They got to work, setting up tents and stacking supplies, their movements precise as they carved out a semblance of order against the chaotic jungle looming just beyond. The island was a maw, each shadow in the dense underbrush a reminder of what lurked in the dark. The strange, damp heat only intensified, pressing down on them as the last slivers of daylight drained from the sky.
As the sun sank, casting a fierce orange light over the horizon, a prickle of unease crept up Kylack’s spine. It was too quiet. The seawhips had vanished, and even the gentle roll of the waves sounded muted, as though the island itself held its breath.
Then kylack took a deep breath as well digging in his pocket felling his fingers wrap around the cold knife, it felt comforting in his hands and he hated it.
With a swing of his arm the knife left his hand in a single smooth motion, spinning once before vanishing into the dense foliage. Kylack stared after it, feeling a hollow sort of satisfaction settle in his gut. His father’s voice echoed in his head, steady and hard. “Never let them take your blade.” He’d always kept it close, even after he’d promised himself he’d never use it again. Yet here he was, unarmed, stranded on some forsaken island with a group of strangers he was supposed to trust. And he’d just thrown away the only weapon that might’ve saved his life.
Why now? What had made him think he could survive here, empty-handed, with nothing but his fists? But the thought lingered, clear and unyielding. Maybe it was because the blade hadn’t just been a weapon; it had been a chain. Something he’d never been able to shake, something he’d carried from Solthara, from the life he’d tried so hard to bury. By throwing it away, he’d cast off the last trace of his old life.
He clenched his fists, jaw set. “Good riddance.”
“Didn’t think you were the sentimental type.” The voice was quiet, young, yet strangely assured. Kylack turned to see Apollo standing beside him, eyes sharp with curiosity, yet laced with an understanding that felt beyond his years.
Kylack shrugged, trying to shake the moment off. “It’s not sentiment, kid. Just… survival. Things I don’t need, I leave behind.”
Apollo gave him a sidelong look, his lips curving in a small, knowing smile. “Survival, huh? Odd thing to say for someone tossing away a blade, your only blade too I assume.”
Kylack narrowed his eyes, sizing him up. “And what would you know about it? You’re barely a man. Survival’s not something you read in a book.”
“Maybe not,” Apollo replied, unflinching. “But sometimes knowledge is as good as a weapon.”
The boy’s confidence was irritatingly steady, and Kylack found himself curious, despite himself. “Knowledge, huh? All right, let’s hear it, then. What’s your great wisdom? You got a way off this island?”
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Apollo let out a breath, glancing out at the dense, darkening jungle. “No. But I know enough to see when someone’s haunted. Or maybe just trying to prove they don’t need anything from anyone. Including their themselves.”
Kylack’s jaw tightened. “Haunted? That what you see when you look at me?”
Apollo shrugged. “Maybe. It’s in the way you threw that knife. I’ve seen men let things go before, and it wasn’t like that.”
Silence settled between them, and Kylack stared at the boy. “So what are you, a pathseer now?” He tried to keep his tone rough, but he couldn’t shake the unease creeping up on him.
Apollo glanced at him, eyes sharper than Kylack would have liked. “No. But I’ve been forced to understand things… a little deeper than most. To read people. To think about why they do what they do. You learn that quickly when you don’t have many choices of your own.”
For a moment, Kylack didn’t know how to respond. The boy’s words held weight, a quiet sadness wrapped in something sharper. He’d assumed Apollo was just another kid trying to make his way in a brutal world, but there was more to him. Something that didn’t quite belong with a kid’s face.
“So, what’s your story, then?” Kylack asked, crossing his arms. “You’re here, leading this death squad, but you’re not like the rest of them. I can tell.”
Apollo gave a small, thoughtful nod, staring into the jungle as though it held answers. “I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not originally. I… I was someone’s property. Grew up in Solthara, actually, under a man who taught me science, mechanics, a little about how the world works. He taught me to question things, to want something more. I guess that’s what led me here.”
Kylack felt something uncoil in his chest. Solthara. The word alone held so much weight. It was a place that meant many things—both freedom and chains. “So, you wanted freedom?”
Apollo looked up, meeting Kylack’s gaze directly. “More than anything. But freedom’s tricky. It’s not just about leaving the life you had behind. Sometimes it’s about facing the things you don’t want to carry anymore.”
Kylack nodded slowly, feeling the truth in the boy’s words like a familiar ache. “Smart words, for someone so young.”
Apollo’s smile was slight, and a touch weary. “Old words, maybe. They were my master’s. He used to tell me that. Thought I didn’t understand, but… I think I do now.”
The silence stretched, both of them lost in thought. Kylack felt himself relaxing, just a little. He’d thought Apollo was just another naive kid, but there was depth to him, a quiet resilience that reminded him of himself, years ago, when he still believed in something other than survival.
Apollo broke the silence, his tone softer. “You know, you don’t have to throw everything away to 'survive'.”
Kylack smirked, a rueful twist of his lips. “Maybe not. But sometimes it’s the only way to feel free. Sometimes, letting go is all that’s left.”
Apollo tilted his head, considering. “I get that. I’ve tried letting go, too, but… sometimes I think living isn’t about what you've let go. It’s what you still have.”
Kylack looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of the conversation. The boy had a point, but it was one he wasn’t ready to face. “You’ll figure it out,” he said gruffly. “Life has a way of forcing lessons on you, whether you want ’em or not.”
Apollo’s gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe. But I think you already know that.”
A flicker of a smile crossed Kylack’s face, though he quickly hid it. This kid—he was something else. Quiet, perceptive. He’d never admit it, but Kylack felt an odd sense of respect, even a little pride, in seeing someone so young and yet so wise.
As the jungle grew darker and shadows thickened around them, Kylack reached out, clapping a hand on Apollo’s shoulder. “Stay close, kid. I get the feeling I'm gonna need that mind of yours before this is over.”
Apollo nodded, and for a brief moment, they stood in silence, each understanding that something unspoken had shifted between them.
Which character do you guys like better, Kylack or Trojin
