Some take opportunity as permission given.
Others, kindness as weakness.
And so it was not outsiders who betrayed him first—
but those closest.
A lover’s lie. A brother’s envy.
Even the wise can justify their ruin.
Choosing one’s company is no given.
The sheen of skin does not reveal the heart.
Perhaps that was his original sin.
Leah had said goodbye to Chen on the Communicator—a wondrous Golden Age device that had served as the backbone of her *real* business—not her bookstore—for decades.
It was part of a larger com-pu-ter, as Chen called it, that ran mostly by voice commands.
"Com-pu-ter, connect: terminal CZ013."
The screen lit up again. The view was nearly identical—just angled differently—capturing Chen as he stood and walked toward the back of the ship.
He methodically went through his weapons. Priceless, Golden Age weapons. Weapons even she couldn’t get her hands on—he was that possessive of them.
“These are for the trained. Not to say you can’t fight, but even our recruits would kill themselves just touching these. I’m not letting my wife or kids near them.” He had said the one time she’d broached the subject.
“Kill myself? Hah.” she muttered, disdain in her voice as she recalled the conversation.
She watched him move through his load-out, lingering a little too long with that damn polearm. It was his treasure—and, to be fair, a deserving one-man-army kind of weapon.
Chen moved back to the console, growing larger on the feed as he approached the hidden camera—placed long ago, close enough to feed her intel, far enough that Kildra wouldn’t detect it.
He sat back into the middle chair at the console and told Kildra their landing location. Of course that bitch had to snap back. This time she wanted a full slaughter of the Greens. That tidbit would fetch a high price on the intelligence market her network—The Telle—had established.
Funny to think The Telle had started—and been named—after something Chen had once told her, back when she first asked what he actually did for the Consensus.
“Information. Power to the right people. I provide that. I tell people what they need to know.”
She saw the opportunity immediately—repackaging what Chen brought home for a wider market. The Telle was born.
Chen put a firm foot down—no slaughter for the Greens today.
Perfect. He finds his morals at the least profitable moment.
It was a shameful loss of profit, but we can package it as motive and intention data and bundle it with the main information. Add in a profile about Chen's capabilities and it would be a very lucrative asset.
She learned he was going to land in a small clearing just outside of the forest itself. Near some ruins that Kildra thinks she knows. This definitely means existing tech. Good that information is always a good seller.
She paused, fingers hovering over the interface. This was the point of no return—but profit rarely waited for conscience.
She created three separate tickets about Chen's mission.
The first ticket was on 'Motive and Intention' analysis. The Greens would pay handsomely for information that would help determine if he was an ally, a neutral or an outright enemy. It would alleviate their command decision on their firing protocol. In this case likely to fire on sight. *Sorry Chen.*
The second ticket was on 'Force Composition and Infiltration Location'. Basically where Chen would land, his Ship information and capability, and probable infiltration route to the Greens camp. He was really good at reconnaissance, so they would still never see him with his light-bending camo, which she would probably leave out of the report. "*This was nothing harmful to a man like Chen*" she said to herself.
Lastly, she created a ticket about Chen himself. 'Infiltrator Profile'. It listed the majority of his capabilities and his current load-out. Somethings, like camouflage, were held back, but still there in a smaller capacity. She couldn't leave it out entirely as the quality of their reports is what made people do business with The Telle in the first place.
After a moment's thought, a fourth ticket was created—for the possible tech stash.
These didn’t command high bids individually, but they were always popular among explorers.
Every sale meant a little more feedback.
More rumors. More locations.
Enough fragments stitched together, and The Telle could assemble a full regional data packet for resale.
She hovered over the confirm button a moment longer than necessary. He’s strong enough, she told herself. This won’t kill him. Even if it did,
Kildra would just resurrect him. It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t quite the truth either. Even if he did die, resurrection made things... less dire.
More like a resource—reusable.
Chen would be providing for his family.
She knew it was a selfish thought to ease her guilt, but unlike Chen she wasn't a super soldier.
She could bleed and die.
Only through The Telle had she found her strength—and she’d be damned if she gave it up over the possibility of a temporary death.
With a final review and heavy heart she gave the command:
"Com-pu-ter, transmit these tickets to central for pricing, targeting and deployment. Open bids and payout options. Multiple sales."
She sighed. "This isn't a betrayal, my love." she whispered to herself as Cindra walked up behind her and tapped her on her shoulder.
"What isn't a betrayal mother?"
Leah’s back arched in surprise, freezing her for a second as she turned to face her oldest daughter.
Her very smart, and very observant child.
She knew plenty of people in her employ just like Cindra—the ones who needed constant eyes on them. The ones too dangerous to leave to themselves.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Indeed, Cindra would have made a perfect Telle operative—if she could ever be allowed in.
But Leah had already decided against it.
The girl was simply too close to her father.
“Nothing, dear… just thinking aloud about how your father is on a mission—not abandoning us—is all. It’s hard being the one left behind sometimes. You’ll learn when you’re older, dear.”
Leah passed her hand in front of the monitor Cindra was staring at, shutting it off with a wave.
Luckily, she was sure Cindra couldn’t read the runes Chen had taught her, the ones needed to operate what he called the ‘vid-e-o’.
From that starting point, Cindra had found a tutorial hidden deeper in the machine—teaching her even more of the ancient text.
“Besides, all it said was ‘instructions received,’” Leah thought. “No details. Should be fine.”
Cindra stood there, still staring at the dark monitor. After a long moment, she finally turned to her mother.
“What was that, Mother—on the screen?”
“Oh, just some numbers for the bookstore, honey. Your father taught me about an abacus inside the com-pu-ter,” Leah said, just as the monitor flickered back to its welcome screen. Both of them looked up.
“It’s brilliant—stores all the shop’s accounting on a single screen… would, would you like to see it?”
Cindra studied her mother’s face. The silence stretched. Then:
“I would. But first, Father must teach me the runes.”
Leah fought back a sigh of relief.
This child was too smart for her own good.
“Have you seen your tutor yet, Cindra?”
“No. They should be arriving shortly,” she said, following it up with a grumpy face and a sigh. “Maths today.”
“Oh, honey, is there an issue with the tutor? I got him recommended from the Lucio himself. If he’s not teaching you properly, we can arrange a new one, dear.”
“No, Mother. It’s not the tutor himself. It’s… it’s just that his maths makes no practical sense compared to Father’s. His is like observing a cart roll down a hill and concluding it’s fast after a set time. Father’s math can actually tell you how fast and when it will be the fastest. That—that is useful.”
“Oh. I think I see. But can’t you use your father’s lessons to help with the tutor’s work?”
“Of course, but that’s not the point. Father is rarely here, but the tutor is here often.
I wish to find a tutor who teaches Father’s math.
I don’t need to know how to till twice as many farms if I know how to calculate the overall amount of dirt in the farm—and how much fertilizer it truly needs.”
Leah looked at her daughter, lost in the moment—not quite grasping the deeper reason.
Annoyed, Cindra added,
“As such, the single farm would produce twice as much—or more.”
Leah took a moment to look at her twelve-year-old daughter—and suddenly it seemed like she was staring at a thirty-year-old woman.
She took a long, hard look at the child who stood before her, speaking as if they were peers.
Comfortable in her own skin.
Comfortable in her understanding of who she was.
Something Leah remembered she hadn’t truly grasped until long after she married Chen.
“Well, when your father returns, I’ll ask if there’s a way to make the computer speak common tongue—and perhaps tutor you in the maths you seem to crave. Would that seem pleasant enough to you, my dear?”
“Yes, Mother. I may also ask Kildra if she knows a solution to this problem. She is quite intelligent, even if you do not like her.”
Leah felt a jolt run down her spine, startled by her daughter’s words.
“My, no,” Leah said firmly. “It’s not that I dislike her, nor am I jealous of her. She is intelligent.
Much too intelligent for someone like me—and that, daughter, is what you see.”
She spoke with force, squashing any rumor Cindra might spread—though anyone with eyes could see the truth every time Leah and Kildra shared a room.
A knock rang through the first floor, the sound echoing oddly from the old Golden Age knocker embedded into their front door—like much in their house, a small forgotten marvel.
“That must be the tutor. I shall let them in. Cindra, prepare yourself so as not to insult his time.”
“Yes, Mother,” Cindra said, rising and moving toward the great room to await her lesson.
Leah took a slow breath and slipped on her professional mask—the perfect homemaker, the unassuming bookstore mistress—as she moved to open the door.
But standing outside was no tutor.
Leon Pyri.
A man who could have been mistaken for a figure from an old myth—an Adonis of a man, tall and golden.
Names the public whispered for men like them floated to her mind: lord, demi-god, herald…
Chen wore them quietly. Leon wore them like a second skin.
To her, he was simply Leon.
Chen’s bond-brother. His best friend.
And, inconveniently, very infatuated with her.
Leah smiled inwardly.
It was a compliment, really.
And while it could never be anything more, it was always fun to keep his interest alive.
“Oh! Leon! What a surprise! We were just awaiting Cindra’s tutor, Madras.”
She glanced behind him, spotting the portly tutor slowly making his way up the block, as sluggish as ever.
“There he is. But we may have five minutes yet. To what do I owe this visit, my fine sir?”
“Is there ever a reason needed to drop by and see you… and Chen’s brood, of course?”
He replied with a slight flick of his hair and a smile that radiated warmth.
Leah had a passing thought of how fun a dalliance would be—if it ever happened—only to quickly correct herself.
Flights of fantasy were allowed in the dead of night, in a lonely bed.
Not in front of a dangerous lure.
“I’d hope so. You are always welcome here,” she replied with wide eyes, red lips, and chocolate-toned skin that practically invited Leon to stroke her chin.
“Divan—is he near, too?” she asked lightly.
Leon let out a small sigh.
“Alas, no. He’s off with his prided Cult of the Wisp, instructing the new wave for their mission in the new land.
I hear Chen has gone to visit that situation now.
I suspect he’s spying on both sides to report back to the Lucio.
Good man, he is—for that.
Action without information is just asking for trouble.”
“Oh yes, he should be back within a fortnight, I hope.
Would you like to join us for dinner then, Leon? It’s been too long,” she said, a radiant smile blooming.
“Any excuse to be near you, Leah the fair. Any excuse at all.” he said, handing her a baker’s box.
“And for the children, of course.”
“Oh, thank you so very much, my champion of baked goods!” she laughed, accepting it.
“Well, with our wayward Chen, one must provide for the lovelies of this ward.”
Leon’s fingers lingered a moment too long on the box as she took it from him. He finally let go and stepped away with a casual wave.
“I am sorry I am late, my lady,” Tutor Madras said as he cycled up, giving a wide berth between himself and Leon.
“I saw the lord here and thought to give him a moment, if that was alright with you.”
“Oh, quite keen, Madras.
One shouldn’t upset a Herald when dropping off gifts,” she said, lifting the baker’s box slightly.
“However, now we have some dessert for your maths lessons.
Maybe use them as examples for baker’s maths with Cindra.
She told me this morning herself how much she loves your lessons.”
“Oh! Does she?” Madras brightened.
“That is so nice to hear—especially from one such as herself.
She’s taught me some things her father taught her—fascinating methods.
I’m thrilled she enjoys my lessons.
I shall be sure to double them for her now.
I was actually afraid she saw my maths as inferior.
It’s a relief to hear otherwise.
You are truly a blessed woman to have one so smart, my lady.”
Leah and Madras moved toward the great room where Cindra sat, watching her mother enter with the tutor.
“Mother, who was that at the door? Was that Leon again? Did he bring cookies once more?”
“Yes. Yes, it was. He cares for your father so much, looking after us while he’s away—don’t you think, my dear?”
“Yes. The cookies are very good,” Cindra said, eyes following Leah as she carried the box, her fingers lingering a moment too long on the place Leon had touched.
“Mother, is all well? You’re blushing.”
“Yes, daughter. All is well. I just… miss your father, is all.”
She placed the box gently on the table.
“Please begin your lesson. Madras was just telling me he’s doubled the work for today—you’re progressing so quickly.”
Cindra sighed, lowering her head in disbelief, but nodded with polite obedience.
“Fine…” she muttered. “Let’s just get this over with so we can eat some of your lover’s cookies.”
“Excuse me?!” Leah snapped, louder than intended. “What did you just say, young lady?”
“I said… let’s finish this up so we can eat our lovely cookies,” Cindra calmly said, blinking, concerned. “Mother, are you well?”
Madras sat silent—quietly adjusting his satchel, politely looking away.
“Oh. I… I must have misheard. Yes. Please, continue.”
Leah turned and walked off toward the study, the computer station waiting silently inside. She paused there, staring at the screen—thinking.
The room around her felt still, wrong somehow.
Her world felt like it was slipping sideways.
What a strange day already.
The streams in the forest will cleanse such sins.
For the forest does not choose who wanders into its arms.
As we shall see
The forest never forgets who can—and who cannot—stay.