After The Collapse

"Damn it…" Warren grumbled, hunched over under the weight of Silas's bag. "This thing weighs more than a damn horse. How long is this trip supposed to last? You packed like we're relocating permanently."

Silas didn't even glance back, his tone as flat as his expression. "You're the only one who didn't bring anything, Warren. Common sense dictates you'd carry the luggage. Honestly, you should be grateful it's mine and not Lumian's."

At that, Lumian's grin widened, insufferably smug. His bag, absurdly oversized, could've been mistaken for a survival kit for an entire army, yet he carried it effortlessly. "What? Don't tell me you thought I was some fragile, delicate type with no strength to back up my looks."

Warren let out a dry laugh, readjusting Silas's bag on his back. "Oh, we knew you weren't fragile. You're just annoyingly proud of it."

Lumian threw his head back in mock offense. "Annoying? Or inspiring? Let's not confuse the two."

Meanwhile, Silas caught sight of his reflection in the metal clasp of Lumian's bag—pale, sunken eyes, hair slightly disheveled, and an overall aura of exhaustion. Standing next to Lumian, who looked like he'd stepped out of a commercial for perfect post-apocalyptic travelers, was almost insulting.

Continuing their descent into the forest, Lumian unfurled the map with an air of purpose, pointing confidently at a marked spot. "We're close," he said, his voice carrying just enough excitement to make Ronan curious.

Ronan leaned over, peering at the map. "Looks like it," he agreed, though his tone was far less dramatic.

Warren shuffled over, still carrying Silas's bag like it was some ancient curse. "Finally," he muttered, glaring at the map as though it were responsible for his aching back. "If we're not close, I'm dropping this thing right here and walking back empty-handed."

Lumian grinned but didn't look back. "Straight ahead, follow the leaderrrr!" he said, his steps quickening like he was leading some grand expedition.

"Who made you the leader?" Warren grumbled, adjusting the bag with a grunt.

Silas trailed behind them, quietly amused as Warren muttered something about "irresponsible packing" and Lumian's overly energetic pace. The thinning trees ahead suggested they were, in fact, close—much to Warren's visible relief.

As the group continued their journey, Warren pointed toward a building emerging from the trees. With an exhausted but determined expression, he turned to Lumian. "Is this it?" he asked, his voice laced with the hope of relief.

Lumian gave a small nod. "Yep, we've arrived."

Warren let out a deep sigh, clearly thankful the trek was finally over.

"Let's not waste any more time, shall we? Before poor Warren drops dead," Ronan joked, patting Warren on the back. The unexpected gesture made Warren stumble slightly.

"Ack—get your hands off me!" Warren grumbled, swatting Ronan's hand away as the latter chuckled softly.

As they got closer, the building came into clearer view, and Lumian and Silas fell into conversation.

"Looks the same, even after all this time," Lumian remarked, his usual playful tone replaced by something quieter, more reflective. Instead of his usual carefree grin, his face carried a gentle, almost nostalgic expression.

"You've been here before?" Silas asked, his curiosity piqued by Lumian's words.

Lumian nodded as he shifted the weight of his bag. "Yeah. I was here when this place was first built. The people who created it were incredible—a group of folks you could truly lean on." His voice softened, filled with a quiet fondness.

"About eight months ago, I was out in the forest searching for supplies. That's when I stumbled upon the Garden of Commodity. Back then, it was just Charlotte and me. Calem and Seraphina joined about a week later, and Ronan came along a month after that. Then you and Warren arrived, making you the newest 'members,' if you want to call it that."

Silas listened carefully, nodding as Lumian continued.

"I still keep in touch with the group who built this place. At first, I was terrified to face them again—I thought they'd see me as a deserter. But when I finally worked up the courage, they were… happy for me. It was such a strange feeling, being accepted like that. Every week, I make it a point to come here, to reconnect with them and share how things are going. It feels… grounding, I guess. Like no matter where I go or what happens, there's always a place that reminds me of the kind of people I want to be around, and the kind of person I want to be."

Silas glanced at Lumian, noticing the genuine warmth in his expression. For all his quirks, Lumian had a deep appreciation for the connections he'd built—a rare quality in a world that had been shattered. It was a reminder that even amidst chaos, there were still moments of hope and belonging to hold onto.

"Lumian!"

An unfamiliar voice called out to the group—though it was clearly meant for one person. Everyone turned toward the sound, their eyes falling on Lumian, whose usual dumb smile widened slightly as if he'd been expecting it. The voice belonged to an elderly man with gray hair and soft, pale blue eyes. On closer inspection, it was clear that sight had abandoned his left eye entirely, leaving it clouded and unmoving.

Lumian stepped forward, meeting the man halfway and wrapping him in a firm hug. "Gramps! What are you doing wandering out here?" Lumian pulled back but kept his hands on the man's shoulders, his grin as wide as ever.

The man chuckled softly, patting Lumian's arm. "Don't be so dense, boy. I could hear you and Ronan from a mile away. Figured I'd come meet you halfway rather than sit around."

"It's not exactly halfway." Lumian pointed past the trees to the building just barely visible through the foliage. "The cabin's right there. But hey, I'm glad to see you! How long has it been? Are the others doing okay?"

The elderly man nodded in response, his expression warm but unreadable.

From where he stood with the others, Silas observed the exchange with quiet curiosity. It didn't take long for him to piece it together—this man must have been part of Lumian's earlier ventures, one of the many connections he seemed to have scattered across the wasteland.

"We shouldn't stand out here too long," Lumian said, glancing back at the group. "Gramps, I'll explain everything once we're inside, alright? Let's not waste any more time."

With that, the group followed Lumian toward the building.

Inside, the interior of the cabin reminded them of an old forest lodge. Perhaps that's what it had been used for before the Collapse, back when people took vacations instead of struggling to survive. The walls were lined with aged wooden beams, and the faint scent of herbs and smoke lingered in the air.

The elderly man led them into a small but cozy room, where he served tea from a set of mismatched mugs. The drink had a minty aroma with hints of citrus and other herbs that made it oddly refreshing.

"Refreshing, isn't it?" Lumian asked, nudging Silas lightly.

Silas took another sip, letting the warmth spread through him before nodding. "It's fresh. A relief in a world like this." The heat of the tea brought a faint pink tint to his cheeks, a small but noticeable contrast to his usually pale complexion.

Meanwhile, Ronan took a sip and immediately gagged, small drops of tea sputtering from his mouth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face twisted in disgust. "Blergh—this is so bitter! What kind of madman drinks tea without sugar or honey? And you're all acting like it's some kind of divine blessing!"

Lumian raised his hand theatrically, his ever-present grin turning smug. "Well, sweeteners are a luxury these days. Want to be the hero who goes out and buys some for us?"

Ronan flushed slightly, avoiding Lumian's gaze.

"Besides," Lumian continued, "why mess with the natural flavor? If they wanted sweet tea, they would've made sweet tea. I mean, Silas and Warren seem to be enjoying it. Are you really going to be the odd one out?"

Warren, who had been quietly sipping his tea without complaint, shot Ronan a side glance. "It's not bad. Maybe you're just soft."

Ronan's eyes narrowed as he glanced between Warren and his tea. His grip on the mug tightened as his competitive streak flared. "Soft? Me? Not a chance! I'll drink it, no problem!"

And with that, he tipped the mug back, downing the tea in one go—only to realize too late that it was still scalding hot.

.

..

…

"Charlotte… I'm never believing you again," Silas muttered under his breath, focusing intently on mixing chilled water with ice, which only seemed to make the situation colder and more miserable.

"Whawts wuss thass?" Ronan slurred, gargling the freezing water as Silas poured it down his throat. The liquid splashed messily, drenching everything nearby.

"Damn it! Keep your mouth shut—wait, no, don't actually shut it! Argh—" Warren's frustration boiled over as he watched the chaos unfold, his brain seemingly short-circuiting in the face of Ronan's antics.

In the background, Lumian wandered back in from the lobby, a bucket of ice balanced effortlessly in his hands. "Maybe this will teach you to… think ahead? Or at least not so recklessly," Silas tried to sound encouraging, though his tone betrayed his exhaustion.

"Awre chu cwalling meh dwumb?!" Ronan managed to shout, his words garbled through the water. He raised a soaked fist into the air, spraying droplets everywhere in the process.

"Damn you!" Warren barked, his irritation now redirected at Silas. "He's splashing me on purpose, isn't he?"

Silas raised his hands in surrender, palms open to signal innocence. "I mean no harm! But if you want to blame someone, blame Charlotte for sending us out in this mess."

"Whawt abouwt meh?!" Ronan exclaimed, nearly choking again as he swung his soggy arm in protest, inadvertently soaking everyone further.

"Forget it," Warren grumbled, snatching a towel with a scowl. "This whole thing is cursed."

Lumian walked in, casually balancing more ice and, of course, a bottle of pain relief medicine. "Here." He handed a pill to Ronan, who took it with a grimace, swallowing it along with the cold water.

"Ah… Much better," Ronan sighed, patting his stomach in relief before wincing slightly, remembering the pain that had settled there.

"Come on, Ronan," Lumian said, his voice teasing as he ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, "we seriously can't keep babying you, even if you are the youngest."

Silas, who had been quietly observing, froze at Lumian's words. "Wait… He's the youngest?" Silas pointed at Ronan in disbelief.

Ronan puffed out his chest proudly. "Yep! I'm 15 years old!"

Silas blinked in surprise. "Ah… Makes sense." He started to turn away, but curiosity got the better of him. "If that's the case… How old are you, Lumian?"

Lumian grinned, raising a hand to his chest in mock humility. "Aw shucks. I mean, I know I can look quite young, especially with my well-rounded physique and shining hair!" He struck a pose. "I am… a whole 24 years of age!"

Silas blinked, processing the information, before turning his gaze to Warren, who was busy drying himself off. "And you, Warren? Let me gue—"

"17," Warren interrupted, his voice flat, clearly not interested in playing along.

Silas stared at the trio, his mind whirling. 15… 17… 24… Wait. That meant… Silas was the oldest on this trip! He flushed, his face suddenly warm. Ronan caught the change and pointed at him excitedly.

"Hey, Silas! We told our ages, now it's your turn!" All eyes were suddenly on him. He hesitated, but reluctantly opened his mouth.

"28," Silas muttered, not meeting anyone's gaze. "I'm 28."

The room went quiet until Warren spoke up, his usual cocky attitude unshaken. "Seriously? I thought you'd be older. I mean, look at you. I'm surprised you haven't started a family yet."

Ronan chimed in with an exaggerated nod. "Agreed! I thought you were at least 37."

Lumian laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. "There, there… I mean, if it makes you feel better, I'm sure you looked as good as me when you were 24! So, that's something to be proud of."

'I wonder if Charlotte would believe that these 3 just happened to fall off a cliff.' Silas studied that thought with stroking his stubble beard.

The room grew heavier as Lumian's shift in tone set in. His usual playful demeanor was replaced by an unusual seriousness, and it caught everyone's attention.

"Alright, alright. Enough jokes," Lumian began, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Silas actually said something when he and Warren first joined us. Something that stuck with me. I don't think any of us ever really addressed it, but I think now's the time."

The room went quiet as everyone leaned in slightly, curious. Lumian's eyes landed on Silas. "If I remember correctly, you asked us if we had awakened any abilities from soul fragments, right? And we all agreed that we had."

Silas shifted uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny. "Uh… yeah, I remember that. What about it?"

"Well," Lumian continued, crossing his arms, "if we've all got these abilities, shouldn't we be upfront about them? Tell each other what they are?"