Chapter Text
Setting: A dilapidated marketplace, mostly rubble and makeshift stalls, in what was once a bustling town square. A fire burns in a rusted oil drum, providing warmth.
Characters:
Cael: Weathered, hardened, but still with a hint of the old humor in his eyes. He carries a scavenged rifle.
Kris: More reserved than before, their face etched with worry lines. They wear practical, patched-up clothing and carry a heavy backpack.
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(The scene opens with Cael haggling over some salvaged canned goods at a makeshift stall. )
Cael: (Grip tightening on his rifle) Three cans for the medicine. That's fair.
Vendor: (Shaking head) Four minimum. Times are harder now.
Cael: (Scoffs) Times have always been hard. Three and this bullet. (Pulls a single round from his pocket) Brass is worth something these days.
Vendor: (Considers, then nods reluctantly) Fine. Your funeral if you're short on ammo when the night crawlers come.
Cael: (Stuffing supplies into his bag) My funeral's been scheduled and canceled more times than I can count.
(A hush falls over the marketplace. Cael notices the change, hand instinctively moving to his weapon. He turns, scanning for threats, when his eyes lock with a ghost from his past.)
Kris: ...Cael?
Cael: (Turns slowly, eyes narrowed, then a flicker of disbelief) Kris? Is that really you? After all this...
Kris: (Nods slowly) Yeah. It's me. Gods, I... I never thought I'd see you again.
Cael: (A sardonic chuckle escapes him) Well, the world ended. Figured the odds of running into someone I didn't want to see would go up.
Kris: (Winces) I... I wasn't sure if you'd even be alive. A lot of people...and why—
Cael: (Cuts them off, voice hard) Yeah, a lot of people are gone. Doesn't change anything.
Kris: (Takes a step closer, hesitant) Cael, look, I don't know what I did wrong...
Cael: (Turns away, shoving his hands in his pockets) Don't. Just… don't. Not now. Not after five years..
Kris: But I need to. I need to know just why did you leave me...
Cael: i don't have time for such useless chatter, so it's best if you leave it be.
Kris: Cale... Please, I at least deserve to know, after all we have been through..
Cael: Deserved to know? (mocked)
Kris: ... Then is it true, that you were left for that girl from the Sourth settlement..?
Cael: (Scoffs)Whoever told you that must be jealous.
Kris: I know. And I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong. I regret not understanding you—
Cael: Regret? (He laughs, a harsh, broken sound) I left you and I don't regret it, so why do you do so ?
Kris: ...Cael, let's just move on. And build something better—
Cael: (Looks at Kris, really looks at him, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes) Build something better? In this world? What's there to build?
Kris: Survival, for one. And maybe... maybe forgiveness for whatever i did wrong... If you can find it.
(Cael is silent for a long moment, staring into the fire. He seems, for the first time, to consider it.)
Cael: I don't know, Kris. Five years is a long time... Even for me.
Kris: I understand. Just... think about it. I'm heading north, towards the old ranger station. There are rumors of a community trying to rebuild there. Maybe... maybe I'll see you up there.
(Kris turns to leave, pausing at the edge of the marketplace.)
Kris: Be careful, Cael. The world's only getting tougher.
**(**Kris disappears into the ruins. Cael remains by the fire, his rifle clutched tightly in his hand, his gaze lost in the flames. The weight of the past, and the slim possibility of a future, hang heavy in the air.)
Five years ago, the world hadn't completely fallen apart yet. There were still functioning settlements, trade routes, some semblance of order. Cael and his younger brother Liam had been part of a tight-knit group of survivors who'd banded together early after the collapse. They'd been doing well – scavenging, trading, protecting each other.
Kris had joined them during a supply run gone wrong.
Outnumbered by raiders, Liam had pulled Kris from the wreckage of an ambushed caravan. For months after, Kris had become like family, especially close to Liam and Cael.
The accusation came during winter, when tensions were already high. Food was scarce, and the group was arguing about whether to move north or stay put. Someone had come to Cael with stories about Liam secretly meeting with a girl from a rival settlement, planning to leave with supplies. It wasn't just betrayal – it was endangering everyone.
Cael had confronted his brother publicly, violently. Kris tried stopping him, but Cael continued to question.
The group fractured that night. By morning, Liam was gone – taking nothing but his knife and the clothes on his back. Two weeks later, they found his body near the river crossing, half—death by an (untreated) infection in his ankle. Due to a fall on the rock in the river stream. They tried treating him then, but due to the lack of medical supplies ... Cael lost him.
Only afterward did Cael learn the truth: Liam had been negotiating an alliance, not planning desertion. The "secret meetings" were diplomatic missions approved by the group's elders. One of the members had twisted everything, motivated by jealousy and a desperate need to be valued by Cael.
By then, it was too late. The group had scattered. And Cael was left alone with the knowledge that he'd driven his only family to his death based on a lie. Cael and Kris traveled for a while, until—...
Cael watches Kris disappear, the words "Build something better" and "community" echoing in the sudden silence. He spits into the fire, the sizzle a sharp punctuation to his turbulent thoughts. It tasted like ash on his tongue. Community? He’d learned the hard way that in this new world, people were liabilities. Trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
He glances at the canned goods he’d been haggling for – beans, enough for a few meager meals. He should move on, find a safer place to spend the night. But his feet feel rooted to the spot. The ranger station… north. It was a long shot, a fool’s errand chasing after rumors. But the alternative was staying here, alone with his ghosts.
Kris: (Voice calling from the shadows) Cael, wait.
Cael: (Not turning around) Thought you were gone.
Kris: (Steps closer, hesitant) I was. I am. Just... (Pauses) You don't have to do this alone.
Cael: (Bitter laugh) Right. Because you've been so reliable.
Kris: (Wincing) ... But the ranger station—if there are people there, real people building something...
Cael: (Cutting in) Then what? We play happy families? You have such a humour.
Kris: (Quietly) No. We live with it. Like everyone else who's survived this long.
Cael: (Finally turning) You don't get it. I can't even look at you without seeing him. Without remembering.
Kris: (Swallows hard) I know. I am sorry. (Steps back) I just wanted to say... be careful out there.
Cael: (After a long pause) Always am.
(Kris nods once, then melts back into the darkness of the ruined marketplace)
He kicks at a piece of rubble, dislodging it with a shower of dust. He remembers his brother, Liam. Laughter, easy camaraderie, a bond that felt unbreakable. Kris had shattered that bond with whispers and accusations. The memory flares, hot and painful.
Suddenly, a raspy voice interrupts his thoughts. "Lost someone, friend?"
Cael spins around, rifle raised, adrenaline surging. An old woman, her face a roadmap of wrinkles and hardship, stands a few feet away, leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick. She wears layers of patched-up clothing and her eyes, though faded, are
sharp and observant.
"Stay back," Cael growls, his grip tightening on the rifle.
The woman chuckles, a dry, crackling sound. "Put that thing away, boy. I'm too old to be a threat. Just saw you staring into the fire like you’d lost your soul. Happens a lot around here."
Cael lowers the rifle slightly, still wary. "What do you want?"
"Just offering some company. And maybe some advice. This town aren’t a good place to linger. Too many scavengers, too little to scavenge."
He snorts. "Thanks for the news flash."
The woman hobbles closer, ignoring his gruffness. "Heard you talking to that guy. Kris, was it? Heading north, you say?"
Cael tenses. "What's it to you?"
"Just heard whispers on the wind. Whispers about the ranger station. About the community they're trying to build. They say it's… different. They say they're trying to live like things were before."
"Impossible," Cael says flatly.
"Maybe. Maybe not. But I've seen enough of this world to know that clinging to the past will only break you. Gotta find something new to hold onto, something to believe in."
Cael looks at her, surprised by the unexpected wisdom. "And you think this… ranger station is something to believe in?"
The woman shrugs. "Don't know. But I saw the look in that boy's eyes. he wants to believe. And maybe… maybe that's enough to make it real." she pauses, then adds, "You look like you need something to believe in too, son."
Cael: (Staring into the fire) I stopped believing a long time ago.
Old Woman: (Tilting her head) That why you're still carrying that picture? The one you keep touching in your pocket?
Cael: (Startled, hand instinctively moving to his jacket pocket) How did you—
Old Woman: (Smiling sadly) Been watching you longer than you think. Old eyes see plenty when nobody's paying attention.
Cael: (Voice hardening) It's nothing. Just... a reminder.
Old Woman: (Nodding knowingly) Of what you lost? Or what you're still looking for?
Cael: (Silence, jaw clenching)
Old Woman: (Sighing) The boy—Kris. He's carrying something too. Not in his pocket. In his eyes. Same thing you're carrying.
Cael: (Bitterly) You don't know anything about me. Or him.
Old Woman: (Standing with effort) Don't need to. Guilt looks the same on everyone, son. Question is... what are you gonna do about it?
With that, she turns and shuffles away, disappearing into the shadows of the ruined marketplace.
Cael stares after her, the old woman's words swirling in his mind. "Something to believe in…" He glances at the fire, the flames now dancing a little higher, casting long, flickering shadows.
Liam would have wanted him to go. Liam always believed in the good in people, even when Cael was skeptical. Liam would have wanted him to give Kris a chance.
He sighs, a sound heavier than the rifle in his hands. He shouldn't doesn’t trust Kris. He should n’t trust anyone. But… maybe, just maybe, he's tired of being alone.
He picks up his pack, slings the rifle over his shoulder, and takes a deep breath of the smoke-tinged air. He glances north, towards the unseen horizon.
He doesn't know if he's searching for forgiveness, or community, or just a reason to keep moving.
But for the first time in five years, Cael feels a flicker of something other than bitterness in his chest. It might be hope. Or it might just be desperation. But he's going north. He has to see for himself. The beans can wait.
He starts walking, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn ground. The night is closing in, but he doesn't falter. He keeps his eyes peeled, his senses heightened, the habits of survival ingrained in his very being. He passes skeletal buildings, monuments to a forgotten era, their empty windows like vacant eyes staring at his progress.
As he walks, he replays the conversation with Kris in his head. His words about the ranger station, about starting over. He had dismissed them as naive fantasies, but now, they echo with a newfound resonance. Could it be possible? Could people truly rebuild after so much devastation?
He remembers the day everything changed. The day the sickness swept through their town like a wildfire, turning neighbor against neighbor in a desperate fight for survival. The day Liam… He clenches his jaw, pushing the memory down. He can't afford to dwell on the past, not now.
The first rays of dawn find him on the outskirts of the town, the skeletal remains of civilization gradually giving way to the untamed wilderness. He walks along a cracked highway, its asphalt surface riddled with potholes and weeds. The silence is broken only by the rustling of leaves and the occasional cry of a distant bird.
He stops at a stream to refill his water canteen, the cool water a welcome relief. As he drinks, he notices something glinting in the mud. He reaches down and picks it up. It's a small, tarnished locket. He brushes off the dirt and opens it. Inside are two miniature photos - a young woman with a bright smile, and a small child with the same captivating eyes.
For a moment, Cael sees the world through their eyes. The woman might have stood in this very spot once, perhaps laughing as her child splashed in the stream. Did she feel safe then? Did she believe the world would always remain as it was—predictable, secure, filled with small joys?
And the child—what dreams filled that young mind? What futures stretched out before those innocent eyes, unaware of how quickly everything could crumble?
Cael shifts perspective, imagining how they might see him now—a hardened survivor, weathered by loss and betrayal, clutching their memory in his calloused hands. Would they recognize the humanity still fighting to survive within him, or would they only see another dangerous stranger in a world gone mad?
He thinks of Kris again, how differently they view the same broken world. Where Cael sees only ruins, Kris somehow finds possibility. Perhaps that's what truly angered him about their conversation—not just the memories of Liam, but the mirror Kris held up to his own defeated outlook.
He wonders about the story of the mother and daughter. Who were they? Where were they now? Were they victims of the sickness, or did they somehow manage to survive? He closes the locket and clutches it in his hand. It's a tangible reminder of the lives lost, the families torn apart.
He continues his journey, the locket now nestled in his pocket. The sun climbs higher in the sky, beating down on him with relentless intensity. He rationed his water carefully, knowing that the next source could be miles away. He scans the horizon constantly, searching for any sign of civilization, any indication that he's on the right track.
In the late afternoon, he spots something in the distance - a plume of smoke rising above the trees. His heart quickens. It could be a trap, a group of raiders preying on unsuspecting travelers. But it could also be a sign of life, a glimmer of hope in the desolate landscape.
He approaches cautiously, his rifle at the ready. As he gets closer, he hears voices, the sound of laughter mingling with the chopping of wood. He slows his pace, peering through the trees.
He sees a small clearing. In the center stands a collection of makeshift shelters, constructed from salvaged materials. People are milling about, tending to gardens, repairing fences, children are playing. It's a scene of simple, almost idyllic normalcy, a stark contrast to the devastation he's grown accustomed to.
He hesitates. He doesn't know what to expect. He doesn't know if he'll be welcomed or turned away. But he takes a deep breath and steps into the clearing, his rifle held loosely at his side.
All eyes turn to him. The laughter stops. The chopping ceases. He stands there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for their judgment. The air is thick with tension, the silence broken only by the chirping of crickets. Then, a woman steps forward, her face etched with curiosity and cautious optimism.
"Welcome," she says, her voice soft but firm.
He approached cautiously, his rifle at the ready. As he got closer.
"Well now," she said, her voice calm and steady, though he could see the wariness in her eyes. "You come bearing gifts, or just bad news?"
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Neither, I hope," he replied, his voice rough from disuse. "Just... looking for a place to rest. And maybe, if you'd allow it, trade for some supplies."
A man, his face weathered and his arms thick from chopping wood, stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of the woman. "Supplies are scarce, friend. What have you got to trade?"
He raised his rifle slightly. "This. And I know how to use it. I'm also a decent medic, and I can help with repairs, whatever needs doing." He lowered the rifle again, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.
The woman nodded slowly, considering him. "We can all use another pair of hands. But we value trust here. Less of that out there these days, and more of it is what keeps us alive." She looked around the clearing, meeting the gaze of several other villagers.
"What's your name, stranger?"
"Elijah," he said. "Elijah Thorne." Cael lied.
The name felt foreign on my tongue, a necessary deception. I'd been using it for months now, but it still didn't fit right. Like borrowed clothes that hung too loose on my frame. My real name was buried with my past, along with everything else I'd lost.
Sarah's eyes narrowed slightly, and I wondered if she could sense the falsehood. People who survived this long developed instincts, a sixth sense for danger and deceit. I kept my face neutral, my breathing steady.
Thomas shifted his weight, his hand never straying far from the knife at his belt. Smart man. Trust was a luxury few could afford these days.
I glanced around the settlement, taking in the makeshift barriers, the carefully tended garden plots, the watchful eyes of the other residents. They'd built something here. Something worth protecting. Something I hadn't seen in a long time.
"We've had trouble before," Sarah said, interrupting my thoughts. Her voice carried the weight of hard decisions made and harder losses endured. "People who came seeking shelter but brought destruction instead."
"I'm not looking for trouble," I said, meaning it. "Just a place to catch my breath."
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of cooking fires and damp earth. For a moment, it reminded me of before. Of home.
"Elijah Thorne," she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "I'm Sarah. And this is Thomas." She gestured to the man standing beside her. "We're the… closest thing to leaders this little haven's got."
Thomas grunted. "Don't let it go to your head, Sarah."
A hint of a smile crossed Sarah's face. "Someone has to make the hard calls."
"And someone has to keep you from inviting every stray that wanders by," Thomas countered, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Last one nearly got Mira killed."
Sarah's expression hardened. "That was different."
"Was it?" Thomas stepped forward, close enough that I could smell the leather of his jacket, see the scar that ran along his jawline. "What do you bring to the table, Thorne? Skills? Supplies? Or just another mouth to feed?"
I met his gaze steadily. "I can hunt. Fix things. I was a mechanic... before." The word hung between us, that universal dividing line. Before and after. "Got medical training too. Field medic for three years."
Thomas raised an eyebrow, skepticism written across his weathered face.
"We could use that," Sarah said quietly. "Especially with winter coming."
"If he's telling the truth," Thomas muttered.
"If I'm lying," I said, "I won't last long anyway."
Thomas snorted, but I caught the flicker of reluctant appreciation in his eyes. "At least he understands that much."
Sarah studied him carefully. "Alright, Elijah. Let's see what you've got. But understand this: we help each other here. We protect each other. If you try to cause harm, you'll find yourself regretting it."
Sarah watched the stranger's face, searching for any sign of deception. She'd seen that look before—desperation mixed with hope—in the eyes of dozens who'd passed through Haven's gates. Some had become family. Others had nearly destroyed everything they'd built.
There was something about this one, though. Something in the way his shoulders slumped with exhaustion rather than defeat. The careful way he held himself,alert even in his weariness. A survivor, not a predator.
Thomas would say she was being foolish again. Too trusting. But Thomas hadn't been there in the early days, when a single act of kindness had saved her life. When the world was burning around them, and someone had reached out a hand instead of raising a weapon.
Haven existed because people had taken chances on each other. Because they'd chosen to believe that humanity could rebuild itself, even from ashes. If they stopped believing that—stopped taking those chances—what were they even protecting?
She made her decision, hoping it wouldn't be one she'd regret.
"I understand," Elijah said, relief washing over him. "I just want to help."
Sarah smiled, a genuine, if slightly strained, smile. "Then welcome to Haven, Elijah. Welcome home." She glanced back at Thomas. "Thomas, why don't you show Elijah where he can set up camp? And someone get him some water. He looks parched." She turned back to Elijah. "We'll talk more in the morning, Elijah. For now, get some rest."
Thomas led Elijah through the settlement, his movements stiff with reluctance. "We've got a spare tent near the eastern perimeter. Not much, but it'll keep the rain off."
Elijah took in everything—the carefully reinforced walls made of scavenged materials, the communal kitchen area where a large pot bubbled over a fire, the small children who stopped their play to stare at him with wide, curious eyes. Haven was larger than it had appeared from the treeline, housing perhaps thirty people.
"You've built something remarkable here," Elijah said quietly.
Thomas grunted. "Built it with blood and sweat. Lost good people defending it." He stopped walking, turning to face Elijah directly. "Sarah sees the best in people. It's kept us alive, her hope. But I see the rest."
"The rest?"
"The darkness. The hunger." Thomas's eyes were hard. "I've watched men kill for less than what we have here."
Elijah nodded slowly. "I understand your caution."
"Do you?" Thomas studied him. "Because here's what I see: a man traveling alone, carrying too few supplies for someone who claims to have been surviving out there. A man with medical training who somehow hasn't joined up with any of the larger settlements. A man who's running from something."
Elijah felt his muscles tense. "Everyone's running from something these days."
"True enough." Thomas resumed walking. "But I'll be watching to make sure whatever's chasing you doesn't follow you through our gates."
They reached a small tent pitched against the eastern wall. It was weathered but sturdy, the entrance facing inward toward the heart of the settlement.
"You'll be expected to contribute," Thomas said. "Food stores are in the old ranger station. Medical supplies too, what little we have. Sarah will assign you duties tomorrow."
Elijah nodded, setting his pack down inside the tent. "Thank you."
Thomas turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing, Elijah—or whatever your name really is. I've buried friends. I won't bury family. So whatever secrets you're carrying, make sure they're worth dying for."
With that, he walked away, leaving Elijah alone with his thoughts.
Night fell over Haven, the sounds of the settlement quieting as people retreated to their shelters. Elijah sat at the entrance of his tent, watching the stars emerge. For the first time in months, he wasn't scanning the horizon for threats or planning his next move. The relative safety of walls and watchful eyes allowed him a moment of stillness.
His hand drifted to his pocket, fingers brushing against the locket he'd found. He should have turned it over to Sarah or Thomas—community property, they'd probably call it. But something had stopped him. The small weight of it against his chest felt like a tether to something he'd lost.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "Can't sleep?"
He turned to see a young woman approaching, carrying two steaming mugs. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical braid, and she moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew their place in the world.
"Not used to sleeping behind walls," Elijah admitted.
She smiled, extending one of the mugs. "Pine needle tea. Not exactly coffee, but it helps."
He accepted it gratefully. "Thanks."
"I'm Mira," she said, settling down beside him. "The one Thomas mentioned earlier."
Elijah tensed slightly. "The one who almost got killed."
Mira's smile turned rueful. "That's me. Settlement celebrity." She sipped her tea. "Don't let Thomas scare you. His bark is worse than his bite."
"What happened?" Elijah asked. "If you don't mind me asking."
Mira stared into her mug. "We took in a man last winter. He seemed... desperate. Hungry. Said he'd been separated from his group." She sighed. "Turned out he was the scout. His 'group' was a raider camp about ten miles west. He slipped out one night, disabled our alarms. I caught him at the gate."
"And?"
"And he had a knife." She pushed up her sleeve, revealing a jagged scar that ran from wrist to elbow. "I got lucky. Thomas heard the struggle. After that... well, we're more careful now."
Elijah nodded slowly. "I see."
Mira studied him in the dim light, her eyes reflecting the distant glow of Haven's central fire. "You know what's strange? I still think Sarah made the right call letting that man in. Even knowing how it turned out."
"Why's that?" Elijah asked, genuinely curious.
"Because the day we stop taking chances on people is the day we become just like the raiders." She traced the rim of her mug with her finger. "The world's broken enough. We don't need to break ourselves to survive in it."
The sentiment hung between them, fragile and hopeful. Elijah felt something shift inside him—a loosening of the knot he'd carried since leaving the marketplace. Since seeing Kris again.
"You remind me of someone," he said softly. "My brother. He used to say similar things."
"Used to?"
Elijah looked away. "He didn't make it."
Mira nodded, understanding in her silence. Loss was the universal language now. "I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago."
"No such thing," she replied. "Time doesn't heal wounds like that. It just teaches you to carry them differently."
A child's cry broke the stillness, followed by a hushed voice singing a lullaby. The domesticity of it struck Elijah as both foreign and achingly familiar.
"That's Anna with her son," Mira explained. "He has nightmares. We all do, I suppose."
Elijah watched as lights flickered out across the settlement, one by one. "How did this place start? Haven."
"Sarah and Thomas found it about three years ago. It was just the ranger station then. They'd been traveling together since the early days—not a couple, more like... reluctant allies who realized they needed each other." Mira smiled. "Others joined. We reinforced the walls, expanded. Started growing food instead of just scavenging."
"And the raiders let you be?"
Her expression darkened. "Not exactly. We've fought for this place. Lost people. But we're still here." She stood, collecting his empty mug. "You should get some rest. First day's always the hardest."
As she turned to leave, Elijah called after her. "Mira? Thank you. For the tea. And the welcome."
She smiled over her shoulder. "Everyone deserves a second chance, Elijah. Even if they're not using their real name."
Before he could respond, she disappeared into the darkness, leaving him with the unsettling feeling that Haven might see more of him than he intended to reveal.