug. "Look how happy Kiran is to see his aunt Kaya and uncle Yoshua," he said, smiling as he lifted the baby slightly for them to see.

Kaya leaned in, pressing a kiss to Kiran's cheek. The baby's head lolled to one side in response.

"How are you feeling, Geshar?" she asked.

Geshar adjusted Kiran in his arms. "The healers have put me on herbal medications and a strict diet," he said. "I feel nearly healed, but they say I need another month to recover—given what that obelisk instrument did to me."

"What did it do?" Yoshua asked.

Kaya knew her uncle had been trying to solve that mystery since they rescued Geshar.

Geshar's expression darkened slightly. "They believe it was using my qi—my life force—to run. That it was probably ancient Atlantean technology."

Kaya considered his words carefully before speaking. "Some of the scrolls in the library suggest that ancient Atlantean machines were powered by the blood of ancient noble Atlanteans."

Yoshua turned to her, caught off guard.

"I've been doing a little reading," she admitted, hesitating.

Yoshua didn't respond. Just stared, still processing her words.

"And Sekhena says," Kaya continued, "there are extensive scrolls in Alemurian historical records—records that were likely erased in Atlantis—that suggest halfbreeds were created using the blood of ancient noble Atlanteans as a template."

"Hm, that's curious," Geshar interjected. "When those monstrosities—the scaled ones—took me to the obelisk, I wasn't the first halfbreed they tried to hook up to that machine. I watched countless others die in the process."

Yoshua pressed a finger to his lips, his attention sharp, concern etched deep into his features.

"Somehow, my blood worked when theirs didn't," Geshar continued. "The machine used me as fuel while keeping me alive. Once I was hooked in, I knew there was no way out."

"You think they used ancient sky gods the same way to power their technology?" Yoshua asked, skeptical.

"No," Kaya said matter-of-factly. "Sekhena explained that because halfbreed blood is only partially like that of the ancients, their technology reacts to it differently. Where noble Atlantean blood could start and shut down a machine with minimal amounts, halfbreed blood isn't as potent. The machines need a continuous supply to function. This makes the use of halfbreed blood to power ancient technology potentially lethal."

Yoshua's frown deepened. "That's terrible." He turned to Geshar. "But how did the scaled ones get to you in the first place?"

"There were problems in the Dawa Order," Geshar said, tight with regret. "For over a year, the monastery had been struggling. Funding was drying up, pilgrims stopped coming. Some monks got desperate." He exhaled. "They turned to selling halfbreeds to human traffickers."

Kaya's stomach twisted.

Yoshua frowned. "They betrayed you?"

Geshar nodded solemnly, his gaze distant, as if reliving the moment. "They did," he said quietly. "I was meditating. I used to do week-long fasts and meditations under Master Orin's guidance in the caves around the monastery. During one of those deep meditations... they took me. I didn't even have a chance to defend myself."

He took a steadying breath. "They drugged me. Dragged me off."

Kaya's mind raced. Were Zorin and Faramir part of this? Had they betrayed him too?

Yoshua spoke before she could. "Is that why they were after Jahui in Cupta?"

"Yes," Geshar admitted, his grip tightening protectively around Kiran. "Once my blood worked, they must have realized my pregnant wife's baby would carry my genetic subsets. I believe they intended to use Kiran for the same purpose." He shook his head as if trying to dispel the thought, holding the infant closer.

"But what about the military? How are they involved?" Yoshua asked.

Kaya's mind flashed to the two military men who had attacked her family in their cottage.

To Aiyana's lifeless body.

Anger churned deep inside her.

"I don't know," Geshar said, brow furrowed. "My sense is that the Khoraz were involved in all of this. And maybe, by association, the royal family too. But I can't be certain."

"This is part of what Ibris intends to uncover in the South." Yoshua stepped forward, brushing past mention of the Khoraz and the royals. He placed a firm hand on Geshar's shoulder. "I'm glad you're going to be okay, Geshar," he said sincerely. "For a moment, Ibris and I thought we'd lost you." A faint smile touched his lips.

At the mention of Ibris, Geshar asked, "Have you spoken to him today?"

Yoshua gently took baby Kiran from Geshar, cradling the infant with care and tenderness, his affection evident in every movement.

"Not yet," he admitted. "But I know he's preparing to head south. He's been investigating the Yucan halfbreed trafficking. Plans to shut it down—once and for all."

Geshar smiled faintly. "He's always taking on too much."

"That's Ibris for you," Yoshua said, adjusting as Kiran fussed, tugging at the wolf fur on his forearms.

Geshar nodded, thoughtful. "He's been that way since the war ended. I thought with Serene... then, well—after she passed, he became even more intense in his drive to fix everything for halfbreeds across Atlantis."

"Did you know he gave up ambrosia?" Yoshua said with a laugh, as baby Kiran reached for Geshar.

"I don't believe it!" Geshar raised both eyebrows in shock, taking the baby back into his arms. "That explains his big plans for the South. He's got a lot more energy and bandwidth to channel now."

Kaya glanced between Yoshua and Geshar, curiosity rising. "What happened with Serene? I've always wondered."

Yoshua's expression darkened. "About two years ago, Ibris lost his wife and their baby boy during childbirth. They had barely been married a year. She was human, and... well, you know how badly that can go."

His voice was quiet. "He wasn't even in the Underworld when it happened. He found out nearly a week later." He sighed. "It really broke him."

Kaya swallowed hard. A week. He had lost everything, and he wasn't even there to say goodbye.

Geshar nodded solemnly, grief flickering in his eyes.

She could see the weight of his own loss settling over Geshar.

"That's horrible," Kaya murmured, her heart heavy.

Geshar exhaled. "Ibris is a man of many layers. I hope he finds someone who can love him the way he deserves. Someone who loves all of him."

Yoshua grunted softly, his lips pressing into a thin line, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Kaya frowned.

What did Geshar mean by 'love all of him'? Had Serene not loved all of Ibris?

Geshar shifted. "What about Esa and Mazi? Are they coming to the South?"

"They're not coming," Yoshua said, shaking his head. "Mazi says Esa still won't speak to Ibris."

Kaya already knew that. They had left for Monika City with Joher. A fresh start—far from the turmoil that had fractured their lives.

Kaya's thoughts wandered to the tense conversation she had overheard between Mazi and Yoshua last week.

Esa and Mazi had argued over Ibris' recent contracts—his growing investments in Don Cavialli's business. At the time, Cavialli had been conducting unsavory experiments on humans using halfbreed blood. The origin of that blood was questionable. It had raised more than a few eyebrows. Esa, already furious with Ibris over the events in the South, saw it as the final straw. Despite Sheera's last words, he refused to reconcile. And Mazi supported Esa.

But Kaya couldn't shake the feeling that Mazi's decision had less to do with Esa or Ibris and more to do with her.

"That's a pity," Geshar said softly. His wings shifted slightly as he sighed.

Yoshua turned to Kaya. "So, Kaya, that's why I've been looking for you," he said at last. "I need to speak with you about going back to Atlantis. To help Ibris."

Kaya blinked. Back to Atlantis?

Yoshua took a measured breath. "The healers have cleared me. They've prepared me with enough medication to last, well, years."

She barely had time to process before he continued.

"I've already arranged our air transport. We leave tomorrow. I need you to pack."

Kaya blinked again, momentarily taken aback.

"I wish I could come with you and help," Geshar said regretfully. He adjusted Baby Kiran in his arms. The infant cooed softly.

"Don't worry. I'm afraid there will many opportunities in the future," Yoshua said, solemnly, placing a firm hand on Geshar's shoulder.

Geshar hesitated. "And what about that sentient android, Ashur, and Marcus Sumeri?" 

Kaya gently took Baby Kiran from Geshar.

A perfect distraction.

If Geshar kept talking, her uncle wouldn't press her further about leaving Kemp.

Yoshua exhaled. "No one can get in touch with Marcus. No one's heard from him directly since the Western Lands. All we know is what the news streams are saying—he's introducing some new cerebral bridge technology across Atlantis. And he's pushing for a surveillance system for the police in the Underworld in Parliament."

Geshar's brow furrowed. "It's dangerous, what Marcus has done," he said after a moment. "Ashur shouldn't be free. Haven't we learned anything from what happened in the South during the Android Wars?"

"I'm afraid human memory is short," Yoshua sighed.

Geshar shook his head. "It's only a matter of time before he sparks another war. And this one... this one could end us all."

Yoshua exhaled, his shoulders sagging. "I hope Marcus has a plan. I don't believe he wants to end our world." He paused, thoughtful. "I know that Esa took Marcus to see an oracle in the South before... before the obelisk explosion." His voice dropped. "Marcus was shaken up after that visit. I never got the chance to ask him what he learned."

Geshar squinted against the desert sun filtering through the trees. "You think Marcus is acting on something the oracle told him?"

"I can only hope that's the case," Yoshua said, distant.

Geshar considered this. "Wouldn't Esa know?"

Before Yoshua could answer, Kaya spoke. "Uncle and I both asked him. Esa said the oracle spoke to Marcus alone."

"Strange." Geshar exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I hope, for all our sakes, Yoshua, that your faith in Marcus is well-placed."

Yoshua nodded, understanding. Then he turned back to Kaya, a flicker of joy in his eyes—a glimpse of the man he had been before Aiyana's death.

"Kaya, the tribe will be gathering for the Winter Solstice soon," he said, lighter, almost hopeful. "Maybe we can make it to Cupta in time. Wouldn't that be something?"

He smiled faintly, as if the thought of returning to the life they once knew could mend old wounds.

Kaya handed Kiran back to Geshar, but her thoughts had already drifted.

To the night they left the Underworld for Kemp...

She, Yoshua, and Ibris had made a solemn visit to Melammu Cemetery—the sacred burial grounds for Atlantis' fallen soldiers.

The journey there had been silent.

The graveyard itself was a stark contrast to the chaos of the city. A somber, quiet space carved into rock. Rows of metallic grave markers, etched with names and dates, gleamed faintly in the dim light. A few digital memorials projected soft holograms of the departed, flickering gently in the darkness. Sparse patches of moss clung to the ground, and wires lined the graves, humming faintly like ghostly whispers.

The place felt otherworldly. A fragile balance between human grief and the mechanical world encasing it.

They had gone to visit Dariq's grave. Her father's final resting place.

To fulfill the last request her mother Aiyana had made of Yoshua.

Kaya could still hear his voice breaking as he told her, "She wanted me to place her marital turquoise locket on his grave. That was her last request."

Yoshua led the way, the locket clutched tightly in his hand. Kaya followed closely, moving with careful steps, as if walking on sacred ground.

Ibris walked behind them. Silent. Uncharacteristically quiet. His usual sharp demeanor softened by the weight of their surroundings.

They stopped in front of Dariq's grave. A simple metallic slab. Worn by time but still standing firm.

Yoshua knelt first. He placed the locket gently on the marker. The turquoise stone caught the faint light, glowing softly against the cold steel.

"Dariq," Yoshua said. "You were more than a brother—you were like my father. You taught me how to live, how to become a man." His voice hitched. "Aiyana wanted you to have this, as a reminder of the love you shared. I hope you two have found each other in the afterlife."

Slowly, he stood. Then stepped back to let Ibris take his place.

Ibris knelt by the grave. He placed his hand on the marker and let out a quiet sigh.

"You were one of the good ones, Dariq," he murmured, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "I miss you. And... your terrible sense of humor."

Kaya grinned at Ibris' jest.

Then the weight of it all settled in.

She stood still, hands trembling slightly. This was her first time seeing her father's grave. The last time she had seen him, she had been a little girl. A little over ten years old. The reality of it hit harder than she expected.

Tears welled in her eyes. She took a step forward, then knelt.

Her hand pressed against the cold metal. Fingers tracing his name etched into the steel.

"I miss you, Pa," she whispered. "I wish we had more time."

Tears fell freely now.

Yoshua and Ibris exchanged a glance but said nothing. They let the moment belong to her.

Kaya took a deep, shuddering breath and stood. She wiped her tears and turned to them.

"Let's say a prayer," she said softly.

The three of them bowed their heads. Kaya clasped her hands, trembling, invoking the Great Mother.

"Great Mother of the sky and earth, guide Pa on his journey in the afterlife. May the winds carry his laughter, and the stars watch over him in the night. As the river flows, may his spirit find peace. And in the hearts of those he loved, may his memory bloom like the flowers of spring."

They stood in silence, gazing at the grave.

Kaya closed her eyes again, hands clasped tight. This time, she whispered a private prayer—a plea to find a sense of home once more.

When Kaya opened her eyes, she noticed Yoshua had moved on.

He stood at the adjacent grave. Mikael Assyiam.

Silent. Shoulders trembling. Crying quietly.

Ibris stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on his best friend's shoulder. He, too, was visibly sad. But no words passed between them.

Kaya watched as Yoshua's usual stoic facade shattered. Grief was etched into every line of his face, too heavy to hide.

Then, he fell to his knees. His hands clutched the grave, as if holding on tight enough might bring back the dead.

Uncontrollable. Overwhelming.

Something unspoken passed between Kaya and Yoshua.

Standing before Mikael's grave, she saw it clearly. Mikael Assyiam was the love of his life.

She finally understood why Yoshua had never married. Why he had never built a family of his own. 

He had already lost the one he wanted.

The three of them lingered in the graveyard. The city's distant hum faded into silence.

The memory lingered, as Yoshua's words brought her to the present.

"So what do you think, Kaya?"

The thought of returning to Atlantis stirred something uneasy in her. She pushed it aside.

"A Winter Solstice gathering!" Geshar said, bright with excitement. "We used to have those at the monastery too. Jahui loved it. She'd make these taro root buns—"

He paused. The joy faded from his face as realization settled in that the monastery, and the people within it, no longer existed.

Baby Kiran, perched in his father's arms, reached up toward Geshar's beard. Geshar's sadness melted away. A small smile replaced it as he gently nuzzled his son.

Kaya hesitated, glancing between her uncle and Geshar, then back at the serene garden. She took a deep breath.

"Uncle Yoshua, I—I need to speak with you."

Geshar sensing the gravity of the moment, gave a small nod and smiled. "I'll catch up with you both at dinner," he said, adjusting baby Kiran in his arms before turning to leave.

The baby continued to coo softly. The sound faded as Geshar walked away, his crane wings shifting slightly with each step.

Yoshua was not concerned. "What is it?"

Kaya swallowed. "I—I want to stay here at the healing school." She avoided his gaze. "I want to become a healer."

Yoshua's face fell. Sadness crossed his features, quick and deep.

"Uncle Yoshua," Kaya pressed. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Yoshua looked at her, eyes glistening. 

Kaya felt a deep pang of despair. Her chest tightened.

"You could always stay here with me," she said, quietly. 

Yoshua shook his head slowly, stepping back. "No, Kaya. This place is foreign to me. My home is in Atlantis, in Cupta, with our tribe. That's where we belong."

Our tribe. Where we belong.

The words hit like bricks—heavy, unexpected. But Kaya didn't waver.

"I really want this, Uncle Yoshua."

He studied her, brow furrowed. "I didn't know you had such an interest in the healing arts," he admitted. "Maybe you could study medicine in Atlantis..." He trailed off, searching for an alternative.

Kaya shook her head, firm. "We both know Atlantean schools know little about halfbreeds or part breeds," she said, confidence steady. "For the first time in my life, I feel safe. Understood. Here, I can learn who I am. How to live well... and how to help others do the same."

Her eyes lit up as she spoke. The conviction was undeniable.

Then, without a word, Yoshua stepped forward and pulled Kaya into a tight hug.

"I knew one day you'd leave me," he murmured. "But I didn't think it'd be so soon."

Yoshua's tone dropped to a near whisper.

"And what about Mazi?" He asked, releasing her from his embrace. 

"I love Mazi. I do," Kaya said, fingers brushing her auburn waves back from her face.

She took a deep breath.

"But I'm not ready for what he needs right now."

Yoshua's expression flickered—a brief moment of disappointment. He tried to hide it, pressing his lips into a thin line. But she saw it.

After a long pause, he gave a small nod. "If that is what you want, Kaya, then that is what you will do."

But his wolf eyes held sadness. A quiet grief. He hesitated, then spoke again. Softer this time.

"But, Kaya, you must speak with Mazi. You owe him an answer."

The words settled deep.

Kaya turned toward the garden, toward the warm sunlight filtering through the trees. Toward the life she had chosen.

She finally understood who she was. Who she wanted to become.

And she knew what she had to do.