Out of the fourteen islands that made up Neron, two of the innermost were known to everyone: the ones where humans and Sturtles lived, huddled under the protection of the outer ring against Mid Level Aura beings. But there was a third island, neither fully inside nor entirely out, lying at a position partially shielded from the specialized aura attacks of those mid-level beings.
That third island had become an obsession.
The two state ministers of Elixisied both wanted it under their control. They had fought over it for years, each trying to drag its name beneath their own authority. That was why the salaries of army soldiers in Elixisied were so high, why generals there were spoken of with a respect that bordered on fear.
The island meant power. Whoever held it bent a portion of Neron's future.
"I'll be leaving now," Ashen said.
He stood in the cramped house of an elderly couple, the room smelling of boiled grain and old cloth. He had just finished dealing with a small cluster of corrupt local officials — the type who stole from charity funds meant for abandoned old people, diverting donations into their own pockets. The couple had offered him food and a place to rest afterward, their invitation more gratitude than politeness.
An old granny, her back bent but her eyes still clear, smiled faintly. "Vice General, please come again another day."
He inclined his head once, then stepped outside.
On his way toward the front, thoughts coiled together with a calm bitterness.
All I ever wanted was acceptance here, he reflected. Elixisied never felt like it was built for people like me. This Vice General title… at least it earns me respect from old people. The ones no one else bothers to protect. Anti-corruption work gives me their gratitude, even if the ministers glare behind every handshake. That's fine. I'll keep working up—General next, then higher. High enough that I can rip the corruption out and throw it away.
The battlefield lay ahead, the wind already carrying faint echoes of groans and metal.
He entered the hospital first — a place packed beyond design. On beds, on mats laid on the floor, propped roughly against the walls, soldiers lay everywhere. Some groaned, some lay quietly unconscious. Others would never move again, their bodies covered with sheets, feet still visible at the ends.
"Give me only what matters," Ashen said. "Cut the fluff."
A medic, his face drawn from sleeplessness, answered crisply. "First: we lack doctors. Second: we especially lack good doctors. Third: our unit can't afford the expensive ones we do know exist. Fourth: Doctor Marsh is on Repoch Island. He's the only one who can really help this unit."
"Then send trusted men to fetch him," Ashen replied. "No delays."
Neron's fourteen main islands were the names everyone knew, but scattered among them lay countless tiny fragments of land — islets carrying maybe a hundred, sometimes a thousand soldiers at most.
Repoch was one such island.
---
Scene shifts — Repoch Island.
Inside a modest room, two men sat facing each other, each holding a fan of playing cards.
Marsh looked down at his hand with a lazy, unreadable expression. Across from him, Hurg leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes half-amused.
"Weren't you going to feed all of Neron for free within four months?" Hurg asked, voice dry. "You made that promise seventeen years ago, if I recall."
Marsh's face froze in a strange way — smile fixed, eyes slightly too wide, as though caught between laughter and something else. The expression held for a few seconds, brittle.
Then he exhaled once. "That plan," he said, "would've crushed my girlfriend's father's business. He sold Punchin tree products for money.So I stepped away from it. I kept the girl. Had two kids with her. Raised them to help others. Now, instead of one Marsh, there are three." He paused, then shrugged faintly. "At least, that's the story I tell myself. A bit of a cope, but it sounds neat enough."
He continued "this time it's going to be no bluff , I am actually going to provide free Punchin trees to everyone in 2 days as you already know"
Hurg listened, and Marsh's words brushed a nerve. Something in them pulled his own memories to the surface — quickly, sharply.
I was born to a corrupt Mayor, Hurg thought. Not a small one, either — a present Mayor. The kind who smiled in public and devoured everything in the dark.
As a child, I fought them hard. Every time they stole, every time they ignored the poor, every time they laughed about it, I pushed back. They brushed me off. Not once did they take my words about the poor seriously. And those who did — the poor themselves — their belief didn't shift their fate.
For a while, I still had a decent relationship with my parents. That lasted until around eight.
As I grew, I argued more. The distance grew with it. They stopped seeing me as their son and started seeing me as a nuisance.
Still, I wanted a world where people lived happily with their families. I didn't demand that this included me. Just them. A real family somewhere, even if I never had one.
At eighteen, I still hadn't been given any inheritance. I was the only son; they'd have thrown it at me when I was twenty-five or thirty. Or at worst, when they died. But there wasn't enough money in my hands yet to feed many poor people. So I did something they would've called monstrous, if they had ever believed in morality.
One night, during a party — a big one, house full of guests — I poisoned their food. Most people wouldn't choose a crowded night for that. Too many eyes. I chose it because of the crowd. Too many suspects meant it would be hard to pin on me. That was my calculation.
It worked. Police investigated. Rumors rose and fell. In the end, nobody knew for sure. Publicly, there was no culprit.
After that, with the money in hand, I fed the poor. Not once. Not for a week. I gathered them. Brought them together. Led them here, to Repoch. Now there are a thousand of us on this island. A population pulled from the streets, calling each other family.
---
Scene shifts — the past, on the streets.
"I'd like you all to come to an island with me," Hurg had said.
The beggars — scattered, wary, wrapped in clothes too thin for their bones — listened carefully. It wasn't every day someone talked to them without contempt.
He explained more. He didn't sugar-coat much. But he made it clear: food, shelter, a place.
Hundreds agreed. Some from hope. Some from lack of alternatives.
"You'll be allowed more than one partner," he told them bluntly once they gathered. "If your current partner agrees. Love is to be shared here. Children will be raised surrounded by it. No one leaves the island once they join. That's the rule. This place will be a kind of paradise on Neron — not full of future technology, but of simple lives. Families will be your only form of entertainment."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly with thought. "Well. Most of the time."
"There will be a few days for games."
He spoke then of a calendar — the Berdian Calendar.
"We'll follow the Berdian Calendar," he said. "Seventy-four days are in a cycle. We'll mark today on that calendar as the day of the Brothers of Repoch. Today is the fourteenth Berdian day."
Every seventy-four days from then — each fourteenth Berdian day — they would celebrate the Birth of Repoch Island Day.
"On that day," Hurg continued, "computers will arrive. Only that day. Multiplayer games will be available. The same game each time. Your progress will remain — ranks preserved — so you grow familiar with it. With that comes familiarity with each other. Longer bonds. Shared stories. A network of ties built through something simple."
No one on that broken street had ever been offered something like that — a pattern of life, laid out with such clarity.
No advanced towers. No wealth measured in opulence. Just simple homes, shared beds, meals eaten with people whose names you learned and didn't forget.