Fractured Refuge.

The monastery, once a place of tranquility, is now a hollow shell of its former self. Time has worn away its grace, leaving behind only remnants of its past purpose. The walls are cracked, and some pieces of stone have fallen from the weight of years. The once-vibrant murals that lined the hallways are faded, their colors muted by neglect and decay. The scent of wet earth fills the air, a constant reminder of the moisture creeping from the earth below, where the mist clings to the valley like an endless shroud. Tall, stoic statues of Buddhas, worn and moss-covered, stand like silent guardians, their faces peaceful, yet unknowable, watching the fractured group with an eternal stillness.

As the Coalition gathers in the dim hall, the silence presses down like a heavy weight, broken only by the occasional rustle of the leaves outside, the wind whispering across the moss-covered stone. Inside, the silence is suffocating, an oppressive force that seems to reflect the broken spirits of the group.

The group is scattered, each person lost in their thoughts, trying to process the brutality of Tessa’s attack. The betrayal, the violence—it all weighs heavily on them. Tessa, who had once been a part of their ranks, had turned against them in a brutal confrontation, and now they were left to deal with the aftermath.

The monastery, once a place of peace and sanctuary, now feels like a tomb. Trust is a fragile thing among them, and it’s been shattered beyond repair. Every glance exchanged feels loaded, filled with unspoken accusations.

Somchai stands near the shattered window, looking out at the misty valley below. His fists are clenched, knuckles white, his body tense. The view offers no comfort, only a vast sea of fog that mirrors the turmoil inside him. His back is straight, but his posture betrays a simmering anger that is barely contained.

Behind him, Mira sits on the cold stone floor, her back against one of the walls. She’s tending to the cuts and bruises on her arms, the bandages in her hands trembling slightly as she wraps them around her wounds. Her face is impassive, showing no outward signs of the pain, but her eyes flicker with unease. They’ve all been changed by what happened—by the violence, by the betrayal. Something inside her has shifted, and not for the better.

Somchai, his voice low, almost to himself, "This place is cursed… or maybe we are."

Mira, without looking up, her voice flat, "Does it matter?"

Somchai turns his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he meets her gaze, though her face remains stoic. The question lingers in the air between them. It’s not just the monastery they’re questioning—it’s themselves, their place in all this, the future, and the choices they’ve made.

Somchai, gritting his teeth, "Maybe not, but it feels like we’re being punished for something. For trusting the wrong people. For thinking we could fix everything."

Mira pauses, then speaks softly, "You can’t fix what’s broken, Somchai. Not everything can be put back together."

A long silence follows. The only sound is the wind outside, howling through the trees, almost as if it’s whispering secrets to the broken walls of the monastery.

Kiran, who had been standing apart from the others, his arms folded across his chest, speaks up. His voice is steady but carries a hint of frustration.

"So what now? Do we just sit here, lost in this ruin, until we die from the inside out?"

Felix, who had been pacing back and forth in the corner of the room, glances at him.

"We find answers. We don’t give up."

Kiran, laughing bitterly, "You sound like you still believe we can make a difference. But look around you, Felix. This is where we end up. In the ashes, questioning everything."

David, who has been unusually quiet, steps forward. His voice is low but carries authority.

"Kiran’s right, Felix. We’ve been through hell. We’re all broken in one way or another, but that doesn’t mean we give up. Not yet."

Bintang, who has been standing in the doorway, watching the exchange in silence, finally steps into the room. He’s been a silent observer, the tension in his face barely concealed, but his presence adds weight to the conversation.

"You talk as if we’re the only ones suffering, but the world’s falling apart around us. We all have our battles, our scars, but the real question is—what do we do with them?"

The room falls silent, each person contemplating his words. Bintang’s gaze sweeps across the group, lingering on each person. His eyes are intense, the weight of their shared history and uncertain future heavy on his shoulders.

Felix, muttering, "What’s the point of fighting when it feels like we’re already dead inside?"

Bintang, with quiet conviction, "Because we’re not dead. Not yet."

A silence hangs between them, each person struggling with their doubts and fears. The flickering shadows cast by the dim light play across the walls, creating an almost surreal effect, as if the monastery itself is alive with the spirits of the past, whispering their secrets into the cold, damp air.

Mira, quietly, "We have to trust each other. Even if it’s hard."

Somchai, his voice low but steady, "Trust? After what happened with Tessa?"

Mira, without hesitation, "Yes. If we don’t, we’re lost. We need to move forward. Together."

The words hang in the air, heavy and uncertain. But in that moment, a flicker of understanding passes between them. They’re all broken, but perhaps they can still find a way to mend themselves, to heal the fractures, together.

And in that dimly lit monastery, surrounded by the remnants of a forgotten past, the Coalition begins to come to terms with the difficult path ahead.

—

The central hall of the monastery is a somber sight, its grandeur long forgotten. Broken tiles lay scattered across the floor, forming a patchwork mosaic that tells stories of a past filled with legends and wisdom now lost to time. The air is thick with the smell of damp stone and mildew, the remnants of a place that once resonated with peace and purpose. Now, it is a hollow shell, just like the relationships within the Coalition.

The group has gathered in the middle of the hall, but a palpable distance separates them—not just physical, but emotional. The walls that once held whispers of ancient prayers now reflect the harshness of their fractured unity. Every step feels like an echo, reverberating with tension.

Somchai stands at the edge of the room, his posture rigid, his eyes narrowing as he watches Mira. The weight of his gaze is like a physical pressure, heavy with suspicion. His hands are clenched at his sides, a subtle tremor betraying his growing anger. The silence between them stretches long, until he steps forward, his shadow falling over Mira like an omen of impending confrontation.

His voice cuts through the quiet, low but laced with accusation.

"You knew."

Mira’s body stiffens, her shoulders tensing, but she doesn’t turn to face him just yet. Her silence is brief before her eyes flicker in his direction. The tension in the air is almost suffocating as she responds, the words coming out clipped, defensive.

Mira, her voice sharp, "Knew what?"

Somchai moves closer, his presence suffocating as his suspicion burns in his eyes, focusing solely on her. He takes another step, and now his voice drops, sharp as a blade.

"About Nguyen’s ambush. About Tessa’s plan. You were there... but you got away unscathed."

The accusation hangs in the air, bitter and cold. Mira’s breath hitches, but she keeps her composure, though a flicker of something—guilt, fear, uncertainty—flashes in her eyes for the briefest moment. She turns to face him fully now, but the defiance in her posture is unmistakable.

Somchai, his voice accusing, unwavering, "How did they know our route? Our safe houses? Someone’s feeding them intel... someone close."

Mira, her voice controlled, though a hint of emotion slips through, "You think I’m the traitor? After everything I’ve risked? You don’t know anything about me."

Her words are cold, defensive, yet there’s a tremor of vulnerability buried beneath the surface. She’s trying to hold her ground, but the accusation cuts deeper than she lets on. Her eyes never leave Somchai’s, but there’s a flicker of something—perhaps doubt—crossing her features, a question she can’t answer herself.

Somchai, his tone hardening, stepping closer, "Maybe it’s time you start talking then."

Mira, voice cold, eyes steely with defiance, "Believe what you want. I’m here to fight, not to explain myself."

The words hang in the air between them, charged with the weight of everything they’ve been through. Mira’s voice is final, leaving no room for further discussion. She turns away, her back to Somchai, her face a mask of indifference, but her hands—clutching the edge of her tunic—tremble ever so slightly. The tremor is barely noticeable, but it’s enough for Somchai to catch it, though he says nothing.

The room is thick with tension, the group’s eyes shifting between Mira and Somchai. The accusations, the defensive postures—it’s like watching a storm brewing, dark clouds gathering over a fragile peace. No one dares speak, the silence now carrying a weight of its own, the doubt spreading like poison. Even those who have stood by each other in the past are unsure, questioning the truth of each other’s loyalty.

Felix steps forward, his face tight, eyes narrowed. His usual calm is gone, replaced by the sharp edge of uncertainty. He looks from Somchai to Mira, a sense of hesitation in his movements.

Felix, his voice strained, "We can’t turn on each other, not like this."

Kiran, who has been silent until now, crosses his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable, but his voice carries an undertone of doubt.

"Can we trust anyone here anymore?"

David, who had been standing quietly in the background, finally speaks. His voice, though calm, is heavy with the weight of the situation.

"We need to focus. We need to move past this. The enemy won’t wait for us to sort our differences."

Bintang, who has been silently observing, steps into the conversation, his gaze flicking between Somchai and Mira. There’s a weight to his words when he speaks.

Bintang, his voice quiet but firm, "If we keep going in circles, we’re done. Trust doesn’t come easy. But it’s the only thing that will keep us alive."

Mira turns her back fully now, walking away from the group. She heads toward the crumbling edge of the hall, her silhouette almost ghost-like in the dim light. The truth burns her from the inside, but she cannot bring herself to share it yet—not with them.

Mira, whispering to herself, barely audible, "I can’t tell them... not yet."

She reaches the window, staring out into the fog, her face a mask of cold indifference, but her inner turmoil is evident. Her hands tremble as she presses them against the cold stone, seeking solace in the emptiness outside.

The Coalition is splintering, not just in their actions but in their hearts. What was once a group bound by a shared mission now feels like a collection of individuals, each hiding their secrets. The cracks in their unity are growing, and with them, the weight of their mistrust threatens to tear them apart. But Mira knows—deep down—that the secrets she keeps could destroy them all if they ever find out. The burden is hers to bear, and she alone must decide when—or if—she will share the truth with the others.

And in the dim light of the decaying monastery, the shadows of doubt only grow deeper.