Alria, The First Light of Morning

CHAPTER 16:

Alria, The First Light of Morning

The scene breaks off very nicely, as the air had changed.

The scent of damp moss and overturned soil had faded, replaced by the crisp, clean breath of germination slowly rejuvenating after the war. The trees are starting to rejuvenate very slowly, but the process is evident in the atmosphere. The air is really starting to smell smooth and vibrant, clean of toxic waste and radioactive materials. Somewhere beyond the walls of Alria’s quiet households, streams whispered softly, their waters carrying away the echoes of battle. The waters have improved the air quality as the temperature cools down. The earth smelled fresher, almost new, as if the land itself was trying to mend its wounds.

It was 5:00 AM in the morning, and the sky still lingered in the remnants of night, with only the faintest glow stretching across the horizon, too soft to be called sunrise. The Purple Sun had yet to break through, but the world was already shifting—delicate and slow, like the exhale of a tired soldier finding peace in solitude.

Inside, Nova stood in front of her bathroom mirror, brushing her teeth. Her movements were slow, methodical. She wasn’t just clearing her breath—she was clearing away the thoughts that clung to her like shadows. The kind that whispered in the stillness, reminding her of everything she wished she could forget. She was going to work early today and needed a quick shower to clear her head of the cluttered thoughts and awful memories that filled it.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at her had softened over time. The bruises around her collarbone had faded, and the exhaustion that once sat heavy in her eyes had started to lighten, if only slightly.

"A quick shower," she thought, twisting the faucet handle. She switched on the shower, as she waited for a few minutes while humming a sweet symphony in her quiet little space. The pipes were groaning, releasing a steady stream of water, hot and thick with rising steam. The room was quiet and steamy, and a scent of rosemary can be smelt, as it wafted through the door slit while she took off her towel with a quick twist of her fingers.

She took a deep breath, her lips parting just slightly as the scent of rosemary drifted through the air. It was the same scent she used during the war—strong, sharp, meant to keep her mind awake. Now, in this quiet space, it was something else. Something comforting. Something safe.

Her bra slid off effortlessly from her shoulders as she unbuttoned it, taking a step forward, into the heat of the cascading water.

Too quickly.

With her body jerking back from the scalding burn, she lets out a faint scream. A sharp gasp escaping her lips, screaming a little too loud but feeble enough not to be heard by Karys, who is sleeping in the other room. Being careful enough about it not to wake her up from her slumber.

Nova didn’t notice that she only had the red labelled Tap on, causing the shower to be scalding hot. The water, hot enough to bite, rushed over her skin in searing waves, chasing away the lingering cold of the early morning. She almost grazed her skin, almost cooking herself alive as she leans back a little, easily shifting her body to the side and moving her hips away. She pressed her hand against the tile, the water only trickling down her thighs gently. Steadying herself before reaching for the blue tap, as she adjusted the temperature until it was just right, balancing the water, as it drizzles on the wet floor.

For a moment, she just stood there, eyes closed, allowing the water to flow over her body like a cleansing rain. Her muscles loosened. Her breath slowed. The tension she'd been carrying in her shoulders—there since the final battle—began to melt away, drop by drop.

She reached for the side panel, as two flavors sat there waiting. Two bottles of shower creams were situated on the side panel next to her shoulder. One was a golden-brown hue, filled with the rich scent of cocoa butter and nutmeg. The other was sleek black, with shiny crystals. Its label dusted with silver flecks that caught the dim light.

Her fingers traced the black bottle.

"Hmph... My son would've finished this by now."

The thought brought the smallest smile to her lips. She could still hear his voice from that day—the playful debate about which shampoo was better, how he had sworn the black one was his signature scent, the one that made him feel like a king.

“If only I hadn’t backtracked on the conversation we had that day,” she thinks to herself. She grabs the Black Skin Shampoo and Cream, a product generically made for males, a mixture of Charcoal powder and Jasmine extracts.

"Charcoal and jasmine..." she murmured, uncapping the bottle and pouring some into her palm. The gel was thick, silken, like liquid midnight.

She would’ve taken her usual favorite, but this time she chose this particular one because it reminded her of Radon. The silky-smooth gel smells almost like his hair every time he came to visit her. She exhaled deeply, letting herself get lost in the simple motion of washing away the past.

As she worked it into her hair, the familiar scent wrapped around her, pulling her back to memories that felt distant yet close. Radon. His presence lingered in the fragrance, a reminder of the days before everything had changed. Before war had stolen time from them.

Karys In the Bedroom

A slow, tired groan broke the silence of the bedroom.

Karys stirred, her body shifting beneath the soft covers, but she wasn’t ready to wake just yet. Her side eye cracked open, peering toward the window, searching for light, hoping that the sun isn’t yet out.

And then… Nothing.

No golden streaks, no warmth pressing against the glass. Just darkness.

"What time is it?" she wondered, pulling the blanket over her head.

There isn’t any light at the window, though, because it’s still spring.

“Thank God, the sun isn’t out yet,” she yawns, covering her head after peeking out again.

Spring in Alria was deceptive. The weather doesn’t recognize the timing of phases in the seasons, as “The Purple Sun” has now distorted the lunar stages, slowing down the seasons and causing an imbalance in the environment. It had broken the natural rhythm of day and night, distorting the seasons, confusing the body’s internal clock. It could be dawn, or it could still be midnight. There was no way to tell without checking a watch—but she didn’t have the energy for that.

Instead, she yawned and curled deeper into the mattress, relieved that, for now, the world outside could wait.

Shower Room

Meanwhile…

The sponge slipped from Nova’s fingers, landing with a soft splash against the wet tiles.

She blinked.

"Lost in thought again..." she mused, shaking her head at herself.

She dropped the sponge while lost in a train of thought, the smell of the Jasmine easing her mind about what she has to do this afternoon, the big day of The Conference in Osprey. She almost forgets that it’s supposed to be a short shower, 20 minutes or less.

The jasmine was working its way through her senses, loosening the knots in her mind. The weight of responsibility, of duty, of war—it all felt so far away in this moment. Here, in this small sanctuary of warmth and steam, she was just Nova. Not a soldier. Not a leader. Just a woman standing beneath a gentle stream of water, breathing in the quiet.

"Oops! Watch it, Mr. Square Pants," she muttered playfully to herself, chuckling softly.

The laugh surprised her. It was light. Real.

She hadn’t laughed like that in a while.

She bent down to pick up the wet sponge from the floor, her movements slow, deliberate. Picking up the wet sponge in a slow, deliberate motion that clearly shows how truly human she is. Flexible and powerfully slick in her graceful movements.

She starts scrubbing herself again, this time while humming a soft tune. It was the same melody she used to sing when putting Radon to bed as a child. Singing diligently, a song of comfort, of home.

As the camera lens would fade into the mist, it remains fogged with steam, softening the edges of the screen before slowly fading into dim morning light.

For now, for just a little longer—Nova let herself enjoy the water.

Let herself breathe.

Let herself feel human again.

Droplets trickle down the glass as the lens tilts, it steams up around the edges, dimming out in a misty shade. Shifting its focus—first, away from the steamy bathroom, back into Karys’s bedroom, where she remains curled under the covers, undisturbed. Her breath rises and falls in a steady rhythm, wrapped in the quiet sanctuary of sleep. A gentle breeze nudges the curtains, parting them slightly, revealing the slow transformation of dawn.

The view slowly shifted—past the quiet bedroom, and finally beyond the walls of the home.

Outside, the world was waking.

Dew clung to the leaves, slipping down in silver droplets that glistened in the hushed morning light. Mist rolled lazily between the trees, softening the edges of the once-ruined landscape. The air, once thick with smoke and blood, now smelled of fresh earth and growing things.

The world remained cloaked in mist. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth, the aftertaste of war still lingering in the soil. The lens moves forward, weaving through the dew-laden branches of towering Alrian Cypress Trees, each leaf trembling as water drips from its surface. The sound of droplets plopping onto the forest floor is almost melodic, their rhythm a whispering echo of nature's resilience.

And beyond the mist, past the trees of whispering branches, emerges—a place of power, of decisions that shape the fate of nations.

Where the mist thins into a golden haze, stood The General’s Courtyard. A place where choices would be made. Where pasts and futures would collide.

The General’s Courtyard:

That Morning

The air was thick with the scent of burning paper.

Thin wisps of smoke curled toward the ceiling as General Xerox leaned back in his chair, formal in his military apparel, sweat beading along his collar. His fingers worked at a cigar, rolling it between them before he struck a match.

"Shred that… Shred that… And that… And that too…"

General Xerox’s gruff voice cut through the smoky air of his office, his voice gravelly and musky, copious with fatigue and something else—unease. His thick fingers pointing at stacks of paper that were swiftly fed into the industrial shredder. The man was sweating slightly, unbuttoning his military jacket as he lit a cigar.

His office reeked of tobacco, burnt paper, and something else—anxiety, perhaps?

From the outside, it looked like he was merely decluttering, making space before tomorrow’s big conference. But inside these walls, the truth was far murkier.

Outside, the morning mist clung to the air, giving the day an eerie, musky feel. Bees flitted in and out of view, captured by the security cameras as they danced from plant to plant. Their movements were precise, searching for nectar from blooms that had survived the radiation. The outer shield had been reinforced now, filtering the air, allowing wildlife to sprout once again.

But inside the office, there was no such renewal. Only destruction.

The General’s Office

Across the room, Mr. Scott methodically fed document after document into the shredder, the mechanical hum filling the office like a swarm of insects.

He worked meticulously, rifling through old papers and clearing out documents marked with the dreaded red stamp: CLASSIFIED.

The General was making a show of "decluttering" before tomorrow's conference, but Scott wasn’t a fool. He knew what this was. This wasn’t housecleaning. This was erasure.

And not just of random files. No—Xerox was targeting specific documents. The Radon Case.

He wanted to clear out anything that could doom every inch of his hair about Radon's case. He was very adamant that the Blueprints he gave out were fully integrating with all systems of protocol, and because he was working with Captain Voss before he passed, he wasn't sure if any traces of backyard services where present in the files or the documents herein. So, he got Mr. Scott sweaty on the collar by making him tackle his own dirty footprints, for him.

General Xerox wanted every potential risk obliterated. Every trace of the Radon Case erased.

He couldn’t afford loose ends. Not now. Not after Captain Voss’s death.

Scott kept his hands busy, but his mind was elsewhere. His training at the Federal Bureau had honed his instincts. Xerox was nervous. That much was clear. The question was Why? His hands moved swiftly, his collar damp with sweat as he fed document after document into the machine.

"You sure this is all, sir?" he asked, feigning casualness.

The General exhaled a slow plume of smoke. "Did you sort out The Archives?... I mean the ones in the basement."

Scott hesitated.

In truth, he'd spotted something while sifting through the files—something that made his stomach tighten.

But he forced a neutral expression.

"Yes, Sir," he said, stacking a few remaining documents.

Xerox grunted, chewing on his peppermint gum like a predator gnawing at a kill. He took another drag from the cigar, eyes narrowing.

"You sure?"

Scott glanced at the hidden folder beneath the printer—carefully tucked out of sight while he'd been working.

A single sheet peeked out; its bold red stamp unmistakable.

CLASSIFIED.

Captain Voss.

Scott’s throat went dry. He’d spent years learning how to navigate the Bureau’s labyrinth of secrets, but this… this was a landmine.

If he asked too many questions, he could become a liability.

If he ignored it, he might miss something that could take down Xerox—or worse, the entire operation.

He swallowed hard.

"Careful, Scott. Play it smart."

"Yes, Sir," he repeated, forcing himself to meet Xerox's gaze. "Everything’s clear. The rest can be burned to make space."

"Ughhh! Yessss! Fire does solve everything” Taking another drag from his cigar, as he looks out into dead space.

“Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, it doesn’t only destroy what is corrupted, IT PURIFIES IT!” He insisted, looking back at the printers, currently wailing, and now finishing.

“That would be all for now, SCOTT! My tail is free as a fox now—out of the mud and into the clearing."

General Xerox exhaled thick cigar smoke, watching the papers vanish into thin strips.

"Ay! Scott, my boy. You must know what you're doing. Your time at the Academy proved worth hiring you for this job," Xerox continued, popping a peppermint gum into his mouth.

"Yes, sir."

The printer whirred and buzzed as Scott continued his work, methodically replacing classified documents with sanitized copies.

"Did you...Uhmmm?... Have anything to do with it, sir?"

A sharp pause.

"Do what?" Xerox turned, his eyes narrowing.

"Did I do wha—?" He choked slightly on his saliva before clearing his throat.

"Young man, don’t patronize me. What exactly are you suggesting?"

“What did you presume I did?" He asked, persistently.

"Nothing, sir. Scott replied, politely, holding his tie slightly, as he fixed his gaze on the printers.

"SCOTT?" "Scott...STEWARD!... What did you find over there...You son of a...?” The General exclaimed.

Scott hesitated. The printer’s rhythmic clicking filled the silence.

"I found Nothing, sir… nothing at all. At least, for now."

He said it carefully, knowing full well that if he found anything damning, he’d either be a co-conspirator or a corpse.

Scott had spent years at the Academy. Years that earned him medals of proficiency, with enough years to shoot a buck with one eye open, if not closed. And if we talk about going under the cloak of night to do dirty work for your country, he came out as a top achiever in his team of excellencies.

His time with the Federal Bureau had earned him medals, commendations—enough experience to spot a trail of breadcrumbs before they led straight to a noose. He knew how to play the game.

"This is clear. This too. The rest can be burned—to make space," he suggested.

Xerox watched him carefully, chewing slowly.

The General smirked, shifting in his chair. "Good Man! Your academy types always know how to handle your own footprints."

Scott offered a polite nod, but inside, his mind was racing.

His fingers twitched toward the folder.

His gut told him that if he pulled this thread, it wouldn’t just unravel Xerox—it might unravel everything.

"You sure the information in there is too radioactive to be recycled, Scott?"

A dry chuckle.

"Hah! Yes, sir. I wouldn’t want to reel in any unnecessary fish onto the boat if I were you. The trash bin is a vast sea… but remember, even forensics has divers. And they dive deeper than any accountant can go on paper."

He coughed out slightly… "During Audits" Scott said, taking a bite from his signature snack—a yellow apple, crisp and sweet. A little breather that helped ease his calories a bit, and boost him for the day, keeping the cafeteria at bay.

"What’s with you and apples, Sergeant?"

Xerox sighed, loosening his belt as he sank into his chair.

The day’s work was done. The conference loomed closer.

For now, Xerox’s neck wasn’t on the chopping block.

But Scott?

Scott had his eyes on something else. A document he’d neatly tucked beneath the printer. Something Xerox hadn’t noticed.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a game of solitaire.

Or maybe, if the cards were dealt right, this deck would pull in bigger fish than anyone expected.