Season 1, Chapter 3 - Fractures

The first drops hit the dirt path like pitter patter warnings.

Callum looked up as the sky dimmed, rain coming down in sheets that turned the camp into a mush of movement and cursing. He'd been walking toward the center when it started, and now he stood frozen while everyone else scrambled for cover.

"Great, great, of course it rains today." Iris's voice cut through the downpour, her wings already slick with water as she gestured toward the storage hall.

Rain laughed, spinning in place with arms outstretched. Their ashen hair plastered to their face, but they looked delighted. "Finally! It's been so dry lately..."

"You're insane," Iris muttered, but there was no real heat in it. She grabbed Rain's arm and tugged them toward shelter.

Shew drifted past Callum, poncho already dark with moisture. They seemed unbothered, mismatched eyes calm as they moved with the flow of people. "You coming?"

Callum nodded mutely and followed.

The storage hall sat at the camp's edge, a squat building of dark oak and cobblestone that usually housed their camp resources. Now it was chaos. Chests scraped across the floor as people shoved them against the walls. Barrels rolled, someone cursing when one tipped and spilled gravel across the planks.

"Incoming!" Moss's voice rang out, already taking charge even though he'd looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Found some spare spruce tables!"

Silas appeared beside him with the furniture, dragging it toward the middle of the room. His obsidian skin slick with rain, and together they positioned it in the center. Others brought benches, mismatched chairs, whatever would hold a body.

Callum pressed against the wall as people filed in, shaking off water like wet dogs. The air grew thick with humidity and body heat, the storm hammering against the roof overhead. There were flashes of thunder strikes igniting nearby trees, only to be doused by the downpour.

Iris perched on a barrel near the door, wings tucked tight, her red scarf dark and heavy. Rain settled near the back, looking like they wanted to disappear into the floorboards. Flint hadn't arrived yet, and neither had Nyla.

The room buzzed with anxious energy, voices overlapping as people found seats. Callum found a spot near the edge, far enough to observe but close enough to hear. His shirt clung to his skin, cold and uncomfortable, but he barely noticed.

Rain stood near the window, watching the downpour with that same peaceful expression, while Shew had already claimed a corner, sitting cross-legged with their poncho pooled around them.

The meeting hadn't even started, and already Callum felt the weight of it pressing down on his chest.

* * * The stained glass panes of Flint's house blurred the world into muted colors, rain streaking down in rivers that obscured what little sunlight broke through the clouds. Inside, the air was warm. Too warm. The heat was radiating from Flint himself as he moved between chests with tunnel visioned focus.

"Two swords, three axes, four bows... zero arrows..." He muttered to himself, pulling items out and setting them on the table with rough movements. His hands glowed faintly orange at the edges, embers dancing across his knuckles when he gripped something too tightly.

The house reflected its owner: fortified, practical, defensive. Stone brick walls, iron doors, narrow windows. A place built to withstand, not to welcome guests.

Purple smoke swirled behind him, and Nyla materialized with a soft sound, brushing rain from her arms like it burned. Her tall frame hunched slightly, glowing eyes dim with worry.

"Do we have to go?" Her voice was small, hopeful that the answer might be no.

Flint didn't look up. "Yes."

"But..." Nyla fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. "Maybe if we just stay here, it'll blow over? Maybe they won't even need us."

That made Flint stop. He turned to face her, and the embers in his eyes flared brighter. "Nyla. That's exactly why we have to go. Because people like you think hiding will make it better.

She flinched.

He exhaled sharply, heat rippling the air around him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." He crossed to her, putting both hands on her shoulders. "I'm not letting anything happen to you. That's why we're going. That's why I need to make sure we have a plan."

Nyla looked down at him, her height making the protective gesture almost comical if it weren't so earnest. "I know. I just... I don't like this."

"Neither do I," Flint lied. Or maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe he was just so used to fighting that he'd forgotten what not liking it felt like. "You just don't get a choice sometimes."

She nodded slowly, trusting him as she always did. "Okay."

He squeezed her shoulders once, then turned back to his preparations. Nyla watched him move, efficient and intense, and said nothing more. She didn't need to. Her presence was agreement enough.

When they finally left, Flint checked the perimeter three times, eyes scanning the treeline for movement that wasn't there. Only then did he allow them to walk toward the storage hall, Nyla's hand ghosting near his shoulder, ready to teleport them both if danger appeared.

The rain picked up.

* * * Wren stood under the awning outside the storage hall, watching people file in with expressions ranging from confused to terrified. She'd tried to go inside three times now and failed each time, her feet refusing to cooperate.

"Maybe the rain will wash away everyone's anger," she said, not quite looking at Toni. "Or drown us all. Either works, really."

Toni grinned despite himself. "That'd be terrible! We just got this place set up."

"Right, right. Very inconvenient timing for a flood." Wren adjusted her glasses, which were spotted with rain. "Would really put a damper on the whole 'community' thing.

"Mom."

"What?"

Toni's expression shifted, losing the comedic edge. "You're stalling."

Wren opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. Her son knew her too well. "Maybe a little, healthy amount."

"You'll be fine."

"Will I?" She finally looked at him, and something vulnerable crept into her voice. "Toni, I don't... I'm not a leader. I'm the person who puts buckets of milk above doors and calls it enrichment."

"And everyone laughed," Toni pointed out. "Well, I laughed. You're comfortable. They trust you."

"That scares me." Wren wrapped her arms around herself. "What if I say the wrong thing? What if I make it worse? Ugh..."

Toni stepped closer, and despite being shorter than his mother, he somehow made the gesture feel protective. "You'll fix it. You always do!"

Wren stared at him for a long moment, then reached out and ruffled his hair with more force than necessary. He squawked and batted her hand away, smoothing the mess back down with exaggerated offense.

"Rude," he declared.

"I'm your mom. It's my job." But she was smiling now, just a little. "Alright. Let's do this."

They walked in together, and every eye in the room turned toward them. Wren felt the weight of expectation settle on her shoulders like a physical thing, heavy and suffocating. But Toni stayed close, and that helped.

She made her way to the center, near the spruce table, and tried to find something light to say. The room was packed now, bodies filling every available space. Flint and Nyla had arrived, standing near the front with Flint's arms crossed and Nyla hovering behind him. Iris perched like a bird of prey, watching everything. Shew in their corner. Rain by the window. Silas and Moss at the edges. Callum against the wall, looking like he wanted to avoid the limelight.

"So," Wren started, and her voice cracked slightly. She cleared her throat. "Guess we're having a meeting. Very official. Should I have brought a gavel? Does anyone have a gavel?"

Silence.

The rain yawned.

"Right. No gavel. That's... that's fine." The humor died in her throat. She could feel it, the wrongness of trying to be funny when everyone was this tense. "Look, we all know why we're here."

"James," Flint said immediately, his voice cutting through like a blade. "We're here because James burned his house down and disappeared, and now we're all sitting around pretending that's normal."

And just like that, the elephant was out of the room and stomping through the middle of them.

* * * The arguments started almost immediately.

"We need to be ready," Flint continued, stepping forward. Small embers flickered at his temples, orange light dancing across his features. "He's out there somewhere, and we have no idea what he's planning. We can't just wait for him to make the next move."

"So what, we hunt him down?" Shew's voice was quiet but firm. "Make this a manhunt?"

"If that's what it takes." Flint's hands clenched. "He's a threat. You all saw what he did."

"He burned his own house," Iris interjected, her wings shifting restlessly. "Which is weird as hell, I'll give you that... But we don't actually know why." She glanced at Shew, remembering their conversations.

"Does it matter?" Flint shot back. "The result's the same. He's dangerous."

Nyla made a small sound behind him, and several people glanced her way. She seemed to shrink, pressing closer to Flint's back. He reached back without looking, and she gripped his hand.

Rain stepped away from the window, their voice gentle but uncertain. "Maybe... maybe we should try to understand first? Before we do anything?"

"Understand what?" Flint turned toward them, not aggressive but intense. "Rain, he almost burned down the camp. What's there to understand?"

"His reasons," Shew offered. "People don't do things like that without cause."

"Or maybe they do," Iris muttered. "Maybe some people are just bad news."

The room fractured into smaller conversations, people turning to their neighbors with opinions that ranged from fearful to furious. Wren tried to interject, but her voice got lost in the noise.

Near the back, Moss leaned toward Silas. "I don't know who I agree with more."

Silas's multicolored veins pulsed faintly under his skin. "Yeah. Same."

"Like, Flint's not wrong that we should be careful..." Moss continued.

"But Shew's also not wrong that we don't really know anything," Silas finished. They shared a look of mutual uncertainty.

Callum, pressed against his wall, watched it all unfold with growing discomfort. Both sides made sense. That was the problem. Flint's anger came from a place of protection, obvious in the way he kept Nyla close. But Shew and Rain's call for understanding wasn't wrong either. How were they supposed to make decisions without information?

"There are a lot of 'ifs' in everyone's opinions," he said, not meaning to speak aloud.

A few heads turned his way, but just as quickly dismissed the comment. The arguing continued, voices rising.

Only Shew glanced at him and held his gaze, giving a small nod of acknowledgment. At least someone heard him.

Nyla's voice emerged, barely audible. "Maybe... maybe Flint's right that we should be ready." She said it like an apology, and Rain's expression crumbled.

"Nyla?" Rain's hurt was visible.

Nyla couldn't meet their eyes. "I just... what if he comes back? What if he does more?"

Flint's hand tightened on hers, validation and possession in equal measure.

"Alright!" Wren's voice cracked like a whip, and the room fell silent. She stood at the table now, hands planted on its surface, and there was something different in her posture. Less comedian, more commander. "This isn't helping."

Flint opened his mouth, but Wren cut him off with a raised hand.

"No. You've said your piece. Now listen." She took a breath, steadying herself. Toni watched her with something like pride. "Flint, you're right that we need to be careful. We need to protect ourselves and each other. But you guys, we can't just start a war based on one incident we don't understand."

"So what do you suggest?" Flint's tone was challenging but not dismissive.

Wren straightened. "We prepare, but we don't hunt. We can... set up watches, make sure everyone's safe, but we don't go looking for a fight."

"That's not enough," Flint argued.

"It's what we can agree on," Wren countered. "Unless you want to split this camp in half right now?"

Toni stepped up beside her. "Mom's right. If we go off half-cocked, we're just making things worse."

Several people nodded. Others looked less convinced.

Iris's wings flared. "So... just wait for him to strike first? Hope that he doesn't?"

"We wait for information," Wren answered. "We keep our eyes open. We stay together."

"And then what?" Iris pressed.

Wren met her eyes. "Then we'll deal with it when it happens. But I'm not going to let fear tear this place apart before he even tries."

The room was quiet now.

Then someone near the middle spoke up, inaudible as to who it came from. "If he comes back," they said slowly, "we end this."

The words hung in the air, colder than the rain outside.

Callum felt something twist in his chest. The casualness of it. The certainty. End this. End him. As if it were that simple.

The ringing started again, that high-pitched whine that made everything else fade to static. His pulse quickened. The walls felt too close, the room too hot, everyone's voices blending into an indistinct roar of judgment and violence and...

He needed air.

Callum stood abruptly, not caring that several people noticed. He pushed toward the door, toward escape, toward anything but this.

"Callum?" Wren's voice followed him, but he was already outside, rain hitting his face like cold clarity.

He walked, not caring about direction, just needing distance. The storage hall door closed behind him, muffling the voices, and he kept going toward the trees.

Behind him, inside, Wren watched the door with a frown. Toni touched her arm. "Should we....?"

"Let him cool off," she said quietly, though she didn't look away. "We'll talk to him after."

The meeting continued without him.

* * * James had been watching for over an hour.

The treeline provided perfect cover, close enough to see through the storage hall's window but far enough that no one thought to look. The rain helped, too. It masked his movements, obscured sight lines, gave him an excuse if anyone did spot him. Just a shape in the storm.

He could hear them even through the downpour. The building wasn't meant for privacy, and they were loud enough anyway. Angry voices carrying through wood and glass. He caught fragments... his name, accusations, options.

They were scared. Good.

He watched them argue, watched them fracture. Flint's aggression, Wren's attempted diplomacy, the uncertainty of it all. All the little stresses in their foundation. All the places he could wedge a blade if he needed to.

His hands rested on Mary's handle, the axe leaned against the tree beside him. He'd brought it out of habit, but he didn't plan to use it. Not today. Today was about observation. About waiting for opportunity.

And then opportunity walked out the front door.

Callum emerged like a man drowning, gasping for air he couldn't find. He walked straight toward the trees, head down, not watching where he was going. Just escaping.

James didn't hesitate.

He stepped into Callum's path, materializing from the rain like a ghost made solid. "Callum."

Callum froze. His head snapped up, eyes wide behind rain-soaked hair. For a moment he just stared, processing the impossible. "What are you doing here?"

James's voice was gentle. "I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn't you be in there with them?"

"I..." Callum's mouth opened and closed. "I needed some air."

"From the sounds of it, you needed more than that." James tilted his head, rainwater running off his bandages, his sunglasses somehow still in place. "They're loud when they're fighting, aren't they."

"You were listening?" Callum took a step back.

James took a step forward, matching it. "Hard not to. They've been in there for over an hour, discussing my... fate." He smiled, though Callum couldn't see it behind the bandages. It was in his voice. "They figure it out yet?"

Callum's jaw worked. "I don't... I shouldn't be talking to you about this."

"And yet here we are." James spread his hands, weaponless, non-threatening. "I'm not going to hurt you, Callum. You know that."

"Do I?" But even as he said it, Callum wasn't moving away.

James let the silence stretch, let the rain fill the space between them. Then, carefully: "What are they saying about me in there?"

* * * Inside the storage hall, the meeting ground toward resolution.

"We need something," Wren was saying, exhaustion creeping into her voice. "We can't keep having these circular arguments every time something happens."

"So what, we vote on everything?" someone asked.

"We vote on a leader," Iris interjected. "Someone with authority to make calls when we can't agree."

Flint's eyes narrowed. "Like a president?"

"Call it whatever you want," Wren said. "But someone needs to put a lead on this, definitely." There was a slight of hope someone could take the reins from her.

"And who would that be?" Flint's tone made it clear he had ideas.

Wren hesitated, just for a moment. "I'll run. If people want me to."

The room stirred. Toni stood a little straighter beside her.

"I'll run too," Flint said immediately. "Someone needs to actually protect this place."

Wren met his eyes. "That's what I intend to do."

"We'll see," Flint replied, but there was something like respect in it.

Outside, Callum was talking, and he couldn't seem to stop. Couldn’t bear to raise a flag to the others just yet.

"They're planning... Some of them want to hunt you down, others just want to be ready if you come back. Everyone's picking sides and I don't..." He ran a hand through his wet hair. "I don't know what to think."

James listened without interrupting, letting Callum purge the anxiety that had been building all day. When the words finally slowed, James spoke.

"They're afraid."

"Of course they're afraid. You burned your house down and they don't know why."

"I had my reasons, of course."

"Then tell them!" Callum's frustration boiled over. "They're in there right now, planning how to take you out, and you're just... hiding in the trees! If you'd just talk to them..."

"You think they'd listen?" James turned away, facing the storm. His back was to Callum now, posture tense. "You heard them. They've already decided I'm the threat. The villain. Talking won't change that."

"So what will? Why are you so keen to have this escalate!" Callum demanded.

James was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was different. Rougher. "You think I wanted this? Any of this?" His hands clenched. "I'm trying to help them! I'm trying to..."

He caught himself. Stopped. Took a breath.

Callum watched as James pulled off his sunglasses, wiping them methodically on a dry part of his shirt. The motion was practiced, meditative. When he turned back around, the sunglasses were back in place and his voice was calm again.

"Look. I don't want to fight. But sometimes..." He stepped closer. "Sometimes you have to fight for things that matter. You understand that, don't you?"

Callum wasn't sure he did, but he found himself nodding anyway.

"Callum." James's voice dropped, intimate and sincere. "I am not your enemy. You and I, we're supposed to look after each other. We're the same."

"We're not the same," Callum said weakly.

"Aren't we?" James gestured back toward the storage hall. "How many of them are human, Callum? How many of them really understand what it's like to be... outnumbered?"

"They're not like that. They're good people."

"I'm sure they are. But people change when they're scared. They protect their own first." James's tone was reasonable, factual. "I've seen it before. I've lived it."

Callum wanted to argue, but the words died in his throat.

James continued, softer now. "I'm not asking you to choose sides. I'm just asking you to watch. Really watch them. See how they treat each other when danger's involved. See who they protect and who they're willing to sacrifice."

"I don't..." Callum's head spun.

"Everyone will be at peace soon," James said. "No more fear. No more uncertainty. That's all I want. For all of you to finally be at peace."

There was something in the way he said it that Callum couldn't quite parse, but it sounded comforting. It sounded like a promise.

"Go back," James urged. "Be part of their plans. Listen to what they're saying. And when the time comes, you'll know what's right."

"How will I know?" Callum asked.

James smiled behind his bandages. "You'll know."

And then he was gone, melting back into the rain and trees like he'd never been there at all.

Callum stood alone, water running down his face, mind spinning with everything James had said. The words echoed: Watch them. Really watch them. At peace.

He didn't know how long he stood there before he finally turned back toward the storage hall.

* * * People were filtering out when Callum returned, the meeting apparently over. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, clouds heavy but no longer actively pouring.

Moss grabbed Silas's arm as they walked. "We're going to have to pick sides."

"I know," Silas muttered.

"I don't want to." Moss's voice was miserable. "What if Flint tries to turn us into fighters? I'm not worried about fighting, I'm worried about having to fight. You know?"

Silas knew. "I'm going to check on Toni. See if he's okay."

"I'll find Nyla," Moss said. "Make sure she's... make sure she's alright."

They split off, and Silas disappeared into the camp while Moss headed toward Flint's fortress.

Wren emerged and immediately spotted Callum. "Hey. Where'd you go?"

"Just needed air," Callum said, and it came out more natural than he expected. "What'd I miss?"

Wren studied him for a moment before responding. "We're holding an election now. Choosing a leader. It's the best way forward. Someone needs to make decisions when we can't all agree."

"An election," Callum repeated slowly. "Huh."

"Flint and I are running," she continued. "We'll hold it in a few days. Give everyone time to think."

Callum watched her as she spoke, but he was also watching Toni hovering protectively nearby. Watching how Iris stood guard at the door even now. Watching how Nyla clung to Flint as they passed.

Watch them. Really watch them.

"That makes sense," Callum said.

Wren's brow furrowed. "You sure you're okay? You seem..."

"I'm fine." He forced a smile. "Just a lot to process."

She squeezed his shoulder. "We'll figure this out. Together."

Callum nodded, but the word together rang hollow now.

He walked away before she could ask more questions, heading toward his tent while Wren watched him go with an unease she couldn't name.

* * * Night fell heavy and complete, the overcast sky blocking even starlight. The rain had stopped, but everything still dripped with moisture, the camp transformed into something alien by darkness and tension.

Iris spread her wings and launched herself upward, catching air and rising above the treeline. Her watch shift had started an hour ago, and flying made more sense than walking. She could cover more ground, see more angles.

From up here, the camp looked smaller. More vulnerable. Little pockets of light where torches still burned, but mostly shadow.

She could see Flint's fortress in the distance, embers glowing through his windows like dying stars. He never really slept these days, always vigilant. Almost begging for a fight.

Further out, Moss was hammering something, fence posts, maybe? Reinforcing the perimeter around their hillside hut. The sound carried in the night.

And at the docks, impossibly, Shew was still fishing. Iris couldn't tell if it was dedication or avoidance anymore.

She glided further, over the edge of camp and out toward the uncharted ocean. The water stretched endlessly, dark and mysterious. And there...

Her breath caught.

A shape on the water. Too large to be driftwood. Too structured to be natural.

A boat?

Iris's wings beat harder, carrying her out over the waves. The wind tugged at her scarf, rain-damp and heavy, but she ignored it. If there was a boat, if someone was out there...

She got closer.

Closer.

And then she saw it clearly: just ice. A glacier formation, vaguely boat-shaped in the darkness but ultimately just frozen water.

"Damn it," she muttered, hovering in place.

False alarm. Nothing. Just her own paranoia playing tricks on her.

She turned back toward camp, frustration and exhaustion warring in her chest. The watch rotation still had hours left to go.

* * * Wren couldn't sleep.

She'd tried for hours, lying in her hut with eyes closed and mind racing. Every time she started to drift, another thought jerked her awake: the election, the arguments, Callum's strange behavior, James's absence.

Finally, she gave up.

The camp was quiet when she stepped outside, just the sound of wind and distant water. Most fires had died down, leaving only embers and moonless dark. She walked without real direction, just moving, just thinking.

Her feet carried her to the ruins.

James's house, or what was left of it, stood like a skeleton against the sky. Charred beams jutting up, ash scattered across the ground in patterns that might have once been walls. Rain's flowers were already wilting, petals brown at the edges, stems bent. She should probably dismantle it for parts.

Wren stepped carefully through the debris, mindful of where she placed her boots. The smell of smoke still lingered, acrid but giving to the moisture in the air.

She stood in what might have been the center of the house and looked around. Tried to imagine why someone would do this. What message it was supposed to send. What it meant.

The destruction spread out around her like a promise: This could be all of you.

The thought arrived unbidden, chilling. If she failed as a leader, if she made the wrong call, if she couldn't hold this community together, would this be their future? Ashes and ruins and flowers that died before they bloomed?

She thought about Toni, about Rain and Nyla and Shew and all the others who were looking to her for guidance. About Flint, who would lead with fire and fury if given the chance. About Callum, who seemed to be slipping away into something.

About James, who was still out there. Watching. Waiting. Planning something she couldn't see.

Wren's hands clenched into fists.

She would win the election. Not because she wanted power, she didn't. But because someone had to, and it couldn't be Flint. His protection would burn them all eventually.

She would win, and she would keep them safe, and she would figure out what James wanted before he could take it.

She had to.

Wren turned away from the ruins, walking back toward camp with her silhouette dark against the overcast sky. Dawn was still hours away, but she could feel it coming anyway. The night would end. Tomorrow would arrive whether they were ready or not.

Behind her, the ruins stood empty and ominous, a monument to something broken that couldn't be rebuilt.

And deeper in the treeline, unseen and patient, James watched her go.

He'd been there the whole time, waiting to see if anyone would come. Waiting to see who cared enough to visit the scene of his crime.

Of course it was Wren.

He smiled behind his bandages, adjusted his sunglasses, and melted back into the shadows.

The pieces were moving exactly as they should.

Soon, everyone would be at peace.

Soon.