❖ Chapter 7: Bright Call
Light spilled softly across the Wastes — but the color never changed. It was always gray here. Dull. Dry. A place where even the sun seemed to hesitate.
Jio stood near the scorched rock wall, eyes on his hand again.
That faint warmth was still there. A tiny thread, pulsing in his chest. The part of him that believed he deserved to live, Havella had said.
He reached again.
It wasn't dramatic.
Just a quiet, internal gesture — as if tilting his mind sideways.
From his palm, a beam of soft light lanced forward. Narrow. Focused. It shimmered like a blade, but never burned the air. It left no scorch. No heat.
Only absence.
He lifted his hand again, and the beam appeared once more.
Again.
And again.
Every time — silent. Controlled. Clean.
"…I'll call it Bright Call," Jio muttered.
Havella, perched nearby on a slab of stone, gave a slow whistle.
"Man learns a magic trick once and now he's naming it like it's his pet," she said, half-teasing, half-impressed. "Fine. Bright Call it is."
She hopped down.
"Now come on. We need food."
---
They walked together toward the village ruins.
Jio didn't say much. Neither did she. The wind carried too much weight already.
The smell hit them first.
Burnt wood. Rotting flesh. Metallic hints of blood left behind.
The village was nothing but collapsed roofs and ash. Shattered doors. Charred baskets. Everything trampled.
And everywhere — bodies.
Men. Women. Some too small to be anything but children.
Some half-buried under rubble. Others face-down in dirt, limbs twisted wrong. Their eyes wide open. Mouths frozen in final gasps.
Blood dried into the cracks of the earth like dark ink. Flies buzzed greedily. Crows flapped down and picked at anything left untouched.
Jio stared, expression still blank. But his hand twitched slightly.
Havella noticed.
"You okay?" she asked quietly, not out of softness, but because she knew he wouldn't answer anyway.
He gave a small nod.
She didn't press. She had seen worse. Far worse.
She stepped over a corpse carefully and pushed open what was left of an old pantry door. "Help me check," she muttered. "There might be some dried grains that didn't burn."
They combed through the remains of the village in silence.
Once, Jio used his Bright Call to carefully cut open a sealed storage jar without shattering it. Inside — dried roots. Mostly moldy. Some still usable.
They found a few smoked fish under a collapsed roof beam. Havella reached with a grunt, pulling them out with fingers wrapped in cloth.
"Still edible," she said.
Jio glanced around.
More bodies.
One was curled around another — a mother and child, maybe. Long gone now. Jio didn't speak.
Not out of coldness.
But out of a strange kind of respect.
He leaned down and gently covered their faces with what little fabric was left near them.
"…You've done this before," Havella murmured, watching him.
"Not really," he said.
She didn't believe him, but she let it pass.
They moved on.
---
By midday, they had gathered a modest stash — a few cracked jars, dried roots, bitter nuts, a flask of water hidden behind a stone basin.
It wasn't much. But it was enough to not die.
For now.
They returned to their small camp just outside the village. Havella sat down hard with a sigh.
"Still can't believe you pulled off magic with no training," she muttered, tossing a root into her mouth. "I swear, you're like… cursed with good luck or something."
Jio looked at his hand again.
No light.
Not now.
But the warmth was still there.
Like something waiting.
"…Not luck," he said softly. "Something else."
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End of Chapter 7
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