Revolutions

140 - Haesan

Drowning isn't always about water.

That's what it feels like now, as our raft drifts silently through the narrow canal—like I'm drowning in this place, in everything I've left behind here. The shadows of Qapauma cling to me, heavier with each breath I take, pulling me deeper into the city's heart. No matter how many times I leave, I always return. But I can't shake the feeling that I'll never leave this time. That Qapauma might be where my story ends.

The rough wood digs into my palms as I tighten my grip on the edge of the raft. Ahead, the scarred skyline of Qapauma rises against the fading light. The once-great city looks worse than I remember. Its walls are cracked, its towers broken. But it's the silence that unnerves me most. The quiet, as if the city is too tired from the continuous war to speak.

We slip in through a forgotten waterway, a canal that remains unfinished. The water beneath us is murky and thick. Xelhua stands at the front, guiding us with slow, deliberate strokes. He's calm, as always. The others, the Qantua warriors, are tense, their hands never straying far from their weapons. They don't trust this city nor the people in it. Neither do I.

Achutli. Father. I feel the bile rise in my throat at the thought. I can't even bring myself to call him that. He's here, somewhere in the rotting heart of the palace, clinging to the last scraps of his throne. I should feel something for him—anything. But all I feel is a sense of dread. He is not the reason I return.

Yachaman is. Innocent people like her. Somewhere in this crumbling ruin, she's fighting—fighting for Qapauma, for the people, for the city I can't seem to care about. She's here, and I can't fail her. The thought of her in the crossfire makes my chest tighten. I can't bear to think of what might happen if I'm too late.

"We are close," Xelhua's voice rumbles, breaking the silence. Breaking my stream of thoughts.

I nod, though I say nothing. I stare at the jagged walls and shattered buildings ahead. The canal narrows, and the stone walls on either side tower above us like ancient monoliths. The sounds of battle are unmistakable now—shouts and clashing metal carried on the wind like a storm building over the horizon. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, that sickening churn that always comes when you're close to death, but not quite near enough to touch it.

We push through the final stretch of the waterway, and there it is, before my eyes: the palace of Qapauma. Once towering and proud, it now buckles from the endless assault. The last time I saw it, it was battered, but standing. Now, it looks like it's been ground into dust.

Turquoise and magenta flash in the chaos, spears glinting in the fading light. The bodies of the Qente Waila warriors twist in brutal arcs as they crash into the orange-and-red lines of Achutli's loyalists. The royal guards fight with an unmatched ferocity—bronze armor gleaming, shields raised, holding the line despite the relentless push from the rebels.

It is impossible to tell who is winning. Or if anyone will. The warriors of Qapauma fight for the city, for their Arbiter. The Jade Hummingbird fights for something more—an idea of freedom, of dismantling a system built on the backs of the broken. They fight with a desperation that mirrors the loyalists' determination.

And here I stand, watching them tear each other apart, unsure who I even want to see emerge victorious.

The city is being destroyed all over again. As if the Eye in the Flame didn't already carve its mark into this place, these rebels and royal warriors alike are finishing the job. Every blow struck feels like another crack in the foundation of Qapauma. The walls that remain standing look like they might topple any moment, and the smoke that curls from the burning homes and broken towers clouds the air, making it hard to breathe. The ground is slick with blood as bodies are piled atop one another, with limbs contorted in unnatural ways.