A Kaeloque Tale - Chapter 3 Part 1
Annika
I gaze out over the Garden through the French doors of Magique Lily’s spacious kitchen. Beyond the doors, a stone terrace leads to a sprawling landscape of greenery. To the left, the atrium garage houses my father’s and Phi`nal’s workshop, where they used to spend hours crafting their specialty ether powered motorcycles. These days Phi`nal works alone. Today, though, Phi`nal is helping Lily with the garden before he heads to his day’s work at the bike shop.
He says he finds balance between building motorcycles for the She-Yons and working with Mother Gaia. Without her grounding presence, it would be all too easy to get swept into the politics, corruption, and opulence of New Chicago. But here, as he works the warm earth with his large hands, carefully transplanting seedlings, he stays grounded. Knowing the seedlings dislike being uprooted, he gently apologizes to each one, promising them a good home. His hands, though broad and strong, are surprisingly gentle and deft.
The garden sprites—bright, fleeting pinpricks of light—dart around him in a lively dance, visible only to those who know how to truly see. Few possess such vision, but Phi`nal's unique gift, an innate bond with the plants and the garden's tiny Divas, allows him to perceive and work with their shimmering forms. This connection is just a tiny glimpse of his complex Odd, yet it's power is unmistakable. The moment he steps into the garden, the sprites swarm him, their eager movements almost comical, as if irresistibly drawn to his dark, handsome presence.
Normally, watching Phi`nal work in the garden would lift my heart, drawing me outside to join him. He’s my second father, my father’s dearest friend since before I was born, and I am profoundly grateful for his love and place in our family. Yet today, I remain frozen, anchored to the spot. I blink rapidly, barely aware of what’s in front of me. My mind is a whirlwind, thoughts scattering and colliding so wildly that I can’t move. How much time do we have? Not long, I fear. How can we protect Oza? So many saw what happened. The Officials from The Council will summon him soon—maybe even today—after yesterday’s very public display of his Odd. And when they do, there’s a good chance he’ll never come back.
“Damn him, damn him!” I mutter, shaking my head.
Why couldn’t he have kept his temper in check? Called for help? Stayed home and met me at 9:00, like he was supposed to? Now his life—and certainly his freedom—hangs by a thread. The Council will never overlook such a brazen display of Oddling power. I can’t bear to imagine the full weight of their punishment, the horrors they might inflict on my little brother. The thought of losing him fills me with anguish. This family has already endured too much loss. I cannot—will not—let it happen again.
A car parked near the Village Square catches my attention. Does it belong here? Is someone visiting, just browsing the Beach Market from an outlaying Kaeloque village? Or have the spies already begun their work? Those vile, power-hungry Council members—She-Yons in the guise of protectors—are nothing but parasites, burrowing into the heart of families and communities. They twist good people into liars, forcing them to betray their own just to shield those they love.
The She-Yons were the ones who drove friends and families into tight-knit clusters, creating safe spaces within the Tribes to shield humanity's evolution. They forged this alliance with the Regellan Tribe—a thought that sends an involuntary shudder down my spine. Mysterious and menacing, this partnership troubles Kaeloques and Oddlings alike. To the She-Yons, humanity’s evolution—embodied by the Oddlings—isn’t a step forward but a dire threat. They brand Kaeloques as little more than witches and demons, enforcing oppressive laws to suppress magic and painting Oddlings as dangers to society itself.
The She-Yons routinely justify their actions by framing Oddlings for crimes, imprisoning them under the guise of keeping society "safe." This oppressive practice has persisted since the first Oddlings of the new world came of age following The Great Devastation. The She-Yon government, led by The Regent and supported by the Council of Twelve, fully endorses this policy, claiming it serves the greater good of society.
Oddling disturbances are generally handled locally by city councils established under the National Governmental Coalition for the Management of Oddlings (NGCMO). This coalition was created shortly after the She-Yons—more precisely, the Regellan Tribe—declared Oddlings a threat to society. Thankfully, the barbaric and devastating practice of Oddling infanticide was abolished 17 years ago, ending five years after it began and just a year before Oza was born. Even so, its dark legacy lingered far too close for my family’s comfort.
The tea in my mug has gone cold. How long have I been standing here, silently watching Phi`nal? I draw a deep breath, steadying myself as I resolve to act. Waiting for the She-Yons to come for Oza is no longer an option. If we stay here, there will be no future for him.
I’ll ask Clair to help Nana Lily manage the store and request Phi`nal spend more time in the garden, taking over the chores I’ll be leaving behind. I don’t know how long the journey will take or even if we’ll reach our destination, but I have no choice. I can’t stand by and watch my brother be condemned to a lifetime of imprisonment—or worse.
As if sensing my thoughts, Oza quietly joins me on the stone terrace. He turns to study my face, and a wave of pain and helplessness crashes over me, leaving me momentarily unsteady.
“I know you’re angry with me, Ani. But I couldn’t just leave little Tika behind—could I?” he pleads, his voice breaking. Tears well in his eyes; he understands the weight of the danger he’s brought upon us.
Oza is healing quickly—not as fast as before, but still faster than anyone would think possible. The scars across his face and hands form a translucent map of his ordeal, though they’ll vanish entirely as his regeneration continues. Already, the skin and tissue torn away during his implosion have rebuilt themselves, thin and silvery pink. Yet, the deep weariness in his eyes and the heaviness in his heart are unmistakable.
“What’s done is done. Being angry won’t change anything,” I say softly, tracing one of the scars on his cheek with my fingertip.
“But we can’t stay here. They’ll be coming soon.”
Oza nods, his gaze dropping to the floor as his dark hair falls over his eyes in that familiar way.
“I’ll ask Clair to help with the shop, and Phi`nal can tend the garden and harvest whatever Nana needs.” I pause, the weight of my next words pressing down on me. “We’re going to the hideout to gather whatever information we can. After that, I’m taking you to the mountains. I’m going to ask the Ammonians to take you in.”
Oza gasps, the sharp intake of breath breaking his tense silence. His eyes lock onto mine, wide with disbelief, searching my face for any hint that I might not mean it.
“No, Ani,” he whispers, shaking his head vehemently. “You can’t risk that. No one’s ever... and the Black Desert—it’s impossible. We can’t! I won’t let you!”
Tears spill down his face as his voice trembles with fear—fear of the journey ahead, but just as much fear of what will happen if we stay.