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The murmurs of his ancestors, stirring in his cognition all this time, saturated his thoughts and walked through his dreams.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by the legends of the Ameru, the Watchmen, and the Witchmen, the ancient guardians of his forebearers, wielders of energy outside the realm of logic.

In particular, a trio of them who took great delight in haunting his nights.

He’d long rejected them and their folklore, dismissing them as primitive superstitions.

Yet, here Issa was, living proof that maybe, just maybe, those myths weren’t fables at all.

Damn her.

For so long, he forced those memories into the farthest recesses of his mind.

But ever since the crats experimented on him and toyed with his mind, his metanoids began unlocking long-dormant knowledge.

His people’s wisdom. Ancient tribal remedies. Lost techniques.

Now, seeing what Issa had done, the whispers came back. The ones he spent years trying to ignore.

Ki’Remi Sable, you cannot outrun your legacy.

He jolted and whipped his head as if someone spoke to him.

There was nothing to see but the swaying tree branches and river waters they walked along.

His shoulders tensed, his grip tightening around his weapon as he strode forward.

Fokkin’fantastic.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Issa didn’t push him further.

For the first time, she permitted the silence to stretch.

She let him brood and unravel his damn wild thoughts.

He appreciated it because one more word from her and he’d implode.

11

Immortal Penance

Ki’REMI

Lothakin lay nestled within the embrace of rolling emerald hills, a tapestry of small farmhouses, handwoven huts, and sprawling fields bathed in golden morning light.

It exuded warmth and welcome with the glow of oil lanterns and the gentle curl of smoke from a stone chimney.

This was a place of kinship, of community.

A world unto itself where time moved in tune with the earth’s rhythms.

Some homes were built from polished river boulders, woven reeds, and bore roofs of dried palm fronds.

Others were circular huts, domed like beehives. Their exteriors were finished with an iridescent resin that shimmered in the light.

Most entrances were adorned with hand-carved totems and bright tapestries, each marking the lineage of those residing within.

Hand-tended gardens filled with medicinal herbs, wildflowers, and rows of thriving crops were a testament to the village’s self-sufficiency and deep reverence for the land.