The ruins stretched out before them, silent and broken. Columns cracked in half, walls scorched black, and streets buried under years of drifting sand. Nilo whistled low, crouching into his now-signature squat, hands dangling loose between his knees like some desert philosopher.
"Cheerful place, isn't it?" he muttered, picking up a shard of pottery. He squinted at it, then held it up to his ear. "Yup. Still empty. No soup inside."
Kanan elbowed him lightly. "Stop joking. This was someone's home."
The girl, walking just ahead of them, did not smile. Her steps were quiet, but deliberate, like she knew each stone by name. For a while, no one spoke. The silence of the ruins pressed in on them, and only the dry wind dared to whisper.
Finally, she turned, her small daggers glinting faintly at her side. "You've asked where you come from. What about you? What's your story?"
The boys exchanged a look.
Nilo, of course, spoke first. "Our story? It's simple. Dust, bugs, and Mom's 'imaginary stew.'" He grinned, though it faltered at the edges. "Every day, she'd pretend the boiling water was soup, and we'd close our eyes and swear it tasted like something. But really - " he flicked a pebble away " - it was just water and smoke."
Kanan's voice was steadier, though quieter. "The wasteland doesn't give. You scrape, you beg, you chase shadows. We were always hungry. Sometimes we'd find beetles under the rocks, or those thick worms after the rain. They kept us alive. Barely. But… that wasn't living. That was just waiting to die."
Nilo's grin dropped completely now. "So we left. If the wasteland had nothing, maybe the world did." He tapped his chest twice, then Kanan's. "Two against everything."
The girl studied them for a moment. Something softened in her eyes, though her face stayed unreadable through her scarf. She turned and began walking again.
"Come," she said. "If you want to see what the world holds, you must also see what it takes away."
They followed her deeper into the ruins. She guided them through shattered arches, past toppled statues whose faces had long eroded. Each step echoed with a history they did not know.
"This city," she began, voice calm but heavy, "was once alive. Music in the streets. Lanterns lit each night. Families in every home. Until greed burned it all."
She stopped before a broken fountain, its basin cracked down the middle like a wound.
"There was a rebellion. The people rose against the monarchy. They believed freedom was worth any cost." She touched the stone with her fingertips, eyes far away. "But the rulers would not yield. Neither side listened. And so… they tore each other apart."
Her words cut sharper than her daggers.
"The soldiers set fire to the homes. The rebels poisoned the wells. Brother turned against brother. No victory came. Only ashes."
Kanan swallowed hard, imagining the mothers and children in those burning homes.
Nilo shifted uncomfortably. "And you? How do you know all this? You talk like you were…" He trailed off, searching for the right word. "…watching it."
She looked at him with eyes too old for her young face. "Maybe I was."
The wind carried her words like a ghost through the broken streets.
Hours passed as she led them further into the ruins. At last, they came to a narrow stairway half-buried in rubble. The girl pushed the stones aside with surprising strength, revealing a hidden chamber below.
The boys followed her inside. The air was cooler, still carrying the faint smell of charred wood. Torches long extinguished lined the walls, and at the far end stretched a mural. No. A map.
Painted in sweeping strokes across the stone, it showed mountains, rivers, deserts, and seas. More land than the brothers had ever imagined. Symbols they did not understand marked cities and paths.
Nilo's mouth fell open. "That's… the whole world."
The girl didn't correct him. She only stood before the map, her shadow cast long by the dim light sneaking in through cracks above.
"You wanted to know where to go next," she said softly. "This is where the path begins."
[To Be Continued...]