Some places refuse submission.
They can be scarred.
Dug into.
Hollowed out.
But they do not kneel.
Khelt had many such places.
This was one of them.
Lucas and Tarek were reassigned at first light.
No explanation.
No warning.
Just a silent shove into a smaller transport, its metal floor already warm beneath their bare feet. A half dozen other slaves joined them, heads down, collars humming softly as the craft lifted and drifted eastward across the ash plains.
The ruins grew larger as they traveled.
Not closer.
Larger.
Lucas felt it immediately.
A tightening behind the eyes.
A pressure in his chest.
The planet's breath was stronger here.
The dig site sat at the edge of the forbidden zone.
No perimeter markers.
No warning signs.
Just absence.
The land around the ruins had been stripped bare, as if even the machines refused to linger too close. Jagged stone formations rose like broken teeth, half-buried arches leaning toward one another in silent collapse.
And beyond them, the ruins themselves.
Ancient.
Patient.
The guards were tense.
Their movements sharper.
Their voices clipped.
They avoided looking toward the structures, even as they positioned slaves uncomfortably close.
Lucas noticed that detail.
He noticed everything now.
A guard barked an order, his voice sharp and amplified, cutting through the air with authority and leaving no room for hesitation.
"Dig!" the guard shouted, each word weighted with impatience and command.
Tools were distributed.
The stone here was different.
Darker.
Smoother.
Warm in a way that had nothing to do with heat.
Lucas knelt and pressed his palm against it before he could stop himself.
The stone pulsed.
Once.
Then went still.
His collar did not react.
Neither did the guards.
It was as if the moment had been… allowed.
Tarek spoke without turning his head.
"Don't let them see you do that again," he whispered, caution threading every syllable.
Lucas nodded faintly.
He leaned closer as he spoke.
"Have you been this close before?" he asked, his voice low, careful.
Tarek hesitated.
"Once," he admitted, his tone carrying a mixture of memory and uncertainty.
A pause.
"I didn't sleep for days afterward," he added, unease threading every word.
They worked until dusk.
The sky dimmed into bruised purples and greys, the twin suns slipping below the horizon like dying embers. Shadows lengthened, stretching from the ruins toward the dig site, reaching.
The guards grew restless.
The collars hummed louder.
Then the wind stopped.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Dust hung suspended in the air, unmoving.
The machines faltered, their rhythm stuttering before falling silent altogether.
One by one.
No command was given.
No alarm sounded.
The stillness spread.
From between the ruins, a figure emerged.
Tall.
Wrapped in pale robes that caught the fading light and refused to reflect it fully.
The hood obscured the face entirely, shadow pooling where features should have been.
The monk walked without haste.
Each step measured.
Deliberate.
As if the ground itself rose to meet his feet.
No guard raised a weapon.
No one spoke.
Lucas felt his pulse hammering in his throat.
Tarek leaned closer.
"Don't move," he breathed, urgency compressed into barely audible sound, his eyes darting nervously.
The monk stopped several paces away.
Close enough.
Too close.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
The wind did not return.
The machines remained dead.
The monk turned his head slightly.
Toward Lucas.
Not Tarek.
Not the guards.
Lucas.
The monk spoke.
"You carry quiet inside you," he said, his voice steady and ageless, each syllable weighted with patience and authority.
Lucas swallowed.
His mouth was dry.
"I didn't know it had a name," Lucas replied, his voice careful and measured, curiosity peeking through restraint.
The monk tilted his head.
"Few listen long enough to hear it," he said, patience threading every word, as if the truth demanded stillness.
Lucas felt something loosen in his chest.
A tension he had not realized he carried.
Lucas continued.
"You… were the one who left the food near the barracks?" he whispered, testing the truth, his voice steady but tinged with quiet vulnerability.
The monk nodded silently, then spoke, each word measured and calm.
"Those who endure should not starve," he said quietly, kindness and authority threading each word.
"Endurance is not submission."
Lucas hesitated.
Then he added—
"Rin," he said softly, urgency and longing breaking through his control.
The monk stilled.
The air shifted.
Even Tarek felt it.
Lucas pressed on.
"I'm looking for my brother," he said, hope trembling beneath restraint.
The monk waited, silence stretching, every second pressing against Lucas's chest.
Lucas's heart lurched, hammering in his chest, every pulse echoing the weight of the revelation.
"Where is he?" he asked, his voice trembling with the ache of longing.
"I have never met the man you call your brother," the monk said quietly, his words measured, carrying both honesty and sorrow.
Lucas froze, disbelief and confusion twisting through him.
"You… you never met him?" he whispered, fear and longing threading his voice.
"No," the monk replied, steady, unflinching. "I have not walked his path. I cannot guide you to him."
The air thickened, pressing against Lucas's chest. Rage, hope, and helplessness coiled tightly, a storm restrained by breath alone.
"Then… where do I even start?" Lucas murmured, uncertainty and fear woven into each syllable.
"You start with yourself," the monk said, quiet but firm. "With what you carry. With what you are willing to become."
Lucas felt a shiver of comprehension pass through him. He could not lean on anyone. Not on the monk. Not on his brother. Only on the quiet strength he had yet to claim.
"I want to learn," he said again, resolve replacing fear, determination threading through each word.
The monk studied him, weighing each breath, each gesture, each pulse.
"Why?" he asked, voice probing, patient, deliberate.
"Because I don't know how to survive this place without becoming empty," Lucas admitted, truth heavy in his chest.
Silence stretched. Seconds felt like hours.
"That answer is not a lie," the monk replied, subtle affirmation threading each word.
Then the monk stepped back, deliberate and controlled, setting the space between them.
"Still water must settle," he said, certainty threading every word.
Lucas responded, a hint of defeat threading his voice.
"You won't take me with you?" he asked, each word heavy with quiet frustration.
The monk replied.
"Not yet, child," he said, deliberate, steady, unyielding.
A long silence stretched between them. Only the soft sound of drifting sand filled the air.
"When the quiet within you outweighs the noise placed upon you, then we will speak again," the monk said, weight and inevitability pressing into the space.
The wind returned.
The dust fell.
The machines hummed back to life.
And with a brief spill of sand across the stone, his figure slipped away from Lucas's eyes for a heartbeat. Then he was gone, swallowed by the ruins.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Then—
A guard snapped.
"You," he spat, eyes narrowing, every glance thick with suspicion.
Lucas turned, heart hammering, every sense alert.
"What were you doing?" the guard demanded, voice cutting like steel, accusation threading each word.
Lucas opened his mouth.
The stone beneath his feet pulsed.
Once. Twice.
Then it silenced.