Our Calling

I didn’t know how the others felt about embarking on this final mission, but my chest was heavy with the weight of responsibility. It wasn’t just another mission—it was the final final mission.

As I stepped onto our new ship, a wave of familiarity washed over me. The vessels had always been our sturdy companions and this one was no different for that matter. Its dark, streamlined exterior gleamed faintly under the hangar lights, its design built more for endurance than aesthetics.

Inside, the ship was a juxtaposition of advanced technology and Spartan practicality. The cockpit was compact, fitted with panels of glowing interfaces that blinked in rhythmic precision. A wide viewport offered an unfiltered view of the void beyond. The corridors were narrow, lined with modular panels housing emergency supplies and weapon lockers.

The heart of the ship was the Operations Bay. It was both workspace and living quarters, featuring foldable bunks mounted on the walls and a central table equipped with a holographic projector. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was home.

As I stood there, the past resurfaced with startling clarity—our first mission together after Kael joined the Wood Hunters.

It had been a few years ago, during an era when Biocores still dotted the land beyond the Worlderia barrier in abundance. Back then, there was no sense of desperation, no foreboding. Hunting Biocores felt like an adventure, an act of service to humankind that carried a sense of fulfillment we couldn’t find in our regular lives.

Kael, of course, was new then. Fresh-faced and brimming with wonder, he lacked the finesse and stamina needed for the job. It was up to the rest of us to guide him.

The first journey outside the barrier had taken its toll on him. The sheer expanse of the land, the thinness of the unfiltered atmosphere—it all weighed on him heavily. He was fatigued before we’d even reached our first Biocore. But once we finally arrived, something in him shifted.

“So this is how Biocores look in person,” he breathed, his eyes wide as they drank in the towering mass of aged wood veined with glowing green. The light pulsed faintly, as if the Biocore had a heartbeat.

“Be careful,” Liora warned, her voice sharp but maternal. “They may emit oxygen. Always keep your mask on, no exceptions!” It was the tenth time that day she’d reminded him.

Kael, however, was too mesmerized to care. “I never imagined they’d be so… beautiful,” he murmured.

“Beautiful?” Serena scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “This new guy is so weird. I told you not to let him on our team.” Her teasing was more biting back then, with less of the playful charm she later developed.

Toren, ever the blunt force of our group, sped ahead on his airboard, the hum of its engine cutting through the stillness. “Don’t get too infatuated, young boy,” he called over his shoulder. “These things are as dangerous as they are useful!”

“Wait for us, you idiot!” Liora shouted, chasing after him. “Why do you always rush like this?!”

Watching their antics, I couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Despite the bickering and chaos, we all loved what we did. It wasn’t just a job—it was purpose.

We’d all come from different walks of life. I’d been a teacher, Liora a nurse, Serena a culinary innovator in the field of food streaming, and Kael a traditional barber whose craft was a nostalgic nod to simpler times. Even Toren, though always a brash powerhouse, had started as a solitary figure, swinging an axe in his garden and dreaming of being a Wood Hunter. And dream he did—with a determination that turned him into the strongest among us. He still held the record for the most Biocores harvested in a single month—seven consecutive victories, unmatched in Wood Hunter history.

Kael, however, was an entirely different story. He wasn’t naturally suited for this line of work. The laseraxe, with its weight and precision, required more than just skill; it demanded core strength and endurance. Kael lacked both at first. But he was persistent. Every failure was met with dogged determination, and eventually, he wielded the weapon with a precision and grace that even Toren respected.

“Hey, Zehn,” Kael whispered as we approached the Biocore. His tone was low, almost reverent, as if he were entering a sacred space. “Are we… allowed to touch the bark?”

I froze mid-step, turning to stare at him. Of all the questions he could have asked, this was the most absurd.

But looking back, I should’ve known then that Kael’s curiosity was a ticking bomb. If I’d been more attentive, more aware of the depths of his fascination, perhaps I could’ve stopped what was to come. But hindsight is a cruel teacher.

I shook off the memory, forcing my attention back to the present. The mission ahead demanded my focus, but the echoes of the past refused to be silenced.

The thoughts came unbidden, dragging me back into reflection.

Kael’s words about the oxygen—how it made him feel good, liberated—had gnawed at my mind ever since he’d spoken them. At the time, I hadn’t understood, but now, with everything we’d learned, it seemed to make sense. It wasn’t just about the exposure itself; it was what it represented. The question a student of mine had once asked during a lecture drifted into my mind, joining the tornado of thoughts.

‘Were the people of the past happy?’

I hadn’t been able to answer then. But after delving into the books Kael shared, piecing together fragments of history and perspective, I felt I’d reached a reasonable conclusion.

The people of the past didn’t live long. Their lives were fraught with trauma, riddled with disease, and weighed down by countless hardships. Yet, they had something we didn’t—a raw, unfiltered kind of freedom. They didn’t rely on Kyslicium or adhere to the air regulations imposed by our society. The choices they made, for better or worse, were entirely their own. Even when their decisions led to failure, the act of choosing was wholly theirs. It was a double-edged gift, this freedom, but one they seemed to accept.

We weren’t without freedom ourselves. We could pursue whatever paths we wanted, or choose to do nothing at all. But the truth was, our lives were bound by certain constraints. Wood Hunting and the intricacies of maintaining balance in our world weren’t just professions—they were lifelines. They demanded sacrifice. Did those demands rob us of some measure of freedom? Perhaps. But in exchange, we were given lives of longevity, health, and unprecedented safety.

This wasn’t a contest, though. It wasn’t about who had it better—us or them. It was about understanding.

I realized then what Kael must have felt when he inhaled oxygen for the first time. That wild, untamed air carried with it the essence of the past—chaotic, unrestrained, infinite. He had tasted the freedom those ancient people must have known, and it had intoxicated him. It was no wonder he clung to that feeling, blind to the cost. He didn’t see how it gnawed at his mind, until it was too late.

But now… now there was hope. A sliver of a chance to counteract what had been done, to undo the damage.

This mission was more than a task. It was our purpose. Our calling. And in that calling, perhaps, lay the answers we all sought.

Chapter 12: END