Let Me Show You the World in My Eyes

The Klasts thrived. We built a town. We built a city. We named them both. We coexisted under the Laws of Obsidian, a foundational law that dictated strict trade rules and community cooperation. A dawn ritual, 'The Circle of Ash,' was performed daily to uphold unity and deter betrayal. Yet, as prosperity grew, a new threat arrived. Klasts that wouldn't be controlled. The 'Therm-Raiders.' A name chosen to elicit fear. They chose life in The Ash Barrens. They wanted what we had. They advanced. The Regulators, enforcers of the Obsidian's edicts, did their job.

We prayed to La-VAA.

Peace is never easy.

___HOLLOWSTONE: AN UNEDITED HISTORY

the Abbot of The Spires

Sunlight slipped through the curtains, gilding Billy's room in molten gold. But even golden mornings can bleed, hinting at the conflict that looms.

He hugged his steaming mug close, wishing for a morning untouched by memory. Just once, he wanted the past to loosen its grip, to let him breathe freely. As he glanced out the window, the distant silhouette of a half-collapsed tower fractured the horizon. But how many dawns does a survivor get before old wounds come collecting? A breeze sent the map skittering across the table, as if the world itself refused to settle.

The floor trembled with a thunderous roar that rattled the walls, dragging Billy back to the explosion that gouged his life. An overwhelming dread gripped him as memories of the past mingled with the present chaos. He paused, grappling with the chilling realization that this was no ordinary threat but a reminder of vulnerabilities never fully healed. It was the thin, fragile ping of the first glass fissure that truly shocked him, splintering his childhood and lingering like a haunting melody.

His heart pounded as he yanked the curtains wide, panic slicing through him with desperation. The roar rumbled endlessly until a lone bird's song cut through the chaos, its notes haunting and misplaced, amplifying the terror that gripped him.

Billy’s mind spun, questions tearing at his focus as he lunged for the door. His foot snagged on a loose board, pitching him forward. “What the…” he gasped, fear coiling tight inside him. The stumble was a warning: danger hid everywhere. He pushed himself into a frantic run, driven by the pulse of uncertainty.

A hulking machine towered before him, an iron leviathan marooned on dry land. Its massive wheels carved deep wounds into the ash, each tremor like the heartbeat of some ancient monster. This beast, though fearsome, was their only hope of survival in the ash-ridden wasteland. Ash choked the air, clutching at his throat, a relentless reminder of the wasteland sprawling beyond his gaze. It stood as fierce as the melding from Mother's bedtime tale, a beast both feared and respected. Its side shimmered with a dull metallic sheen, reminiscent of burning coals, lending it an air of otherworldly menace. Billy felt the echoes of those stories, stirring a mix of awe and fear as he faced this modern-day myth.

A bulldog logo on the machine's front glowed softly, as if holding the warmth of the sun, casting tiny, flickering shadows that danced across its rusted surface—atop the boxy command center, caught the sunlight, looking like a ghostly remnant from before 'The Night Bringer' altered the world (named by the First Prefect, Talon Locke). This shimmer seemed a whisper from days when the skies were clear.

High on the dash, behind a hazed windshield, in a maze of frayed wires was a small, forgotten relic—a toy soldier with chipped paint and a crooked salute. It seemed to guard memories of a time past, a token of a world drowned in shadows—the guardian of a beast, each from the past. Each that shouldn't be here. And behind it, just breaching the shadows, sat Kye. Grinning madly.

The air crackled with the sharp scent of rust and oil. It ignited Billy's memory. It pulled him back to his father's workshop, a place of warmth and wild disorder where metal and sweat mingled, and every day was a lesson in stubborn hope. The vehicle looked like a ship run aground, its patchwork metal and battered rivets telling stories of neglect and survival.

Standing before the hulking machine, Billy faced a new lesson, one where the nostalgia of those simpler days twisted with immediate risk. Would relying on this mechanical beast be a mistake, forcing him into another chapter of turmoil? The echoes of his father's lessons urged caution, leaving him poised at the edge of a dilemma between memory and necessity.

A hollow groan seeped from the beast, merging with the turbine's relentless hum as it churned the ash. The sound mourned the past and warned of what was ahead. Smoke belched from the stacks behind the cab, accompanied by an unsettling cough from a vent, a hint of potential failure. Kye tasted ash and noticed the sputtering. He frowned, making a mental note to check the flanges and have spare parts, knowing how critical it could be in a future crisis.

The prow's sharp point promised it could slice through the thickest ash storms, but the reality was that dangers loomed greater than the storms themselves. A lookout post perched high, ready to spot escape routes or lurking threats from the Therm Raiders, whose strikes could hit with terrifying speed—often before a storm could gather strength.

As Billy surveyed the horizon, a silent bird suddenly appeared, gliding above the landscape. It circled once, its shadow flicking across the ash-covered ground before vanishing into the swirling dust. It made him think of the Therm Raiders' reconnaissance, where each strike wasn't just an attack, but a display of dominance. Their unnervingly silent strikes were whispered about, much faster than any storm, leaving no time for defense. Recounts of trained birds that spied, sowing fear and confusion before launching ruthless attacks. Moving like phantoms, they knew the hidden paths of the ash barrens, and their assaults were swift and deadly.

Kye, dwarfed by the machine, hesitated momentarily, casting a quick glance at Billy’s house before grabbing a handle and swinging down from the cab. He landed with a slight flinch, a twitch betraying a hidden pain. Grinning widely, he jogged to Billy, his excitement barely contained, though the brief lapse hinted at troubles beneath his cheerful facade.

Kye let out a long whistle, the kind he always used when he was about to deliver big news. "Well, Boss," a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilted his head towards the machine. "What do you think of this magnificent beast? Ready to leave tonight?"

His voice danced with mischief, but the question hung heavy, shadowed by the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Kye spun to face Billy, plotting his next move. He clapped his hands and leapt into the air, hoping to shatter the tension and coax a smile from his friend. No sooner had his feet left the ground than a slip of gears in the machine nearby resulted in a loud, metallic clatter. The earth bucked. Laughter died. He landed awkwardly, a reminder that laughter and peril coexist. Maybe, a little playfulness could chip away at the heaviness that clung to the Dune-Rider. As Kye stumbled to steady himself, a distant rumble reinforced that danger still prowled just beyond their fragile laughter.

Billy’s expression barely flickered, the gravity of the moment making him immune to Kye’s antics. In the hush, a single ash flake drifted onto Kye’s hat, pale against the dark canvas of the Regulator’s fabric, like a ghost of winter. Billy recalled the time of their first meeting. Billy tried to use humor by pronouncing Kye’s name quickly several times in one sentence. His grin widened at the memory, signaling not just a change of mood but also a remembrance of the trials they had faced together and the laughter that bonded them. The laughter faltered now, cut short by the reminder of the danger that pressed in from all sides.

Kye yelled, springing back with enthusiasm, his solar-giggs flying from atop the hat. Patting the door, he announced, “It's an Ash- tro- Naught.”

Billy shot Kye a look.

Kye snorted, his laughter tumbling into a low, uneasy rumble that ended in a cough. The sound betrayed the tension he tried to hide, his cheerful mask slipping to reveal the worry beneath.

“You made that up,” Billy said, arms folded, though a flicker of doubt flashed in his eyes.

Kye folded his arms, mirroring Billy’s pose with exaggerated seriousness, though a nervous energy still flickered beneath his playful act.

“Honest Boss, that's what they call 'em.”

They faced off in silence.

Silence thickened between them, time hanging in the balance. An ash flake spiraled down, settling at their feet as if the world itself held its breath. Billy’s arms remained crossed. He glared, the thought pulsing in his mind: He won’t back down. Yet beneath this tough exterior, a whisper of doubt slithered through him: Will he abandon me, too? The unspoken fear of isolation and betrayal lingered beneath his steadfast gaze.

Kye looked away, then laughed again.

Billy let out a slow breath, then allowed a grin to break through.

“You and your machines,” Billy said, heading for the vehicle.

Kye wiped away a tear and picked up his solar-giggs.

Billy’s eyes narrowed as he studied the machine. “Dune-Rider, huh?" He paused, skepticism threading through his words. "Does it really make it through the Ash Barrens?"

Billy eyed Kye, uneasy.

Billy circled the vehicle.

"What did this cost? Don't spend on me, Kye."

His voice faltered as the unspoken fear of debt or betrayal lingered in the tense silence that followed. A loud clang from the machine interrupted, like a coin dropping into an empty coffer, echoing the weight of unseen debts; the unease in Billy's mind left his worries hanging in the air.

Kye glanced up beneath the turbine, shame tightening his face. He couldn’t confess what he’d given up for this machine. Guilt simmered behind his strained smile. Ash swirled in the wind, oil and rust filling the air, carrying him back to the suffocating shadows of his past.

He remembered the man's cold eyes, a scar on his cheek that glistened with hostility. The overpowering scent of over-scented aftershave seared into memory, a flash of the whispered threats that filled the air with tension. The large hand over his mouth, the calluses scratching his lips, and the man's breath hot against his neck —the groan in his ear as the motion stopped. Haunting reminders of the choices he made and the silence he had to keep to survive.

“He owed me a favor,” Kye said, forcing a breezy tone while the truth gnawed at him. He stepped closer, gripping Billy’s arms and flashing a smile, desperate to hide his unease.

"You helped me before. More than once. I just wanted us to be safe. It's going to be intense. This should do it." He slapped the vehicle’s side, the hollow clang ringing out—a sound that echoed both his fear and his hope.

He paused, meeting Billy's eyes.

Billy watched Kye, noticing the way he hesitated just a fraction too long.

"It was worth it, for you, Boss," Kye said, the words carrying a weight of unspoken implications.

"What?" Billy called, engine noise drowning out Kye's last phrase.

Words tangled inside Kye. Debt? Danger? No. It was more. Proving himself. Worth fighting for. Believing in when the world said otherwise. Actions speak louder. Show Billy he's needed. Young, battered, but capable. Nothing he wouldn't do for him. Though the engine drowned out Kye’s words, unease surged in Billy’s chest. Was Kye trying to warn him of something darker lurking beneath their plans?

Kye stared at the ground, battling the storm of emotions inside. Turning toward Billy’s house, he mustered a brittle smile, his false confidence barely holding. He pressed his P.I.D. to shut down the machine. “Call Raven, let’s start the plan,” he said, the words urgent but empty.

Billy watched as Kye disappeared into the house's shadows.

Inside, Kye leaned into the hallway’s cold wall, letting the chill seep into his docker. Ash-colored shadows stretched around him, echoing the bleakness outside and the dread swelling in. A crack in the plaster snagged his gaze, a jagged line mirroring the fractures in his loyalty. Overhead, a flickering bulb cast restless patterns, a reminder of the fragile balance between his two lives.

He slid down the wall, knees buckling under the weight of his choices. The walls echoed with the same hollow clang that had rung out as he slapped the vehicle's side earlier, a sound that had captured his hope and fear. Now, it reverberated with a mocking resonance, merging with yesterday’s bargain, which whispered relentlessly, promises forged from desperation and secrets he could never share. His breath hitched, a gasp betraying his struggle. As shadows deepened, dread crept over him, not just for what he’d done, but for the terror that Billy and Raven might one day see the truth.

And watch everything fall apart.

His heart thudded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the burden he was choosing to bear in silence.

What would anyone do to prove their worth? What would you trade for belonging?