Chapter 12 - After the Sun Sets

  Kain woke up to knocking. Again. He groaned into the stone pillow and rolled onto his side, pulling the edge of the blanket over his head like it might negotiate on his behalf. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered. “I thought i could get my sleep schedule back.”

  The knocking didn’t stop. It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t polite either. Measured. Persistent. Like whoever was on the other side already knew he was getting up whether he liked it or not. Kain sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His body still ached in that dull, satisfying way that came after real exertion—nothing sharp, nothing alarming. Just reminders. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I swear,” he called out, voice rough, “if this is about another fight, I’m charging overtime.”

  The door opened without waiting for an answer. Sonen stepped in, hands folded behind his back like always, posture already set for the day. “It’s time to get to work,” he said.

  Kain stared at him for a long second, then glanced back at the bed. “…You people don’t believe in mornings, do you?” Sonen didn’t respond. He just waited. Kain sighed and stood, stretching his arms overhead. As he moved, he caught sight of himself reflected faintly in the polished stone wall.

  The tank top was barely holding together now—fabric burned thin in places, torn outright in others. One strap was singed almost clean through. His jeans weren’t much better. Small holes had spread into larger ones, seams fraying where heat and impact had done their work. Kain tugged at the hem of the shirt and snorted. “Wow,” he said flatly. “I look like I lost a fight with a campfire.”

  Sonen followed his gaze and nodded once. “We noticed.”

  “Good. Hate to be the only one.”

  Sonen turned slightly toward the door. “We have someone who can provide you with better clothing. More durable. Practical.”

  Kain raised an eyebrow. “Armor?”

  “No.”

  “Robes?”

  “No.”

  Kain paused, considering. “Please don’t say ceremonial.”

  Sonen’s mouth twitched. Just barely. “Functional,” he said. “Made for travel.”

  Kain looked back down at his shirt, then at the holes in his jeans, then shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, grabbing the rest of his clothes. “Alright. I’m sold.” As he started pulling the tank top over his head, Daigo’s voice slid lazily through his thoughts. "You’re really letting them dress you now?" Kain ignored him. He finished getting dressed, rolled his shoulders once to shake off the last of the sleep, and stepped toward the door.

  Sonen turned to lead the way. And as Kain followed him out into the corridor, one thought stuck in his head impossible to ignore. Work.

  That was a new word for his life here. And somehow, that bothered him more than the knocking ever had.

  They didn’t look at him. Kain noticed it almost immediately once they were a few corridors away from his room. Scarabs moved along the stone paths as usual—working, carrying, speaking in low tones—but their eyes slid away the moment he entered their peripheral vision. Heads dipped. Shoulders angled aside.Steps adjusted to keep distance. No one crossed his path.

  Kain frowned slightly, glancing down at himself as if he might still be on fire. “…Right,” he muttered. “So this is the part where everyone assumes I could explode at any second.”

  It felt familiar in an uncomfortable way. Not respect. Not fear exactly. Caution. The same way people used to move around Amon. Sonen walked ahead as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

  They crossed deeper into the crater, passing through corridors Kain hadn’t seen yet. The stone here was smoother, lighter in color, the heat less oppressive. Eventually the passage opened into a wide chamber on the opposite side of the crater.

  Kain slowed. The room was large—cavernous without feeling empty. Natural light filtered in from narrow slits high along the walls, illuminating long stone tables arranged in rows. And around them—women. Six of them. They stood at different stations, hands working steadily as they shaped strips of pale bark into fabric. Pulsebark—he recognized it immediately—but treated in a way he hadn’t seen before. Thin. Flexible. Woven and layered into clothing that actually looked… wearable. Their hands glowed faintly with Veyra as they worked, the energy moving with practiced ease. No strain. No hesitation. Bark softened, stretched, folded, stitched together in smooth, continuous motions.

  Kain stopped completely. For a moment, he just stared. The clothes were impressive—jackets with reinforced seams, fitted trousers, layered wraps meant to protect without restricting movement. Clean lines. Intentional design. He glanced down at his pack. The sack he’d made suddenly looked exactly like what it was. “…Wow,” he said quietly. “Yeah. Mine’s definitely the caveman version.”

  The women noticed them then. All six stood at once. They bowed in unison. Kain stiffened instinctively. “You really don’t have to—” One of them stepped forward before he could finish. She was tall, posture straight, hands still faintly glowing as the Veyra faded from her fingers. “We have been expecting our new ruler,” she said warmly. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

  Kain blinked. “…I didn’t agree to that,” he said. The words came out flat. Honest. Not defensive. For half a heartbeat, the room was silent.

  Then the women laughed. Not mockingly. Not nervously. Genuine amusement, like he’d just said something charming without realizing it. Kain looked between them, brow furrowing. “I wasn’t joking.”

  The woman smiled wider. “Neither were we.” She gestured to the room, to the work laid out across the tables. “Power decides roles here. It always has.”

  Kain exhaled slowly through his nose. Sonen, standing just behind him, said nothing. Kain rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drifting back to the clothing. “…Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s start with the clothes.” If this world was going to insist on putting a crown on his head he might as well not be wearing a shredded tank top when it happened. Kain placed his order and left with a simple shirt they handed him to wear in the meantime. He pulled it on quickly, eager to escape, his face warm with embarrassment from the aggressively thorough measuring he’d just endured.

  He didn’t look back. By the time he reached the corridor outside, Sonen was already waiting. One glance at Kain’s expression was enough to tell him exactly how the encounter had gone. “Siren Amon has requested to meet with you,” Sonen said evenly. “As soon as you are ready.”

  Kain groaned softly and rolled his shoulders as they started walking. “Figures.” They moved through the stone halls at a steady pace, Scarabs parting instinctively to give them space. After a moment, Kain glanced sideways. “Why is that the first time I’ve seen any women since I got here?” he asked.

  Sonen didn’t hesitate. “Because there are very few.”

  “How few is ‘few’?”

  “Perhaps ten women for every hundred men,” Sonen replied. “Most do not choose to live in Scorched Earth.”

  Kain frowned. “Can’t say I blame them.”

  “They tend to migrate elsewhere,” Sonen continued. “The Verdant Belt, usually. Or so I’ve heard.”

  Kain nodded slowly. Green. Water. Shade. The idea alone sounded foreign compared to the endless heat and stone he’d been living in. “Yeah,” he said. “That tracks.” They rounded the final bend in the corridor, the temperature rising slightly as the familiar glow ahead came into view.

  Amon was waiting. They arrived in what could only be described as a dining hall—wide, open, and carved deep into the stone. Long tables stretched across the room, their surfaces worn smooth by years of use. Fires burned low along the walls, casting a warm, steady glow that softened the harshness of the rock. Kain slowed without realizing it. The crater was bigger than he’d thought. Not just the arena. Not just the halls. This place had depth. Infrastructure. Rooms that existed purely for living, not fighting. It made the idea of ruling it feel heavier than it had moments ago.

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  Amon was already there. He looked… relaxed. Seated comfortably at the head of the table, one arm draped over the stone back of his chair, posture loose in a way Kain hadn’t seen before. The flames that usually clung to him were subdued, more like embers than an inferno.

  Sonen leaned in slightly as they approached. “He likely overindulged in fruit again,” he murmured. “You’ve caught him in an unusually good mood.”

  Amon noticed them and lit up immediately. “Kain!” he called, grinning wide as he gestured for them to join him. “Come. Sit.”

  Kain took the seat across from him, eyeing the bandages that were now mostly gone. “How are the injuries?”

  Amon scoffed. “Unfortunately? Almost completely healed.” He rolled his shoulder once, testing it. “Pain’s gone. Just soreness now. Which is tragic, really.” Kain snorted despite himself. Amon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you. We need to talk.”

  Kain raised a brow. “About?”

  “A date,” Amon said immediately. “For our next duel.”

  Sonen sighed quietly through his nose. Kain blinked. “…You’re serious.”

  “Deadly,” Amon replied. “I want time to recover properly. Train. Prepare. I don’t want excuses next time.”

  “I’ll get back to you,” Kain said quickly.

  Amon narrowed his eyes, studying him. “You’re thinking about it.” Kain looked away, just briefly. For half a second, the thought crossed his mind—what if he lost on purpose? What if he gave Amon his throne back and walked away from all of this? The idea barely survived its first breath. Amon would know immediately probably mid-punch. Kain sighed. “Yeah. I’ll let you know.”

  Amon’s grin returned, sharp and pleased. “Good.” Kain shifted in his seat, letting the moment settle before changing course.

  “So,” he said casually, “I wanted to ask you about someone.” Amon’s grin faded—not into anger, but irritation. The kind that lingered. “…Who?” He said flatly.

  “Koi,” Kain replied. “Met him briefly. Didn’t get much of a conversation.”

  Amon’s jaw tightened. “That ghost,” he muttered. “I still can’t believe I let him get away.” Sonen straightened slightly, clearly paying closer attention now. Amon leaned back in his chair, flames along his markings flaring faintly before settling again. “Coward had the nerve to lecture me. Said my leadership style”—he lifted both hands and made exaggerated finger quotes—“would never work. That it couldn’t last.”

  Kain tilted his head. “And you took that well.”

  “I blew up the room,” Amon said plainly. Sonen nodded once, as if that explained everything. “When my vision came back,” Amon continued, “he was gone. No scorch marks. No trail. Just air.” Amon’s eyes darkened slightly. “I’ve only seen him one other time. We were kids.” That caught Kain’s attention. “He was standing to the right of the ravine’s leader,” Amon said. “Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched.”

  Kain frowned. “And you fought him?”

  Amon scoffed. “No. The leader.” He drummed his fingers against the table, irritation returning. “I didn’t even touch him. I didn’t see the attack coming. One moment I was standing—next moment I was on my back staring at the sky.” Silence stretched.

  Sonen finally spoke. “The ravine does not value spectacle,” he said quietly. “They value inevitability.”

  Amon snorted. “Yeah. Sneaky inevitability.”

  Kain leaned back slightly, eyes unfocused as pieces started to align. So Koi wasn’t just a spy. He was proof. That whatever lived in the ravine… it wasn’t impressed by brute force.

  “So the ravine settlement is a real threat?” Kain asked.

  Amon shrugged, reaching for another piece of fruit. “Probably.” The word landed flat. Casual. Like he was commenting on the weather. “They’re strong,” Amon added after a bite. “Just boring. That’s why I never went back.”

  Sonen glanced at him. “Boring.”

  Amon waved a hand. “No flair. No heat. No moment where you think, yeah, this might be it. Lamest fight of my life.”

  Kain stared at him for a second, then looked to Sonen.“…I can’t tell if that helps us or not.” Sonen didn’t hesitate. “If Sir Amon does not consider them weak,” he said evenly, “then they are formidable.” Amon nodded. “That’s fair.” Kain leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping idly against the stone as his thoughts shifted gears. Strategy instead of instinct. Control instead of force. “Then maybe we don’t fight them,” Kain said.

  Both of them looked at him. “We talk,” Kain continued. “Work out a deal. Fruit for brightwater. Territory stays intact.” The idea felt familiar in a way that made his chest tighten. He’d been here before—sitting across from people who hated each other, weighing pride against survival. “Reminds me of negotiating peace with rival gangs,” he added quietly. “Nobody wins. Everybody lives.”

  Amon stared at him like he’d just spoken a foreign language. “…That sounds exhausting,” Amon said. Sonen, however, didn’t dismiss it.

  “Talking implies leverage,” Sonen said. “And leverage implies respect.”

  Kain nodded once. “Exactly.”

  Whether the ravine would accept it—or take it as weakness—was another question entirely. Kain leaned back in his chair, arms folded, eyes unfocused as the conversation settled into something heavier than tactics. The ravine settlement.A spy that shouldn’t exist.A leader Amon respected just enough to remember. “I’m going there,” Kain said. Sonen stiffened immediately. For a moment, he looked genuinely unsure how to respond, like the rules he’d spent years memorizing had just failed him.

  “…That is not the role of a ruler,” Sonen said carefully.

  Kain turned his head just enough to look at him. “Then I guess we’re redefining the role.”

  Sonen’s jaw tightened. “You don’t yet know their intentions. They haven’t declared war. They haven’t made demands.”

  “Exactly,” Kain replied. “Which means if something’s coming, I’d rather hear it from the source than from a battlefield report.”

  Across the table, Amon let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Oh no,” he muttered. “Talking.”

  Kain glanced at him. “You don’t want to come?”

  Amon shrugged, resting his chin in his palm. “The crater’s already dull. Everyone flinches when I breathe too hard. It’s exhausting.”

  “You were unconscious yesterday,” Sonen said flatly.

  “And it was the best sleep I’ve had in years,” Amon replied without missing a beat.

  Kain almost smiled. “I’m not marching in to start a fight,” Kain said. “I want to understand who we’re dealing with. Why Koi was here. Why he risked being seen.”

  Sonen hesitated. “And if understanding fails?”

  Kain met his eyes. “Then at least I’ll know it wasn’t avoidable.”

  Amon straightened slightly at that. “So we might fight,” he said, interest creeping into his voice.

  Kain didn’t look at him. “Only if they force it.”

  Amon grinned anyway. “Good.”

  Sonen exhaled slowly. “You cannot simply walk into another settlement. If something happens to you—”

  “—then the crater fractures,” Kain finished. “I know.” He stood, the decision settling into place with uncomfortable finality. “That’s why I’m going,” he added. “If they’re testing us, they won’t strike while I’m standing in front of them. And if they’re not… then this ends before it starts.”

  Sonen searched his face, then bowed his head slightly. “…What do you require?”

  “Put together a small group,” Kain said. “Elite hybrids only. Not an army. I don’t want this to look like a threat.”

  Sonen nodded once. “And Sir Amon?” Kain turned. Amon was already smiling. “He’s coming with me.”

  Amon’s grin widened instantly. “Now that sounds promising.”

  Sonen frowned. “Leaving him here would be safer.”

  Amon waved him off. “Safer is boring.”

  Kain looked at Amon. “You’ll behave?”

  Amon scoffed. “Define behave.”

  Kain sighed. “Don’t burn anything unless they deserve it.”

  Amon leaned forward, fire flickering faintly along his markings. “Fine. And if it comes down to a fight?”

  Kain met his eyes. “I’ll let you pick.”

  Amon’s expression lit up like he’d just been handed a gift. “Most exciting one?” Amon stood, already stretching. “Then I’m very motivated.”

  Sonen watched them both, expression unreadable. “…I’ll prepare the crater,” he said at last. “And I’ll keep it from tearing itself apart while you’re gone.”

  Kain nodded. “Good.” As the decision settled, Kain felt it again—that subtle shift in gravity. Not authority. Momentum.

  And somewhere deep in his mind, Daigo’s voice stirred, amused and approving. “You’re walking toward the knife this time,” Daigo murmured.“That’s growth.” Kain ignored him. For now.

  Somewhere miles away. The ravine was dying. Koi kneeled at its edge and watched it happen without blinking.

  Below him, Scarabs moved through the carved stone channels with quiet efficiency—too quiet. No wasted motion. No raised voices. Hunger had taught them discipline where leadership had failed. The faint glow of Brightwater residue clung to the ravine walls like a memory, thin veins of light tracing where abundance used to run.

  Soon, even that would fade. Koi inhaled slowly. The air tasted different. Not dust. Not heat. Absence. Fire was gone. He had felt it the moment it happened—a pressure lifting, a constant roar snuffed out mid-breath. Amon’s presence had always been unbearable in its intensity, like standing too close to a sun that didn’t care if you burned. For that pressure to vanish meant something impossible had occurred.

  Someone had endured him. Koi’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile. Power didn’t disappear. It was taken. His fingers flexed, and the light around him dimmed subtly, as if the ravine itself had leaned away. Veyra stirred along his skin and vanished again, obeying him without effort. He didn’t need spectacle. He never had.

  Below, a pair of Scarabs argued quietly over a crate that held far less fruit than it should have. One shoved the other. Not hard. Not yet. Koi watched them the way one might watch animals before a storm. continuing to feel their lights getting dimmer. He was starting to wish he wasn’t so sensitive to the feeling of Veyra.

  This settlement would break soon. Not because it was weak. Because its leader would rather starve than bend.

  Koi had warned him. He always did. His gaze lifted to the horizon, toward the crater. Even from this distance, the glow felt… rearranged. Not diminished. Focused. Like fire forced into a blade instead of allowed to spread. “So,” he murmured, voice low and even, “you finally fell.”

  There was no respect in the words. Only calculation. If Amon had lost, then the rules had changed. The crater would fracture. The Scorched Earth would stir. And whoever now stood at the center of that fire would be tested from every direction—by desperation, by ambition, by hunger. He turned away from the edge of the ravine and began walking back into the shadows, steps silent against stone.

  Behind him, the ravine waited—proud, stubborn, and bleeding out one ration at a time. Ahead of him, a new power was learning what it meant to be seen. Koi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ll come,” he said softly, already certain.

  And when you arrive, he thought, I’ll decide whether you deserve to rule—or disappear.