They found the body at dawn.
Curled behind the water crates. Still warm. Throat open. Blood pooled on the concrete like spilled paint.
It was Varo.
The youngest of Ash's sentries.
Barely strong enough to hold a spear.
And now?
Gone.
No witnesses. No signs of a fight. Just silence… and a carved message on the crate above him.
Two glyphs.
𐍘 — Fear.
𐍪 — Memory.
Ash stood over the body, eyes blank. He didn't cry. He didn't move. Just stared at the glyphs like they were the only things holding him together.
Rocket knelt beside him, inspecting the wound.
Clean. Sharp. Fast.
A blade, not claws.
A weapon.
By midmorning, word had spread.
Apes murmured in signs and glances. Children were kept close. Spears reappeared in hands that hadn't held them in months.
Maurice met me behind the ration shed.
Signed slowly: "Everyone knows. Even if no one says it."
I didn't need to ask who.
There was only one answer.
Koba.
We found him near the southern tunnel gate.
Alone. Kneeling. Drawing lines into the dirt with a blackened stick.
When Rocket approached, Koba stood up without fear.
Eyes calm. Shoulders loose. No guilt. No excuse.
I stepped forward.
Signed once:
"You killed him."
Koba shrugged.
Then answered:
"He wore your mark."
"He followed your law."
"Your law makes him part of your war."
I stared at him. Hands steady.
Signed:
"He was a youth."
"He guarded crates. Not power."
Koba signed:
"He guarded your dream."
"Your dream makes apes weak."
Maurice wanted to lock him up immediately. Rocket was ready to kill him.
But I waited.
Because punishment without trial is a crack in the foundation.
And we needed that foundation more than ever.
That night, I called the council.
We met in the old upper level, away from the ears and eyes of the others.
Flint, Maurice, Rocket, Tao, Ash.
The five I trusted most.
We formed a ring around the fire basin. No words. Just signs.
I spoke first.
"Varo is dead."
"Marked."
"No one else could have done it."
Maurice signed:
"We can't kill him."
"Not unless we want the same laws we escaped."
Rocket's hands cut the air:
"We already have those laws. Koba broke them."
Tao remained still.
Then finally signed:
"What if it wasn't him?"
Flint scoffed.
Signed: "You think someone else carved his glyph?"
I looked to Ash.
He hadn't moved the entire time.
Just stared into the fire.
Finally, I signed:
"Say what you carry."
Ash lifted his head.
Then signed slowly:
"If we do nothing, we lose control."
"If we kill him, we lose who we are."
"But if we lie… even once… we lose everything."
We voted.
Exile.
Not death. Not forgiveness.
Exile.
At first light, I called an assembly.
The apes gathered under the still-gray sky. Clouds hanging low, thick with heat.
Koba stood in the middle of the yard. No chains. No guards. Just stillness.
I stepped forward and raised my hands.
Signed:
"An ape has died."
"By another's hand."
"This breaks the law."
"We are not humans. We do not kill our own."
"But we do not forget."
I turned to Koba.
Signed:
"You will live. But not here."
"You will go where we cannot follow."
"You are exile."
The crowd stayed silent.
But the tension… it moved like wind through leaves.
A shift.
A fracture.
Something we couldn't name yet, but could feel beneath our skin.
Rocket escorted Koba to the southern tunnel gate.
Ash unlocked it.
Koba walked inside without a glance back.
Not proud. Not ashamed.
Just… steady.
Maurice and I sealed the gate.
Rusted rebar. Chained tight.
Above it, I carved one word into the metal:
𐍫 — End.
That night, no one trained.
No one practiced glyphs.
Even the children stayed inside.
I walked the perimeter in silence.
Watched Rocket patrol the fence line.
Saw Maurice tracing glyphs into the dirt — trying to calm himself.
Ash sat alone near the feeding crates, unmoving, his hand resting on the hilt of his training staff.
The peace we'd carved out was cracking.
Not loud.
Not yet.
But I felt it.
I met with Maurice near the fire pit.
Signed:
"We need to prepare."
He signed back:
"For what?"
I paused.
Then replied:
"Whispers."
"Doubt."
"And what comes after."
Later that evening, Ash came to me.
No words.
Just held out a small piece of bark.
On it was scratched a message:
"Crate 7 opened. Staff missing."
We checked it together.
Lock broken. Nothing else touched.
Not a theft for need.
A message.
A move.
Beside the crate, another glyph was drawn.
Not carved — just traced with ash.
𐍪
Koba's mark again.
But fainter.
As if not made by his own hand.
Someone had copied it.
The next morning, Flint approached me with a list.
Four names.
Apes who had been seen sneaking toward the old training rooms.
All younger.
All former drill partners of Koba.
I didn't post their names.
Didn't confront them.
Didn't punish them.
Instead, I watched.
I listened.
And I waited.
Not all wars start with fire.
Some begin in quiet.
In fear.
In the moment you realize the law is only as strong as the hands that believe in it.
That night, I sat in the old archives.
I opened our law scrolls.
And I began rewriting.
Not the rules.
The reach.
What was once a wall…
Would now become a net.
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