Children

Evren

I dangle my legs through the hatch again as Jesse climbs up onto the roof and settles opposite me. Tilting my head, I ask:

“Are you going to test-fire that shell I made?”

He shakes his head.

“No. I trust your ability. Besides, at that cost, we can’t afford to waste anything.”

I nod, but then he grins.

“Besides, I don’t think anyone would appreciate hearing this thing go off again without warning.”

The thought makes me smile, faint and fleeting. Jesse sighs, lying back across the plating, the sun-warmed metal glinting under him.

“What do you think I should do, Evren?”

I blink, caught off guard.

“Hmm?”

He stares at the sky, arms folded behind his head.

“What should I do with my life? What purpose do I have?”

A laugh bursts from me before I can stop it, and I clap a hand over my mouth. He turns his head to look at me, puzzled.

“What?”

“Sorry. Sorry. But you’re asking me that? We’ve only known each other for a day.”

He shrugs.

“I don’t know. I don’t really know much about this place. I don’t know what I should strive for - or even who I should try to be. The only thing I know is that I’ve never seen a dragon before, and I’d really like to.”

I shake my head, still smiling.

“You’re not even worried about survival? Not thinking about where your next meal is coming from?”

“Fair point.” He exhales. “Either way, what do you think I should do?”

The seriousness in his voice makes me pause. I study him for a moment, then speak.

“Well, first of all - you’re madly overpowered.”

One eyebrow rises.

“You think so?”

I give him an exasperated look.

“Think so? I know so!”

He shrugs.

“I’m only that powerful because you’re here. Otherwise I’d have been stranded by now.”

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I press a hand against my shoulder.

“Yeah.”

He glances at me.

“Thank you, by the way.”

I smile.

“You’ve said that a few times already.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

I shake my head.

“No - you’re keeping me safe. That’s more than enough.”

He nods, though the doubt in his eyes lingers. Oh well. I follow his gaze upward, to a solitary white cloud drifting slowly across the sky - fluffy, impossibly soft.

“I used to spend my days dreaming about the sky.”

I snap my eyes back to him, but he’s still staring upward.

“I’d watch the clouds go by and think how incredible it would be to be up there with them.” He laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “It was a stupid dream.”

I look at the cloud again. Maybe it was a stupid dream - only wyverns and dragons could ever soar that high. But still, it was a dream. It feels like I’ve brushed against some lost, abandoned piece of Jesse’s soul, and I don’t want to let it slip away. So I just nod.

We fall quiet again, watching the cloud crawl across the sky. Then his voice breaks the silence.

“I do sometimes wonder if I made the right choices. If I ended up where I was supposed to. If… if I could’ve done anything differently - something that might’ve prevented… certain things.”

I glance at him, but he offers nothing more. A small smile tugs at my lips.

“I know what you mean. I’ve wondered that too.”

The silence that follows feels heavier. From below, I can hear villagers shouting, the hum of their daily lives carried on the breeze. The smell of slow-roasting meat drifts upward, rich and mouthwatering. Jesse shifts his gaze toward the tables nearby, noting their bare surfaces.

“Looks like that meat’ll be dinner, not lunch.”

I glance at the sun - he’s right, it’s past midday.

“Do you want lunch?”

He shakes his head.

“No, but thank you. I’ll wait. If this meat’s as good as they say, I’ll want to save the space.”

I nod. Above us, the cloud shrinks, half its size now as it drifts toward the horizon. Soon it’ll be gone entirely. My chest tightens. There’s so much I want to ask him, so much I want to say, but the words won’t form. Something holds me back - fear, maybe, or worry.

What will he say when he finds out the truth? When he discovers who I really am? That I’m not the Evren he thinks I am? That I’m not Evren at all?

I search my memory, sifting through the fog for my true name. It takes longer than I expect, but at last I find it, clutching it close the way a child clings to a soft toy when the storm rattles the windows.

Hours slip by. Unable to move much, I sit and watch the village carry on around me. Tables are dressed in large cloths, stalls appear as hopeful artisans prepare to sell their wares to neighbors who’ll be too hyped up on celebration to haggle. Children dart past me in bursts of laughter, and I wave at them. Adults pass more slowly, nodding in gratitude - though I don’t feel like I deserve it.

Jesse’s head disappears beneath the raised engine cover, arms working in the shadowed depths. I can’t see what he’s doing.

Then a group of children - ten, maybe more - come running up, breathless and wide-eyed.

“Miss! Miss! Can you make the monster roar?”

The monster? Oh. They mean the tank.

Their faces are so innocent, so hopeful, it aches to deny them. I give a small, regretful smile.

“Sorry, but I-”

“What do they want?”

Jesse’s voice makes me jump; I hadn’t noticed him come back. The children squeal at his sudden appearance.

“Mister! Mister! Can we ride it? Can you make it roar?”

He hesitates. Something flickers across his expression - a memory, warm and bittersweet. Then his face brightens with a grin.

“I don’t see why not. Come on up!”

I blink in surprise. He accepted that easily? He’s really going to give them a ride? But then again, with the soul energy we’ve gathered, fuel isn’t exactly a problem anymore. And looking at his face, I can tell this isn’t just indulgence - it means something to him.

The children squeal as Jesse kneels to help them up. One by one he hoists them onto the sloped front plate, corralling them with a stern-but-gentle voice.

“Alright, if you want to stay up here, you do exactly as I say. Got it?”

They nod in perfect unison.

“Rule one - don’t touch me when we’re moving. Rule two - don’t stand in front of me when we’re moving. Understood?”

Again, solemn nods. Jesse breaks into a grin.

“Then let’s go on a little adventure, shall we?”

The cheer that follows nearly knocks me back with its force. He ducks under the gun barrel and strides to his hatch. Just before disappearing inside, he glances at me, shrugs, and smiles. I can’t help but smile back.

A click echoes from below - the tank’s power humming alive. His seat rises with a whine, and Jesse reappears long enough to check that all the children are seated safely on the roof.

“Going to stay up there?” he calls across to me.

I nod.

“Lucky,” he says with a grin. “I’d like to sit outside while I drive.”

He ducks under again. A staccato series of clicks follows, then the deep, clattering whine of the engine cranking to life. I clap my hands over my ears as the roar erupts, smoke billowing from the vents. The children erupt in hollers of delight, bouncing on the plating as if they could take flight themselves.

“Ready to go?” Jesse calls up.

“Yes!” the chorus replies - except for one cheekily muttered “no,” which is quickly smothered by a frantic friend pounding his hand against the plating, desperate not to be left behind. The sight makes me laugh despite myself.

I brace against the hatch rails, nodding to Jesse. Ready. He nods back, then swivels his head, scanning for obstacles. A few villagers look up from the feast preparations, concern etched on their faces, but curiosity keeps them watching.

The tank growls and begins to turn in place, tracks clattering against the dirt. The children wave at the gathering adults, who, after a beat, slowly start to wave back. Then we lurch forward, accelerating into the road, the engine purring like some great beast.

We trundle through the village, parents hurrying after us, worry written all over their faces. But my own attention snags on smaller details - the chipped paint on doors, the barrels lined neatly against houses, the boarded windows where glass couldn’t be afforded. Jesse might’ve given this village more hope than he realises.

At the outskirts, the plains spread wide before us. Jesse calls up over the noise:

“Are you holding on tight?”

A shuffle of bodies, hands grabbing railings, followed by a chorus of yeses. Jesse checks them one by one, then turns his grin toward me. A mischievous spark dances in his eyes.

My stomach drops. I know what’s coming.

I grip the hatch with all my strength.

The engine screams. The tank surges forward like a predator unchained. The wind lashes my hair, whips my clothes, and my first instinct is fear - pure and sharp. But then the rush of air changes something inside me. The ride is smoother than I’d imagined, steadier than a cart on cobblestones. The land blurs past beneath us, the children shrieking with laughter, and I realise I’m grinning just as wildly as they are.

Jesse’s face is lit with pure joy, a wide, unguarded smile that I’ve never seen on him before. The sight lodges deep in my chest, warming me even as the wind steals my breath.

We speed across the grass, cresting shallow hills, weaving careful arcs to avoid the crops. For minutes, we’re flying without wings.

Then Jesse slows.

“No! Keep going!” the children cry, voices overlapping in desperate protest.

He looks at me. I shrug. His grin returns, and the engine bellows again, hurling us into another circuit - faster this time.

The tank lurches suddenly as the turret begins to move. At first a subtle swing, then a steady rotation, the gun tracking some invisible horizon point. My grip tightens, hair whipping across my eyes as the change in wind direction jars me. The children squeal in delight. Jesse laughs. The turret completes a full rotation before settling again. Only then do I realise - he’d been driving backwards for part of it.

My nerves spike, but I force myself to breathe. I’m in good hands.

We complete the circuit and head back, though the children groan in disappointment. At the village edge, a crowd awaits: parents, younger siblings, more eager faces than before. Even from a distance, I can see the envy of those left out.

Jesse slows, eyeing them, and then shouts over the engine’s splutter:

“Alright! Everyone off. If you haven’t had a ride yet - climb up!”

The mood shifts instantly. Cheers erupt as the first group clambers down, taking their sweet time, reluctant to let go of the moment. The next wave clambers aboard, jittering with anticipation.

And so it goes. Two laps each. Every run a little different - longer arcs, sharper turns, subtle flourishes. Jesse’s grin never fades, and I find myself grinning with him.

On the last run, he gives the throttle a sudden burst, the tank jolting forward with a roar. The children scream in delight, their voices echoing across the plains, and I laugh with them, the sound torn away by the wind.

The final group is a lucky one - Jesse drives them back into the village itself, much to the disappointment of the children who’ve already had their turn. They follow, grumbling, their parents trailing behind, perfectly content that the ride is over. The sun sinks low on the horizon, the sky awash in deep gold. We move slowly between the buildings as the children not riding scamper alongside, locked in a noisy banter with those still perched proudly on the tank.

I smile at their antics. But inside, I’m unsettled. When was the last time I smiled this much? Have I ever smiled this much? Have I ever let myself feel this… light?

Images surface without warning. A woman in a maid’s outfit, her jet-black hair tied neatly in a bun, two floppy dog’s ears of the same shade drooping softly by her cheeks. A tail, fluffy and warm, soft to the touch. A small child - ice-blonde hair, eyes a deep violet. Myself, I realise with a start.

The maid guides me through the basics: teaching me letters, showing me how to run and play, how to cook, how to thread a needle. She lifts me onto her shoulders and walks me through palace gardens I only half remember, pointing out clouds shaped like animals, laughing as she helps me scatter seeds to the birds by the fountain.

That’s right. I used to smile often. I used to smile all the time.

The tank jolts, dragging me from the memory. The engine sputters and dies with a wheeze, and I realise we’ve stopped just short of the final turn that would reveal the feast tables. A crowd of villagers has gathered, running up to the front of the tank, waving eagerly. The smell of roast meat drifts thick in the air, making my mouth water.

Jesse climbs out of the hatch as the last of the children disembark. Sivan and Roi sprint up, practically yanking him down with their excitement.

“Come, come! The feast is ready! Come and eat with us!”

Before Jesse can answer, the crowd engulfs him, cheering and pulling him away. He glances back at me, helpless, before vanishing with them around the corner, swept along by their joy.

No one calls for me.

I sit in the hatch, listening to the distant laughter and music, the smell of food torturing my empty stomach. After a while, I ease my legs out and stretch across the cool surface of the armour, lying back as the sky deepens from gold to violet to black. Stars begin to bloom overhead, and I let myself drift.

“Hey, are you up?”

My eyes flutter open. The night is clear, filled with constellations. I must have dozed off. Jesse walks along the sloped armor toward me, balancing a plate piled high with vegetables and thick slices of roasted tortoise meat. A fork and knife are neatly placed at the edge. He hands it over, and my mouth waters at the sight.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

He shakes his head.

“No. I’m sorry I left you behind.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Still.”

I shrug and dig in. The food is rich, filling, each bite a comfort. Jesse stretches out beside me, eyes fixed on the sky. Aside from the faint echoes of music from the village, the night is calm. I finish the plate, set it aside, and lie back down, sighing with contentment.

“Thank you. That was delicious.”

“Don’t thank me - thank the chef.”

“Well then, who was it?”

“No idea. I didn’t think to ask.”

I sigh again, softer this time. Silence drifts between us until Jesse’s voice cuts through it.

“What do you think lies out there, Evren?”

“Hm?”

“Out there.” He points upward at the stars.

“Oh… I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

“Well, think about it now. First thought?”

I consider. “Maybe… that we’re very small.”

He laughs. “That’s fair. Can I tell you a secret?”

I perk up. “What kind of secret?”

“The kind you probably won’t believe. Not because it isn’t true, but because it’ll be new to you.”

Now he has my full attention. “Go on.”

“You know the sun?”

“Yeah?”

“Every one of those stars up there - it’s another sun. Just really far away.”

I blink. “Another sun?”

“Mhm. And each one might have planets like this one circling around it.”

“Planets?” The word feels strange on my tongue. He explains patiently.

“This world we live on - it’s a planet. A huge ball floating in space. Space is what’s beyond the sky: the black void you see now. There are countless planets out there.”

Pieces fall into place in my head. “And each sun has planets?”

“Exactly.”

“And each planet has people?”

“No… maybe. We don’t know yet.”

“Huh.” My curiosity sharpens. “Wait. How do you know all this?”

“That there’s no life on other planets?”

“No. That planets exist at all. That stars are distant suns.”

He hesitates, the easy tone vanishing. “…Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

And that’s all he gives me.

I let the silence settle again, the cool metal pressing against my back as I stare at the stars. They twinkle above us, a million tiny dancers locked in a timeless ballet.