What's a Paper?

The air in the bunker felt heavier than usual. Ádin stood pressed against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, following every movement the old man made as he inspected relics that hadn't been touched in moons. The man ran his fingers across them with reverence, plucking each one from the shelf like fragile glass, turning them beneath the hanging lamp that flickered above.

"Didn't think you'd have this many of Maria's relics," Salvator muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Lucky no one found you. Would've been scorched a long time ago."

He stooped to pick up a cracked visor, worn at the seams. Fletcher gave a soft growl from the corner.

Ádin didn't respond. His thoughts were at war. Who was this man? How did he know her name? What did he mean by true child of prophecy? And what in the scorched earth was he doing inside his bunker, surrounded by the last traces of his grandmother?

"You gonna say something?" Salvator asked without turning. "This silence is making me feel like I broke into a crypt."

Ádin looked at Fletcher, who was lying tensely, eyes locked on the stranger. He didn't speak immediately, overwhelmed by the questions in his mind, unsure where to begin. Eventually, one stumbled out.

"How... how did you get the scar on your face?"

Sal turned slowly, eyebrows raised, then laughed. It was a deep, slow laugh that scraped at Ádin's nerves. He walked over and patted Fletcher on the head. Fletcher flinched.

"Haven't seen one of these things in years."

Ádin frowned. "His name is Fletcher."

"Right. Fletcher. Well, most folks would've snacked on him."

"That's not normal," Ádin snapped, his voice sharp.

Sal laughed again. Ádin hated how much he did that.

Salvator turned his gaze to a dusty crate tucked beneath the bed. His expression changed.

"Noah-742," he read aloud. "Medical supplies?"

He reached for it, but Ádin stepped forward. "Don't touch that."

"What's inside?"

"I don't know," Ádin said, wary. "She never opened it. Said it was important."

Sal looked at him long, eyes softening. "Might be something in there that helps with all that." He gestured at Ádin's blistered body.

Ádin hesitated. Sal didn't wait. He slid the crate out, sat on it, and tapped the bed in front of him. "Sit."

Ádin didn't move. Fletcher stood now, tail still.

"You want answers? Sit."

He did.

"Five questions," Sal said, raising his hand. "That's the deal. Ask, and if you're satisfied, I treat you up."

"Five? No. That's not how this works."

"We'd be here for a cycle if you asked everything you're thinking. And infection doesn't have traffic."

Ádin glanced at his raw arms. The burning was worse. Fine. "First question. The scar."

Sal chuckled again. "Really? That's your first?"

"She said scars tell stories, just like mine." He said, tracing the marks on his arm.

That silenced him. For a moment, Sal stared. Then his voice softened.

"Explosion. There was a paper archive. Everything from the old world, printed on pages. One of the cults found it. Set it on fire. I tried to save what I could. Got this instead."

Ádin watched his hand drift over the scar, tracing it.

"Second question. Who are you?"

"Told you. Salvator Morgan."

"Not enough."

A sigh. "Fine. I'm a heretic, like your grandmother. We tried to bring the old world back. But we were hunted. I infiltrated their ranks to survive. Maria... she came to find me. That day—"

"Enough."

Sal obeyed. Ádin clenched his fists.

"Third question. Why the beggar act? Why not tell me sooner?"

"I had to be sure you were the one."

"You already knew."

"I needed to see who you were. What she'd told me was true. To know how to approach you."

Ádin didn't believe it, not entirely. But he moved on.

"Fourth. How many children of prophecy?"

Sal blinked. Then said "Two. One true. One false."

Ádin hesitated. "Who's the false one?"

"That part of question four too?"

"Yes."

Sal leaned forward. "His name is Rheon. He leads the Children of the Stars."

"That's wrong. Kaelion leads them."

"Not anymore. Kaelion's gone. Rheon took his place. Quietly. Not even most of the cult knows."

Ádin asked, "How do you know that?"

Sal opened his mouth, then pulled his lower lip down. A faint star tattoo marked the inside.

Ádin froze.

He stood suddenly. "Is he coming for me?"

"Yes. They saw you survive. They'll report back."

Ádin backed away, pacing. "You... you told them it was me, you led them straight.... I knew I shouldn't—"

"I saved your life. They were going to finish what the sun didn't. I told them what they needed to hear. Now we have time."

Ádin shook his head. "Where would I even go? This bunker... this is all I have."

Sal stood. "Stars will mark the path ahead. Walk where the shadows fade."

"That's just a song."

"It's prophecy. The scripture says, 'The sun shall see his face and bow.' That's what happened. You lived."

"I don't believe in that shit!"

"Then believe in yourself. Believe In Maria."

That... quieted him.

They didn't speak as Sal dressed his wounds. His hands moved fast, slipping on tech gloves, adjusting a photon shield over his face, holding up a monocle to inspect the worst of the burns. Fletcher sat beside them, watching. Sal handed him another chew toy. He ignored it.

Sal looked up. "One more question."

Ádin stayed quiet. The silence stretched.

Sal knew. He could see it.

The question was obvious in Ádin's face, but he swallowed it back. His throat trembled. He wanted to ask. He didn't want the answer.

He said nothing.

Salvator just gave him a sad smile.

Then Ádin looked up again. "What's a paper?"

Sal squinted. "Huh?"