"So… you're all really going to leave?"
Max stood still, arms folded, voice low.
The hall around him held quiet like a breath. Walls patched with scrap metal. Air dry with dust and rust.
The settlers stood in scattered lines, skin pale, clothes thin, their eyes distant—like they had already stepped away from this place long before their feet would.
Old Man Mark nodded once.
"Yes. We can't stay here anymore. Every stone, every path reminds us of the past. Of the sands. Of the screams."
His words cracked, voice dry like old bark.
"It's better we go. Far away from the Dancing Fire Region… far from what we let happen."
Max didn't move.
"I understand. Headquarters already got my message. The evac ships are being prepped. You'll have your way out."
Mark looked down. When his eyes lifted again, they shone with something faint.
"Thank you, Max. I mean that. Truly. Even after everything—after what we did to you and your brothers—you still risked your lives to help us."
