MyTy leaps from the ship.
As he falls, he begins his breathing technique, preparing for landing. The moment the ground comes into view and he can see the cracks, he shifts position, feet first.
His landing creates an impact crater the size of a basketball court.
He straightens up, watching the spaceship soar toward the distant castle. Then, without a word, MyTy turns toward the nearby forest and jumps into the trees.
Once he reaches the treetops, he surveys his surroundings. In the distance, he spots an open area in the forest and nods. Then he leaps off, heading that way.
In the middle of the clearing stands a small hut.
MyTy knocks on the door using a special rhythm.
For a moment, there’s no response. Then, suddenly, several hidden hatchways spring open all around the clearing. People armed with guns jump out, surrounding him.
MyTy raises his hands and forces a smile. The source of this content ɪs NoveI(F)ire.net
The group freezes, then they recognize him. They drop their weapons and start crying.
MyTy lowers his hands and bows his head.
From one of the hatchways, an old man’s voice bellows out:
"The hell y’all cryin’ fo’?"
The old man climbs out, and when he sees MyTy, his eyes widen in shock.
MyTy gives him a sad smile.
"Long time, old man. How you been?"
The old man’s eyes fill with tears. He quickly wipes them with his sleeve, trying to look stern again.
"You done came back. Sum nerve."
MyTy lowers his head.
The old man walks toward him with anger in his steps.
"Sorry? What you sorry fo’? Leavin’ us? Abandonin’ us? Forsakin’ us to the wolves? Leavin’ us with that bloodthirsty king and his murderin’ dogs? Nah, nah, don’t be sorry. You don’t deserve to feel sorry.
"You didn’t lose your family. You still got all your limbs. They didn’t rape what you treasure most right in front of your eyes. Nah... you don’t deserve the right to feel sorry."
The old man stops right in front of MyTy.
MyTy’s head is still bowed. He can’t say a word in his defense. He sees the shadow of the old man’s arm rising, and braces himself for a hit he knows he deserves.
But instead, the old man grabs him and hugs him tight.
MyTy is stunned. The old man can no longer hold back his tears.
"You got nothin’ to be sorry fo’, you fool. You did your best... and lost. Ain’t no shame in survivin’. We only got as far as we did ’cause of you."
The others rush forward and swarm around MyTy, wrapping him in a tearful embrace.
He stands still, overwhelmed.
After a few moments, the old man lets go.
"That’s enough now. Let’s get back underground before the scouts see us."
They all climb down the hatches and enter a long, dark tunnel.
MyTy walks beside the old man, who glances at him with a thoughtful look.
MyTy keeps his eyes forward as he answers.
MyTy gives a genuine smile, and the old man grins back, though his grin soon fades as a thought crosses his mind.
"He’s been taken care of," MyTy interrupts, shaking his head. "Unless the king’s got another one of that caliber... we good."
The old man nods slowly, thinking through the possibilities.
"We ain’t fought the king’s men since the war ended. We hid, licked our wounds, gathered strength, and waited for somethin’ to change."
He slaps MyTy on the back with a laugh. MyTy smiles.
Their walk continues until they reach an underground settlement, home to the remaining rebels.
When the people see MyTy, they erupt into cheers. The old man lets them celebrate for a while before stepping onto a platform and shouting:
The crowd roars in response. The festivities begin.
MyTy sits at a large table, watching everyone dance and laugh. For the first time in a long while, there’s joy in the air.
Then, a young man approaches and stops beside him.
"Pretty sure I can beat yo’ ass right now."
MyTy’s eyes widen. He jumps to his feet as if seeing a ghost.
"But you fell," MyTy says in disbelief. "Sachem hit you hard enough to shatter you!"
Rakib crosses his arms with a cocky smirk.
MyTy laughs, smiling ear to ear.
"Yeah," Rakib says, nodding proudly. "Yishfi helped me a little, but it was mostly me."
MyTy looks around quickly.
"Is Yishfi here too?"
Rakib’s head drops, and so does the old man’s.
The old man steps forward and rests a hand on MyTy’s shoulder.
"Tonight ain’t the night for that. Tonight, we celebrate another chance. We done cried enough for her, no need to add your tears."
MyTy nods, lifts his glass high, and shouts:
The crowd raises their glasses and echoes as one: