Grief That Lingers

Two months have passed since Sandy's death.

No one said it out loud, but everyone agreed not to talk about it.

They buried her in the forest clearing. The smell that felt so welcoming while they were making jam and talking, suddenly felt oppressive. Like it was forcing itself down their throats, refusing to let the air in. Kyro refused to leave her side for a week. He didn't eat, either. Lyra stayed with him. He was her responsibility now, she thought that if he didn't eat, neither should she. She spent the next two months withdrawn, cold, sobbing at night. She hadn't known life could hit that hard. It felt too real. But somehow, not real at all—like she was living a nightmare she couldn't wake up from.

Jude took up the more leaderly position, using the map to find safe places, teaching Ryan first-aid and some English since Lyra began distancing herself. Nyx trained him physically, with fighting skills and making makeshift weapons. She became more irritable, covering her hurt eye with bandages, refusing to let anyone see it except Jude, for checkups. Her short, choppy hair was now a little longer. Ryan and Jude cut their hair using medical scissors, while Lyra refused to cut her long, reddish-brown, curly hair, not even the split-ends. Ryan would try to get closer to his sister, but she would only answer blankly, and tell him not to worry. So he stayed beside Kyro. Washed him, convinced him to drink and eat, so Lyra would too. Kyro seemed the calmest with Ryan around, and soon went back to normal, hanging around the little boy. But Lyra never went back to normal.

They moved around five times during this period, doing small tasks for rebels in exchange for food or shelter. At the moment, they were staying with a certain rebel group consisting of four members, all of them much older. They seemed to pity the younger group and offered to help them out. They were in no position to refuse.

In the warm days of the summer, they all had some new clothes after scouring an old mall, as well as backup knives and other gear. The bags carrying Lyra and Ryan's old clothes were rarely used after the food ran out months prior.

"Hey Lyra… check your bag." Ryan said, trying to hide his smile.

"Hm? Why?" She questioned.

"Just do it!" said Luthfi, a middle aged man whose job was compromised and was fired after getting framed for questioning the government. He couldn't pay rent after that, and ended up homeless, hanging out with the other rebels, each with their own story of oppression and discrimination. 

She sighed and grabbed her bag out of their shared tent, it felt a bit heavier than usual. Unzipping the main compartment, she saw a note at the top.

"Happy Birthday!" It read, in a sloppy, uneven, handwriting. Lyra felt the tears prickling behind her eyes, and the last two months hit her like a truck. What was she even doing? 

"You… you remembered my birthday..?" She smiled, her mouth twitching as she tried not to cry. For a moment, it felt like she was back home. Like none of this had happened—no loss, no running, no blood on her hands. Just Ryan. Just a birthday. Just love. But her parents weren't there. And she wasn't home.

"Of course I did! It's your 17th birthday, happy birthday, sis." Ryan came up to her and hugged her in front of the rest of the group, who were all beginning to chant the 'Happy Birthday Song'. Lyra hugged him back tightly, her hair falling onto his back as she buried her face in his matching curly hair. Tears streamed down her face. She didn't want anyone to see—it was a weakness—but when she pulled away, eyes red and puffy, cheeks damp, it was quite obvious. It was the first time the others saw her cry, at least since Sandy's death, and they all gave her a big group hug.

"We got you presents, 'princess,' ah I cringed a little saying that." Nyx smoothed down Lyra's flyaway hairs, and gestured towards her backpack. 

Lyra opened the backpack and pulled the first thing out, a single sunflower. Its yellow color seemed to glow, and Lyra took in its refreshing scent. Everyone looked puzzled at the flower being there, until Ryan spoke up.

"Kyro picked it this morning, he insisted on adding it." To which the brown dog gave an agreeing bark.

Lyra put it in her hair before pulling out the next thing. It was a black bracelet, made from cloth, with her name etched, or sewn, into it. Lyra looked around at the group of people, when her eyes reached Nyx, the taller girl looked away.

"Me and aunty May made it. From As—" she cleared her throat, "—Sandy's cloak. She gave me the idea, I sewed it." Aunty May smiled and nodded from beside her.

"You know how to sew?" Lyra asked, impressed, she was glad to have another part of Sandy to remember. Aside from the piece of metal and soda cap she had kept.

"Yeah. I forgot how I learned, but I can. It's pretty fun." 

"Thanks." Lyra put the bracelet on, admiring it for a moment before pulling out the last gift. It was a handmade journal. The cover was made from a rough piece of leather, bound to a pile of A5 paper, some of them scribbled or drawn on. On the first page it said 'So you don't get lost in your thoughts.' in a neat handwriting. 

"Me and Jude made it, we found stacks of paper and cut it so we could use the good stuff." Ryan said, before Jude chimed in.

"We all know you have a lot on your mind, so try organising some of it with this. Mine has helped me a ton, I'm sure journaling would work for you as well."

"Thank you. Truly. I'm so incredibly lucky to have met you guys." She glanced back into her backpack, seeing something white between her clothes. She pushed the clothes aside to reveal a few papers with print on them. Her eyes widened. The documents. These were the documents she had hidden, the ones from the bunker they escaped before, the one where the map that changed their life was found. She had forgotten to read them. She didn't know if she wanted to anymore.

"Okay everyone, get ready!" Danny, a guy in his thirties, called out. Lyra quickly hid the documents beneath her clothes again, and closed her bag. 

Danny and the two women brought out what looked like a plate with something circular on it. A cake? 

"There were some… complications while baking. But it should taste fine. We hope, at least." Aunty May said as they put the cake down in the middle of an old wood table they had been using for a while. "We couldn't find any candles unfortunately, but make a wish anyway!" 

Lyra shut her eyes tight. She didn't believe in miracles, but if they were real, she wished that things could go back to the way they were. Opening her eyes, she looked around at the people surrounding her, and she felt overjoyed. 

They enjoyed the ugly cake, cracking jokes and laughing all day. It somehow tasted well, though, and was gone in less than an hour. That night, Lyra was laying down in her sleeping bag, and she noticed everyone but Nyx was asleep. Nyx was fiddling with her pocket knife beside her, before meeting her eyes.

"Can't sleep?" Nyx whispered into the dark.

"Nope. You?"

The girl snickered in response, an evident no. After a few moments of silence, Lyra couldn't bear it anymore.

"Hey, Nyx, what do you think the meaning of life is… why do we live just to fight and die. Can't there just be peace. I'm so… tired. I'm just so sick and tired of everything. I'm still haunted by the bloodshed. I can't do this anymore."

"It's not anyone's fault, blood runs through us all, we're bound to spill it… whether it's accidentally, or not." 

"Yeah, but… it can't all be for nothing, right? There's gotta be something. Something bigger than us."

"Sometimes, there isn't. Sometimes there's just disappointment, and human greed. You just gotta keep looking though, and you might find something."

"I can't keep looking. There's so much… blood, and dust, and dirt, covering my eyes. I'm going blind from the haze of it all, I swear."

"At least you have eyes, some don't. Some people continue to live in blissful ignorance their whole lives."

"Maybe I want that bliss."

"No you don't."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're not that kind of person. It's not their physical eyes that are blind, you know? It's their hearts. Yours is just overflowing. Overwhelmed. But it'll pass eventually. That's what I like to think."

"How am I supposed to get through this?" Lyra whispered. "Life feels like a test, but all I know are the problems on the board—not the answers. Every time I think I understand something, it slips away. Like trying to hold smoke."

"But if you choose to believe that you can get through this rough patch, when there *is* an opening, you'll see it. If you choose to turn around and walk away, though, then you're guaranteeing yourself failure…. get it? If I wasn't optimistic and fought to survive, I wouldn't have met you guys. Despite the hell I've been through, I don't regret a thing. If I let that kind of thinking consume me, I'd be dead. And trust me, I almost was."

"Maybe you're right…"

"I am. Now go to sleep."

"Okay, good night."

"Night, idiot. Stop thinking so hard."

But Lyra did not sleep.

Once Cenyx was asleep, she grabbed her bag, using an emergency flashlight to make her way outside of the tent. She pulled out the documents she'd been hiding for months, and began reading quietly.

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[ARCHIVED COPY — FOR AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY]

 THE REGRESSION PACT

- MULTINATIONAL ACCORD ON INTELLECTUAL LIMITATION AND HISTORICAL REDUCTION

Drafted under the Unified Global Preservation Council

Ratified: Cycle Year 0 of the Reset Era (R.E.0)

Signatory Nations: 192

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PREAMBLE

In recognition of the accelerating decline of global cohesion, rising ideological extremism, and the threat of widespread societal collapse precipitated by unchecked information flow, as well as dangerous weapons of mass destruction(unprecedented rise of nuclear powers), the undersigned nations have agreed to adopt a united initiative to curtail the spread, recreation, and preservation of dangerous intellectual material and technology.

The Regression Pact is a non-negotiable accord binding all signatory nations to the following terms, with discretionary enforcement powers granted to each government.

_________

ARTICLE I — MANDATE OF SIMPLIFICATION

All pre-R.E. educational systems, written archives, and digital databases not explicitly preserved under Council Regulation 7A shall be restructured, redacted, or destroyed.

Language complexity is to be reduced to align with Standard Tier-2 Civic Syntax Guidelines, eliminating metaphor, abstraction, and philosophical ambiguity.

Institutions deemed to promote excessive intellectual autonomy (i.e., independent libraries, private universities, literary guilds) shall be dissolved or absorbed.

_________

ARTICLE II — PUBLIC RESTRUCTURING

Each nation shall implement a system of approved knowledge streams, determined by its local enforcement body.

Civilian access to knowledge shall be reclassified under three tiers: Utility, Productivity, and Silence.

Aesthetic expressions (art, literature, music) containing pre-R.E. ideology must undergo content sterilization or be destroyed.

_________

ARTICLE III — REGIONAL AUTONOMY CLAUSE

Enforcement is to be localized. Each nation may develop its own infrastructure for the implementation of The Pact, including military or paramilitary extensions where necessary.

National bodies are permitted to enact additional protocols (e.g., memory control, population tracking) provided they are reported to the Preservation Council biannually.ARTICLE IV — MORAL CLAUSE (FOR INTERNAL USE)All signatories acknowledge that while such measures may result in temporary social distress, the greater preservation of planetary order supersedes individual autonomy.

Disclosures of The Pact's existence to the general populace are strictly prohibited.

_________

Lyra felt sick to her stomach. She couldn't believe any of what she was reading… 

The worst part wasn't what she read—it was how much of it made sense.

The mind-blowing tech in the old bunker? It was just old technology. How the government had been able to watch everyone and implement all their rules? By hoarding information and tech. 

Lyra shoved the documents back into her backpack. She couldn't read any more. But one thing was clear; she had to find her parents. She had a lot to talk to them about.