— Part Four —
Gren piloted his Kreper across the expansive sandy deserts of Myce, the planet's evening sun glaring down upon the endless dunes. His usual path to the small settlement of Batabitajira stretched out before him like a faint memory, a ribbon of familiarity in the otherwise unyielding wilderness. His long, pale green hair whipped fiercely in the rushing wind, and the Kreper's speed carved a wake of dust that hung in the air behind him like a shadow. The respirator clinging to his face filtered out the biting grit, while his tinted goggles shielded his eyes from the blazing reflection of light bouncing off the sand.
These were the moments Gren lived for—the rush of the Kreper's speed, the wind tugging at his hair, and the soothing hum of the vehicle's engine cutting through the desert's vast silence. It was a rare reprieve, a fleeting escape from the tangled web of his responsibilities as an apprentice Hunter. No commands barked in his ear, no contracts looming over him, no dangers lurking in the shadows. Just the open desert and the promise of home.
As the silhouette of Batabitajira emerged on the horizon, Gren felt the familiar pang of bittersweet nostalgia. The settlement had once been a vibrant farming village, its people bound by tradition and hard work. But the rise of Myce City as the planet's bustling capital had reshaped the landscape, both literally and figuratively. Urbanization, fueled by sprawling corporations and the lure of opportunity, had emptied the rural villages. One by one, the farmhands had left to chase dreams of better prospects, leaving Batabitajira to wither in their absence.
Gren had left too, drawn by the same promises of advancement and stability. His apprenticeship as a Hunter had pulled him into the pulse of Myce City, where survival demanded a sharp mind and sharper reflexes. Yet, even as he embraced the challenge of his new life, the thought of home never strayed far from his mind.
She had stayed behind, though. While Gren trained and fought his way through his early years as an apprentice, she remained in Batabitajira, tending to the remnants of their village. The population dwindled around her until, at last, she was the only one left.
Still, Gren had always returned—time and again, through droughts, plagues, and the unrelenting dust storms that seemed determined to smother what little life remained in Batabitajira. She endured it all, clinging to the barren village as though her roots were as deep as the desiccated crops that once thrived there. Gren suspected that his visits were the only thing keeping her spirits afloat, a tether to the outside world that brought her solace amidst the desolation.
Every furlough, Gren arrived with supplies in tow—food, medicine, and trinkets from Myce City to brighten her days. And each time, she met him with arms outstretched and a warmth that momentarily erased the emptiness around them. For those brief visits, the village felt alive again, as though their shared presence could breathe some semblance of life back into its skeletal frame. Despite her youth and isolation, she made the most of what he brought, displaying a resourcefulness that both impressed and reassured him. She was strong, stronger than most, even if she didn't fully realize it yet.
But now, Gren faced a dilemma that made the desert winds feel heavier than usual. With his recent promotion and the full license that came with it, his responsibilities as a Hunter were about to intensify. The missions would grow longer, more dangerous, and leave him with little room for the frequent visits she had come to expect. It was a change he had been dreading to share with her, knowing how much his presence meant in her solitary existence.
He hoped to convince her to leave Batabitajira behind and join him in Myce City, where she could live with him permanently. It wasn't an easy proposition—she was stubborn, fiercely attached to the home that held so many memories. Gren had wracked his brain for ways to persuade her, only to keep circling back to the one thing she had confided in him countless times over the years.
Her dream.
Ever since she was little, she had looked up to him with awe, her eyes wide with admiration as she listened to his stories of daring hunts and impossible odds. She had always wanted to be like "big brother," to walk in his footsteps and carve her own path as a Hunter. It was an ambition she had voiced in excited whispers, yet he had never taken her seriously—until now. If leaving Batabitajira meant following him into the life she idolized, it might be enough to draw her away from the fading ghost of their village.
But Gren knew what that promise entailed. It wasn't just an offer of escape; it was a commitment to train her, guide her, and protect her as she stepped into a world he knew was as perilous as it was thrilling. The thought weighed on him like the desert heat, but if it meant keeping her safe and giving her a future, it was a burden he was willing to carry.
As Gren glanced through his tinted goggles and over his shoulder at the large, flat box sitting securely in the seat behind him, a flicker of reassurance washed over him. The gift, wrapped in ornate blue paper with white trim, was tied down firmly to keep it from being lost to the swirling sands. It wasn't just any gift—it symbolized so much more, both for her and for him. He knew the contents of that box would mark a turning point, one that carried the weight of their bond and his promise.
As the Kreper roared across the desert, Gren's mind wandered. He thought of his new role as a licensed Hunter and the dangerous yet exhilarating missions it would entail. Questions about Ouspi, oddly enough, also nagged at him. Why had Ouspi taken on a seemingly mundane task more suited for scientists? Gren wasn't one to question orders, but it struck him as unusual. Then there was Kazon, the enigmatic young man who kept everyone, even Gren, at arm's length. Despite his efforts to connect, Kazon's walls remained firmly intact.
But these musings were fleeting, pushed aside by the one thing that dominated Gren's thoughts: Bob's words at the bar the night before.
"So," Bob had said with a smirk, "you're saying she's going to end up just as nuts as you are?"
Gren couldn't deny the truth of those words, but they didn't shake his belief in her potential. Bob, ever the pragmatic mentor, had promised to pull some strings, to give her a chance. Now it was up to Gren to hold up his end of the bargain. To teach her. To lead her. To believe in her.
The thought made him smile beneath his respirator, a quiet expression of pride and determination.
With practiced ease, Gren tapped a series of buttons and toggled a few switches. Gripping the lever firmly, he pushed it forward, sending the Kreper into a burst of acceleration. The engine's hum deepened, and the dunes blurred into streaks of golden sand as he sped toward his destination.
After what felt like an eternity navigating the blinding storm, the path ahead began to clear. The air grew calmer, the swirling dust settling at last. Gren seized the moment, ripping off his suffocating respirator and tossing it into the backseat. He inhaled deeply, letting the dry desert air fill his lungs. The familiar, gritty scent brought back memories of his youth—of simpler, freer times in Batabitajira.
Exhaling slowly, he leaned forward, peering over the vehicle's canopy.
On the horizon, the first hints of a settlement came into view—an oasis of towering Kajakunban trees, their indestructible trunks rising like ancient sentinels, interspersed with mesas and craggy outcroppings.
Home, he thought, a flicker of nostalgia rising in his chest. Pushing the throttle forward, Gren urged the Kreper onward, speeding toward the familiar sight.
The cluster of adobe-like buildings perched on the hillside came into view, their earthen tones blending into the rocky terrain. They seemed to cling to the crags as if nature herself had built them. Nearby, to the east, the ruins of small industrial structures loomed in the twilight. Time had not been kind to them—their walls, battered by unrelenting sandstorms, stood as fragile skeletons, threatening to collapse entirely with each passing visit he had made over the years.
Gren expertly maneuvered the Kreper around a barricade of Kajakunban leaves that encircled the village's perimeter—a blockade he himself had helped construct years ago alongside the former villagers.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the only light emanating from the township came from a modest line of adobe buildings scattered along the outskirts. Perched on a flat crag overlooking the rest of the village, their warm glow contrasted against the shadowed ruins of the settlement below.
Gren guided his Kreper to a halt at the base of the hill, letting out a long sigh as he powered down the repulsors. Unbuckling himself, he leapt out of the craft, boots landing firmly on the dusty earth. With a quick, deft slap to a panel on the vehicle's side, the Kreper's bulbous, spindle-like motors hummed to life, adjusting with mechanical precision until the vehicle tilted upright behind him.
He checked to ensure the box he'd brought hadn't been dislodged during the transition. Thankfully, it remained secure. Not yet, he thought. It wasn't time for the surprise.
Stretching slightly to work out the stiffness from his long journey, Gren straightened his posture. A sudden sound pierced the stillness of the settlement—a door swinging open. His attention snapped upward toward the source, where faint light spilled out from the second level of one of the adobe dwellings.
A young girl burst through the doorway, petite in frame and brimming with energy. Her wild mane of reddish-brown hair seemed to cascade around her soft face as she skid to a halt with her hands gripping the rail that protected the edge of the drop. Her bone-tinted hairbeads, made from materials she had scavenged in Batabitajira—accessories she refused to take off, even as a girl, in her never-ending pursuit and desire to be just like her big brother—clattered as she abruptly came to a stop. Her breath hitched in anticipation as her wide eyes locked onto Gren below, glowing with unconstrained excitement.
"Well?!" she called out across the distance, her voice trembling with eagerness.
Gren looked up at her, his face breaking into a warm smile. Without saying a word, he reached into the folds of his blue cloak and retrieved the small blue box. With a playful flourish, he spun it around his gloved fingers as if offering a tribute to an empress.
Even across the gulf between them, Gren could see her eyes widen even further, her expression lighting up like a flame. A radiant smile spread across her face, brimming with joy.
"You did it!" Iria's ecstatic scream echoed through the empty settlement, ringing out like a haunting cry in the still air.
Gren barely had time to react as she suddenly vaulted over the railing, her small frame plunging toward the roof of the level below with reckless abandon. His eyes widened in shock, and he nearly dropped the box in his hands in his startled attempt to steady it.
"Wait!" he shouted, his voice laced with alarm as he instinctively took a few large steps toward her. "Iria!"
But it was already too late.
Iria, clad in her loose-fitting blue-and-white pajamas trimmed with ornate gold accents—the set he had brought her during his last visit—moved with fluid precision. She leapt effortlessly across the rooftop, her bare feet gliding over the small chimneys and awnings as if they were a natural extension of the ground beneath her. The carefree confidence of her movements left Gren somewhere between exasperation and awe.
At the roof's edge, she didn't hesitate. Iria launched herself into the air, twisting into a mid-flight tuck before landing in a deft roll on the dusty ground below. The impact sent a small plume of dust into the air, but she didn't slow for a second. In one seamless motion, she sprang to her feet and sprinted directly toward Gren.
Before he could react, she flung herself into his arms with an exuberant burst of energy, nearly knocking him off balance.
"You did it!" she cried out again into his chest, her voice filled with uncontainable joy as she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.
Gren froze for a moment, the tension from the long journey dissolving as her fierce embrace pressed against him. He let out a soft laugh, unable to hide his smile. Somehow, Iria's sheer force of will had managed to ease away the weight he hadn't realized he was carrying—even if only for a fleeting moment.
Gren chuckled softly, resting a hand on her head and giving her hair a playful ruffle as he pulled her into a warm hug. "Nice to see you too, Iria." He shrugged a bit, still awestruck by her nimble demonstration. "I see you've been practicing. Without me," he paused. "...like I told you not to do."
Iria tilted her head back to look up at him, her deep brown eyes sparkling with joy and a wide grin plastered across her face. She still refused to let go, her arms clinging tightly around his waist. Being only fourteen, she stood a good foot and a half shorter than him, but her energy more than made up for the difference in height.
"That's not important," she violently shook her head and quickly dismissed his scolding. "Does this mean you're fully licensed now? No more rules?" she asked, her voice bubbling with excitement.
Gren couldn't help but smile at her youthful enthusiasm. "There are rules for everyone, you know. Even Hunters."
"What about me?" Iria teased with a giggle, practically bouncing as she momentarily loosened her grip on him, looking up at him with expectancy. "Does this mean I get to be your apprentice now?"
Gren laughed again, his tone light but affectionate as he brushed some of the dust off her hair and her back. He draped an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the staircase. "We'll talk about that later, kid. For now, let's just relax, and take the stairs this time, okay?"
"Fine…" Iria replied, feigning reluctance with a dramatic sigh. But her cheerful spirit quickly returned as they started climbing the stairs. "Are you hungry from the trip?"
"You bet," Gren answered, flashing her a soft, appreciative smile.
The pair made their way back up to their home—Gren's old home. As they ascended, their conversation flowed easily, catching up on everything that had happened since their last meeting.
Gren recounted his most recent adventures, spinning tales of contracts fulfilled and criminals chased, each story more colorful than the last. Iria listened with rapt attention, her eyes wide with awe as he described the moment he received his summons to report to Administration.
In turn, Iria shared her own stories of life in the quiet, desolate village during his absence. She told him how the supplies had held up and admitted, with a cheeky grin, that she had set up a makeshift shooting gallery in the town square using Kajakunban plants—despite Gren's strict instructions not to.
Together, they set the small table after moving around a few lamps and candles to give them enough light, laughing as they worked and enjoyed the meal Iria had been preparing in anticipation of Gren's arrival. She confessed that she had been cooking a little extra each evening for the past few days, never knowing exactly when he'd show up. The food was… peculiar, to say the least. As it always was. Iria had often joked with him about her strange preferences, the unusual fauna that she would trap locally and prepare how she managed to find things she liked in the most unusual of combinations. Gren had always mused of the girl that when you grow up in a tough place like this, your taste buds just have to be tougher. But as Iria would always reply with a shrug, she just eats what she eats. But Gren typically had the draw the line with the weird bugs, despite their supposed nutritional… value.
Gren's stomach tightened when she casually mentioned raiders still stopping by now and then, unaware the town had long since been picked clean. Yet, as Iria spoke of clear nights spent under the stars, mapping constellations and dreaming of far-off systems she longed to visit, he felt a deep warmth bloom within him.
The time they had spent apart, as vast as it had felt, seemed to vanish in the space of an evening as they reconnected over shared stories and quiet moments of companionship.
"So, how are things in the city? Anything else exciting happen?" Iria asked, shuffling a few items on the small table in front of Gren to make more room.
Gren sat backward in his chair, his chin resting lazily on his folded arms draped over the backrest. He shrugged nonchalantly, waving her off with a casual waft of his hand.
"Not much, really," he replied. "Things have been kinda slow lately. Bob hasn't come across any good offers he thinks are worth my time. A Hunter and his apprentice headed out yesterday, but as far as I know, they're the first team to take a job all week."
Iria paused mid-motion, arching a brow at him. "Slow? In Myce? That doesn't sound right."
Gren chuckled softly. "Yeah, well, it happens. Even the city isn't immune to a dry spell. Everyone's probably just holding their breath for something big."
She leaned her hip against the table, crossing her arms as she studied him. "And you're okay with just sitting around, waiting for something to happen? That doesn't sound like the Gren I know."
"Yeah," Gren said with a sly smirk, casting a mockingly dramatic glance out the nearby window at the desolate village she called home. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Iria rolled her eyes, her playful scoff breaking the momentary lull. She wrinkled her nose, glancing back over her shoulder as she moved to the open stove. "Well, it sounds pretty boring to me."
Gren chuckled softly, his gaze following her as she stirred the pot with a ladle, the soft glow of the stove's light catching her features. Despite the sparse surroundings, her energy filled the room with a vibrance he'd nearly forgotten during his time in the city.
"Yeah, pretty boring," he teased, his tone laced like a jester. "Which is exactly one of the reasons I came back so soon."
Iria paused mid-stir, turning her head slightly toward him. Her lips curled in a curious smile, her eyes narrowing as though trying to read the unspoken thoughts behind his words. "Oh? And what's the other reason?"
Gren leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands again, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. "I don't know" he said, his voice carrying a note of mystery.
She raised an eyebrow, returning her attention to the pot with an exaggerated sigh. "You always do this, you know? Coming back here with your cryptic talk. One of these days, you're going to slip up and spoil the surprise early."
"Not today, though," Gren quipped, leaning back with an air of confidence. "I think you've already got this one locked down..."
Iria froze for a moment as Gren's voice trailed, her stirring slowing as she looked over at him, her brown eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation. Gren hesitated briefly, knowing full well that she'd already guessed what he was about to say. Still, he felt the need to say it aloud anyway.
"I want you to come back to Myce with me this time," he said finally, his voice steady but warm. "Bob said he might be able to pull some strings with Administration, and—"
He didn't get a chance to finish. The crash of the large metal spoon hit the floor before he could finish his thought. And before those thoughts could be turned into words, Iria was already charging toward him. With a squeal of excitement, she threw her arms around him again, nearly knocking him and the chair backward in her ebullience.
"You mean they're really going to let you train me?" Iria's big brown eyes locked onto Gren's, glistening with the beginnings of tears. "For real this time?!"
Gren smiled gently, shaking his head slightly. "It's not official yet... but I want you to come back to the city with me the day after tomorrow when I head back." He paused, his gaze drifting briefly toward the window, where the faint silhouette of the village rested under the deepening night sky. "Tomorrow, we'll take the day for ourselves—pack up some of your things, and…" His voice softened, and he let out a shaky breath. "...say goodbye to this place."
His lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile as his eyes glistened. "We'll make sure it knows it's not forgotten, even if it's time for us to move on." He swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. "And then... the next morning, we head out."
Iria's breath caught as she gasped, her eyes widening in astonished delight. The shock melted into a radiant smile as she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. She buried her face into his chest, her cheek nuzzling against the soft fabric of his white bodysuit—the one he always wore beneath his armor, which he'd thankfully set aside before dinner. She said nothing, just let out a few muffled sniffles that spoke louder than any words could.
Gren hesitated, savoring the moment but knowing he couldn't let it linger without sharing the full truth. "Iria," he began softly, his voice tinged with reluctance, "there's something you need to know."
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and concern. A single tear rolled down her cheek, though Gren couldn't tell if it was one of joy or a dawning realization of reality. Her face, usually so full of energy, now held a fragile determination that pulled at his heart.
"Administration won't let me train you right away," he admitted, his voice low and steady, trying not to shatter the hopeful atmosphere entirely.
Iria's expression faltered, her smile fading just a bit as she processed his words. Her shoulders slumped slightly, but her resolve was still there, shining through her soft features. She exhaled a quiet sigh and nodded, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It's too soon, isn't it?" she murmured, her tone tinged with both resignation and determination.
"Yeah, sis," Gren said softly, nodding with a solemn expression. "It's against the regs'. I know what I promised you, and I hate that I can't give you exactly what you deserve—what you've waited for." He reached out, his gloved hand gently wiping away the tear trailing down her cheek, his touch warm with affection.
"But listen to me," he continued, his tone firm yet kind. "You will be an apprentice." His gaze locked with hers, unwavering. "Bob's going to watch over you for a bit. He's one of the best—honestly, he's probably a better teacher than I could ever be." He chuckled lightly, the sound a faint relief against the tension. "But that doesn't mean I'm stepping away. I'll still be there with you, letting you watch, teaching you what I can. Guiding you through every step. Even if it's not official at first, I'll always be right there. You've got my word on that."
He took a breath, the weight of his next words pressing against him. "I know what this place means to you, Iria. I know that as much as you want to come with me—and as empty as this place is now—leaving it is still going to hurt." He rested his hands gently on her narrow shoulders, his grip steady yet tender against her growing apprehension he could feel from her bearings. "This is your home. It's our home. And I know saying goodbye to it will feel like leaving a piece of yourself behind."
His voice softened, and for a moment, he struggled against the emotions welling in his chest. "It's not exactly like I promised, and it's not an easy choice. So, I'm leaving it up to you. This is your call."
He swallowed hard, his voice catching slightly as he concluded, "But I want you with me. I need my sister with me. Because without you... what kind of brother would I even be?"
Iria took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She sniffled, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her face, embarrassed by the tears.
"You know I don't like it when you see me cry," she muttered, her voice small as she avoided the question he'd asked.
Gren chuckled softly, a playful edge in his tone. "I've been watching you cry for years, kid. What's one more tear? Or two? Or eight?"
Iria couldn't help but laugh, the sound bittersweet but full of warmth. The sadness in her expression melted away under Gren's lighthearted teasing. She pulled back from him, gently stepping away from his grasp. Moving to the small counter beneath the window Gren had gazed through earlier, she pushed aside his armor and long, billowing cloak, revealing the small blue box tucked beneath them. Clutching the box to her chest, she turned and silently approached her big brother again—only the infinitesimal clinking of her hairbeads and the flicker of the nearby flames breaking the silence.
With a soft click, she opened the clasp, lifting the lid to reveal the pendant inside. Gren watched as her eyes traced its shape, the smile that slowly spread across her face lighting up the room better than any of their makeshift lamps ever could. She ran her delicate fingers over the number embroidered beneath its resting place, taking in every detail with quiet admiration.
Carefully, she lifted the necklace from its box, setting the container aside on the table next to their flickering candlelight. The long chain fell from her fingers, catching the soft glow of the flame. She beamed, filled with pride, before turning back to Gren. With a gentle pull, she unclasped the thin chain and, with both hands, draped it over his head, her fingers brushing through his greenish hair. She fastened the clasp with her nimble fingers, adjusting the necklace so it rested perfectly against his chest.
Stepping back, she surveyed the pendant. Finally. She met his gaze, her eyes shining, before leaning into him once more, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
There were no words needed. Gren could feel the certainty in her embrace, the silent message clear: she had made up her mind.
And all of his promises had been fulfilled.
"You're the best, big brother," she murmured happily, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.
A tender smile crossed Gren's lips as he rested a hand on her head. For a fleeting moment, however, doubt crept into his mind. His conversation with Bob echoed in his thoughts, bringing up more questions and concerns than he'd expected. Iria was so young—she had never even seen a place like Myce. And Myce... well, it was no ordinary city. Could she handle it? She had the determination, no question about that, but did she have the patience? The doubts grew louder, but there was something else gnawing at him, too—a feeling he couldn't quite place.
He wasn't sure why, but a deep, unshakable feeling tugged at him—something bad was happening, somewhere far away. It wasn't about Iria or the life they were about to build in Myce. No, this felt different. The kind of feeling you get when you know something's wrong, but you can't pinpoint where or how. He could almost sense it, a growing tension in the air, like the world was holding its breath. Or maybe it was just him and his own apprehensions. He couldn't tell…
But no. He couldn't let it take hold of him. Not now. Not for Iria. He forced a smile, looking down at her with warmth in his eyes, trying to push the foreboding feeling away.
He gently pulled back from the embrace, his voice steady despite the unease still lingering in his chest. "Go check the back seat of the Kreper," he said, his smile returning. "I brought you something…"
The rest of the night was a whirlwind. The mere mention of a gift sent the once-teary teen into a frenzy, rushing out the front door with an enthusiasm that could only be described as contagious. Thankfully, this time—unlike her now usual spontaneous leaps—she used the stairs. By the time Gren had casually made his way outside and reached the top of the steps, Iria was already scaling the hull of the Kreper, eagerly pulling the large gift box free from its bindings.
Gren's mind raced as she tore into the present right there by the Kreper, squealing in excitement when she saw its contents. Although later, she admitted that she'd already had a few ideas of what might be inside. She was right. Inside the box was a Ghomvack training cuirass, the pristine white of the armor gleaming under the dim light of the moon, accompanied by a navy blue body-suit to wear underneath and tall white boots that reached well above her knees. They spent the next while discussing the purpose of each piece—the protection it offered, the function of the modular framework that could be updated to her specifications down the line. Gren tried to temper her excitement, though it was a losing battle. Her mind raced with endless possibilities, and no matter how many times he tried to reign it in, she was already miles ahead.
As they made their way back inside their humble home, Iria couldn't contain her excitement any longer and disappeared to her room to try everything on. Gren took the quiet time to clean up the dinner mess, using the opportunity to mentally prepare for the journey ahead, deciding what needed to be packed for their move to Iria's new home the day after next.
When Iria finally emerged, her face glowing with pride and excitement, wearing her new armor, all of Gren's planning seemed to fade away in an instant. The sight of her in that gleaming suit, her uncontrollable joy shining through, made everything worth it. It was a moment the feeling of pride that swelled within him as he looked at his little sister, now on the cusp of a new chapter.
Everything seemed to fit, though the cuirass would likely need a few adjustments in the future—it was a bit bulky for her small frame. But for now, it was functional, and nothing that couldn't be worked on as she grew into it. They spent the rest of the night talking about little things—the idea of Gren's home in Myce, where she would stay, the adjustments she'd have to make. Gren regaled her with stories about Bob, painting a picture of his former mentor's stoic nature. They laughed about the things that made Bob, well, Bob, as they settled into the couch. Iria, still too enamored with her new gear, didn't give him her full attention, but Gren didn't mind. In fact, he relished the moment. It was rare that they could just relax and be together like this. Not since he left for Myce years ago…
As the night dragged on, despite Gren's repeated warnings that she didn't need to sleep in her new armor, Iria eventually wore herself out. She fought sleep for as long as she could, her head eventually drifting onto Gren's shoulder. She refused to take the armor off, too proud of it, but the exhaustion took its toll. Gren smiled softly, carefully lifting her off his shoulder and laying her gently down on the couch. He draped a nearby throw blanket over her, shielding her from the cold desert air that crept in through the open window.
Taking a deep breath, Gren stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over him. The small village was quiet, its only light coming from the billions of stars that filled the sky above. For a moment, he was lost in the vastness of the night, surrounded by memories from his youth here. He thought of playing with Iria and the other children who once roamed the town, friends whose names had long since slipped from his memory, buried under time and the weight of repression. His gaze drifted toward the factory buildings in the distance, the ones that had drained the town of its resources. That's when things had started to go downhill, when the drought hit hard, and a certain upstart corporation based in Myce had taken over. That's when people started getting sick….
The bad memories crept into his mind, stubborn and sharp, but it wasn't just that. The sinking feeling from earlier returned, gnawing at him. Something was wrong. He couldn't shake the sense that something bad was brewing out there, somewhere. If it wasn't Bob's warnings about Iria's uncertain future or his own lingering doubts about the life they were heading toward, perhaps it was something else entirely. Gren's gaze returned to the looming shadow of the factories on the horizon, their skeletal structures etched against the starlit sky. His thoughts wandered to a place he hadn't expected: Ouspi, Kazon—a planet as desolate and barren as this desert had become. Those names stirred memories of corporate expansion cloaked in promises of progress. Places like these towns, once filled with hope, now left hollow by greed and the ravages of exploitation.
Gren couldn't help but recall his conversations with Bob, the truths they danced around. The Hunters, bound by duty but often tethered to corporate contracts, couldn't claim clean hands. Like he'd told Bob the day before, no one was truly innocent, not when bureaucracy and jargon masked the devastation corporations like Tedan Tippedai left in their wake. Ouspi, Kazon… his parents. Iria's parents. Countless other places had suffered the same fate, their potential squandered under the guise of progress, much like this village.
His thoughts circled back to the same haunting question: Was she ready for this life? Was he?
Gren stood under that vast, oppressive sky for what felt like hours, his mind swirling with uncertainties. There were no answers to be found, just the cold truth that he didn't know if either of them could truly prepare for what lay ahead. With a sigh, he eventually turned and stepped back inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The faint creak of the old hinges echoed in the stillness of their home.
The next morning brought an entirely different sort of chaos. Gone were the solemn ruminations of the night before, replaced by a whirlwind of activity as Gren and Iria rushed to pack everything they'd need for the journey back to Myce. Iria's energy was infectious, her excitement bubbling over as she darted from room to room. Yet, for every item she picked up to pack, she'd pause to recount a memory tied to it, her laughter and stories filling the small home with life.
Gren couldn't help but smile, though he often had to redirect her focus. "Alright, kid, less reminiscing, more packing," he'd chide gently, only for her to gleefully dive into another memory a moment later.
He was reluctant, of course. This place, for all its hardships, had been their home. But as he watched Iria, her joy in reliving the little moments they'd shared here, Gren felt a quiet firmness of purpose settle within him. Leaving this place wasn't about erasing it—it was about carrying its spirit forward, ensuring Iria remembered it fondly. The memories, even the trivial ones, were what made this home special.
Gren wasn't immune to the need for a break either. Around midday, their frenzied pace of packing—a pace that left Iria drained more quickly than usual as she was still adjusting to her new armor—finally gave way to a few moments to unwind. They took turns pointing out the occasional wildlife that wandered through the streets ahead. Gren even demonstrated a few tricks to Iria for piloting the Kreper efficiently, and despite her persistent prodding to take the controls herself, he managed to dodge the topic, much to her visible disappointment.
Lunch came in the form of reheated leftovers from the night before. The taste still didn't meet Gren's standards. Iria, with a wry smile, reminded him once again: "You eat what you eat around here."
Later, as they made one of their final rounds through the village, foraging for anything useful to bring back, they wandered into the open plain that had once served as the old town center. The area was now surrounded by the seemingly indestructible Kajakunban plants Iria had planted weeks before to help with training. Gren paused, carefully inspecting the handiwork he had thought he'd forbidden her to do before his last departure. He couldn't help but note a few adjustments he would make, though he still admired the thought and effort she had poured into it.
As they made one of their final rounds around the village, foraging for what they could to bring back with them they happened into the once open plain of the old town center, surrounded by seeming indestructible Kajakunban plants Iria had placed weeks before for training. Gren took a moment to inspect the handiwork he had thought he forbade before he left the last time, remarking a few changes, here or there that he would make while still admiring her the thought she had put into it.
"It was for when you got back," Iria admitted sheepishly as she plopped onto the ground, gasping for air under the heat and the constriction of her new chest plate. "I wanted to surprise you, so you can't be mad at me."
Gren laughed softly as he adjusted his own body armor, his eyes falling to the small area in the dirt she'd marked for shooting practice. He nudged it with the toe of his boot, digging a shallow foothold in its center.
"Oh, I can be mad at you," he replied with a teasing chuckle, his voice laced with mock warning. "Because if you disobey Bob the way you do me, we're all in for a long ride."
Iria leaned back on her palms, tossing her head to fling the damp strands of sweat-soaked hair away from her face. Beads of perspiration sprayed as she let out an exaggerated sigh. "Look," she said between deep breaths, "I'm just mad I put in all that work for nothing, okay? Cut me a break."
Gren shrugged coyly, his arms outstretched as he watched her struggle to catch her breath. A sly grin spread across his face.
"...really?"
In one fluid motion, Gren pivoted on his heel, drawing his sidearm with practiced speed. Before Iria could react, he fired two successive bursts. The pistol's sharp cracks echoed as two nearby stalks of the Kajakunban plants toppled, their broad, dome-like leaves crashing to the ground.
Iria shot upright, the fatigue momentarily forgotten as she gawked in amazement. Gren knew it wasn't just his speed that stunned her—it was the fact that her brother was actually using the range she had set up.
Sensing her newfound excitement, Gren shifted his stance and fired again. This time, he aimed for the farther stalks, alternating between one-handed and two-handed grips. He adjusted his aim, targeting the stems' bases and just below their caps, all while transitioning smoothly between standing and crouching positions. His movements stayed perfectly confined to the improvised boundary she had laid out.
Iria's awe deepened with every shot. For the first time, her makeshift training ground didn't feel like a waste.
...but, as Gren continued his target practice, he noticed the spark of excitement in Iria's expression eventually begin to fade. Her chin now rested in her palms atop her crossed legs, her face betraying a hint of disdain. She grew fairly blasé to say the least, but Gren could still feel her sharp eyes following his every move. The way he held the revolver, the kick back, his stance, the quick and practiced reloads—she was absorbing every detail, even if she didn't look as thrilled as she had before.
Gren smiled to himself as he fired a few more shots, the bullets slicing through stems and sending the Kajakunban leaves tumbling to the ground.
"Gren..." Iria groaned softly after a few more minutes, her tone tinged with that frustration finally brimming over. "This is awesome and all, but you're the one who said we had stuff to do." She huffed, her scowl deepening with impatience. "If you're just going to shoot weeds all day, maybe you could actually teach me something, you know?"
Gren chuckled, his voice playful but edged with a hint of teasing derision. "This is a learning experience," he said, firing another shot. "Besides, I can't train you, remember?"
Iria's jaw dropped, her hands balling into fists as she pounded the ground, sending up little clouds of dust. "Seriously, Gren?" she snapped, gesturing wide-armed to the quiet village surrounding them. "I don't think anyone's going to notice!"
Gren lowered his aim and laughed heartily. "I would notice," he said, ejecting the spent clip from his revolver with a smooth flick of the wrist. The metal barrel shimmered faintly with heat as he shook it off and tucked the empty clip into a pouch at his hip. Reaching into another pocket, he retrieved a fresh one.
"Besides," he continued, sliding the new clip into place and snapping the barrel back into position with practiced ease, "I don't think you're ready for a gun just yet."
"Says who?!" Iria shot back with a low growl, her voice sharp with indignation, her brow furrowed in challenge.
Gren smirked coyly, spinning the revolver once around his finger before letting it dangle just in front of her face. His tone was calm but laced with mischief.
"Says me." He arched a brow, his grin widening. "Care to prove me wrong?"
"You're on!" Iria leapt to her feet, practically snatching the gun from Gren's outstretched hand as she rushed to his side.
Gren chuckled, though he couldn't help but feel a flicker of concern at her eagerness. "Be careful, please?" he said, his voice tinged with both amusement and caution.
Her excitement was palpable as she examined the weapon with wide eyes, turning it over in her hands. Gren took a few steps back, watching her closely. Despite his grin, that familiar look of uncertainty crept into his gaze—the same one that had haunted him the night before. Was this the right choice? He didn't know. But seeing her so anxious to learn softened his doubts, at least for now.
Iria raised the gun to eye level, her movements a bit clumsy as she tried to mimic what she'd just seen from Gren. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she closed one eye and pointed the barrel at a tall Kajakunban stem.
"Like this?" she asked, her voice tentative but determined.
Gren blinked away his doubts and stepped closer, shaking off the black cloud of uncertainty in his mind. "Pull your elbow in a little more," he said gently.
As he spoke, he reached out and adjusted her arm, placing a steady hand on her forearm to guide her into the right position. "...That's it," he said with a small nod of approval, his voice softening with pride.
Iria's grip steadied, her confidence growing under his guidance.
Iria gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance one final time before pulling the trigger. The shot cracked through the air, the bullet slicing cleanly through the stem of the Kajakunban she'd targeted. The pistol jolted in her hands—a sharper recoil than she had expected—but the sight of the massive leaf crashing to the ground filled her with newfound confidence.
Without hesitation, she aimed at another plant nearby. Her hands steadied, and she repeated the motion, firing another shot that toppled the next towering stem.
Gren watched in quiet astonishment, his eyebrows raising slightly as the plants fell one after the other. A low whistle of approval escaped his lips, his surprise evident.
Iria lowered the gun with a cocky grin, her chest swelling with satisfaction and her exaggerated chuckle oozing with confidence.
Gren shook his head in amused disbelief. "Are you sure this is your first time?" he teased, glancing between the decapitated plants and their assailant, whose smile only grew wider with his veiled complement.
"I'm Hunter Gren's little sister!" Iria declared, her voice bright with triumph. "I'm a natural!"
She spun back toward the plants, raising the gun once more and squinting down the sights, her focus sharp. "Now watch this!" she said, her excitement bubbling over as she prepared for her next shot.
Iria fired the weapon again, but this time her overconfidence got the better of her. The bullet ricocheted off the hard-as-rock surface of a Kajakunban leaf with a sharp clang and careened into another, leaving a caroming trail of chaos within the patch of plants. The loud, unexpected sounds startled her, and she stumbled back, landing in a heap on the ground.
Gren smirked, shaking his head as he placed a hand on his hip. He leaned in closer to her and spoke with a teasing lilt. "Don't go telling people you're my sister when we're outside of town, okay?"
Iria groaned softly, sitting up and crossing her legs, her hands resting in her lap. "Oh man... those Kajakunban leaves are indestructible," she muttered, her timbre dripping with regret.
The young Hunter chuckled, shrugging his shoulders casually. "Well, you did prove me wrong... sort of."
"Sort of?" Iria exclaimed, scrambling to her feet in another cloud of dust. She brandished the revolver in her fist, her voice rising as she staked her claim. "You saw it! I took down two of those things by myself!"
Gren arched, though his his expression calm. "Easy, sis'..." he said gently, carefully reaching out to her gun arm. With a steady hand, he guided the barrel downward until it pointed safely at the ground. Her eyes followed his hand, and her face flushed with embarrassment as she realized her temper had gotten the better of her...again. Yet Gren, ever patient, continued to teach.
"But here's the deal," he began, recalling an old lesson from Bob that had stuck with him through the years. "You felt the power, for sure. But not precision." He moved his hand back to rest upon his hip. "If that last shot was the one that meant life or death? You'd have been screwed, kid."
"They're leaves!" Iria shot back, her temper reigniting as she planted her fists on her hips, one still clutching the gun. Her frustration only made Gren laugh harder.
Shaking his head, Gren reached over and playfully ruffled her hair, mussing up the thick strands and scattering her beads. Normally, she'd accept the gesture, but this time she tried to dodge his hand before bursting into laughter herself. Gren seized the moment to grab her in a gentle headlock, steering her back toward their work as she squirmed playfully.
"You did alright for your first try…" he said, messing up her hair a little more for good measure.
"Just alright?" Iria countered, wriggling in his grip but unable to keep the grin off her face.
"We'll work on it," Gren shrugged, his grip unrelenting. "I mean, you got beat by leaf." He laughed as she could feel and hear her scoff under his arm. "Your words, sis', not mine—"
Before Gren could finish his thought, a sharp pain jabbed into his side as Iria's elbow drove into his oblique. The force of the strike was enough to loosen his grip on her, and she slipped away with a sly, toothy grin. Tossing the gun back toward him, she took off ahead, her laughter ringing in the air.
Gren's eyes widened in surprise, and in a split second, he debated dodging the wayward revolver hurdling in his direction. But just as quickly, he made a last-second decision to catch it.
"What the hell are you—" he started, his voice laced with annoyance.
"The safety's on," Iria called out, her tone mockingly playful. Gren glanced down at the gun, confirming the safety was indeed engaged, and then slowly, despondently, his eyes lifted to meet the retreating figure of his sister.
"And you didn't even have to teach me that one," she yelled back at him again with a laugh and a wink, her voice ringing with pride. As she backpedaled toward their home, her hand reached up to her hairbeads. In one fluid, confident motion, she snapped them backward with a wild, exaggerated flip—precisely the way Gren always did.
Gren froze for a moment, stunned by her mimicry. The gesture, so quintessentially his, felt both mocking and strangely endearing. It was as if, in that fleeting moment, she was declaring herself his equal—ready to step into her own. He shook his head with a rueful smile, the familiar motion tugging at something deep within him.
This was going to be quite the ride.
"Hunter Iria…" he muttered to himself with a beaming smile across his face, bringing a hand to his left ear. "Here we go…" With a snap of his own, his hairbeads whipped through the air. And with that, he took off after her.
Iria screamed playfully as Gren chased her, their laughter echoing through the desert crags. As they returned to packing the Kreper's storage with their belongings and memories, Gren couldn't help but feel reassured. Despite all his worries and hesitations, he knew one thing for certain—this was the best part of Batabitajira they would carry with them: each other.