Beatrix and I were engaged in a casual conversation near the gate of the chainlink fence that now surrounded our small settlement. The sun cast long shadows, and the hum of activity within the camp created a sense of purpose and unity.

Our casual conversation was abruptly interrupted by Luke, his voice low and tense with concern. “Beatrix,” he cut in, “Did you or Jarod bring those people here?” He nodded subtly towards the Chewbathian Hunters who occasionally appeared at the edge of our settlement.

“No,” Beatrix replied, her expression mirroring Luke's unease, and I could feel the tension in the air like a palpable force.

I chuckled softly, trying to ease the situation. “It’s okay. I know them,” I assured the pair, my voice a calming presence in the midst of their apprehension.

“You do?” Luke and Beatrix chorused in disbelief, their faces reflecting shared skepticism.

“Yeah. They’re members of Charity’s Chewbathian Hunter team,” I answered. “They were hunting the shadow panther pack that attacked us recently,” I explained, ushering the pair closer to the gate. Catching Alistair’s attention, I waved him over.

 As Alistair approached, Luke whispered to me sharply. “What are they still doing here?”

Before I could respond to Luke personally, Alistair joined us. “Luke, Beatrix, meet Alistair. He’s the Commander of the Chewbathian Hunter group,” I introduced him, noting Alistair’s rugged yet authoritative demeanour.

Alistair extended a firm handshake to Luke, his gaze steady and confident. “Paul has briefed me on the situation here. We’ve decided to offer our protection for the next ten days. Consider it a token of goodwill between settlements,” he spoke with a strong Scottish accent, his words carrying a sense of assurance.

Luke’s expression shifted to surprise and curiosity. “Your settlement is nearby?” he inquired.

“No. We’ve travelled a considerable distance. You’ve got a few small settlements in the area, but with this vast desert and the dangers lurking in the darkness, they’re all struggling,” Alistair elucidated. “Your group is doing well to be growing so rapidly.”

“Thank you,” I replied, accepting the compliment with a sense of personal accomplishment.

“So, what happens after ten days?” Beatrix asked, her curiosity clear.

Alistair's face remained serious, the flickering shadows of the bonfire casting a somber light on his features. “You build bigger fences,” he stated gravely.

The words didn’t impact me as hard as they appeared to for Luke and Beatrix. I had heard all of this before.

“I’d better get back to my post,” Alistair announced, breaking the moment. “Paul can keep you abreast of developments.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” Luke expressed his gratitude. “We’re grateful for your assistance and protection. Hopefully this is the start of something positive - a chance for our settlements to connect and support each other.”

“Light the fire,” Alistair said, pressing three fingers of his right hand against his temple in a symbolic gesture.

Instinctively, I responded with the corresponding action, pressing the three fingers of my left hand to my temple. “Share the light,” I echoed.

Alistair gave a brief nod and a grunt, then turned to disappear back into the shadows that bordered the perimeter of Bixbus. His figure melded into the darkness, leaving us in the flickering light of the campfire.

“He seems a bit odd,” Beatrix remarked, her gaze lingering where Alistair had vanished. Her observation wasn't judgmental, more a reflection on Alistair's unique presence.

“What was that all about?” Luke turned to me, his curiosity evident. “The whole, light the fire, share the light thing?”

“Oh, that’s what everyone says,” I replied, feeling a bit self-conscious explaining the ritual.

“And the three fingers?” Beatrix inquired, her interest piqued.

I shrugged lightly. “It’s a gesture, a symbol. ‘Light the fire’ represents unity and strength. It's about igniting the flame within ourselves and our community and passing it on. ‘Share the light’ signifies spreading that strength, sharing it with others, connecting settlements and hearts. I believe it’s been around for centuries,” I explained, trying to convey the depth of its meaning.

Beatrix nodded, her expression one of newfound understanding.

“Have you spoken much with him?” Luke continued his line of questioning.

I shook my head. “They keep their distance. They’re very military-focused. It’s what they’ve trained their whole life for,” I said, trying to articulate the disciplined nature of the Chewbathian Hunters.

Beatrix gasped. “They’ve lived their entire lives here in Clivilius?” she asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Chewbathia is the military hub of New Edinburgh. It was founded by the Stewart sisters several centuries ago.”

“That explains the Scottish accent, then,” Luke chimed in, his mood lightening with a smile.

“I still don’t really know much about them, but Alistair has promised that before they leave, they’ll take some time to give us some real intel - tell us who is nearby. Who we can trust. Who to stay away from. That kind of thing,” I shared, the prospect of gaining valuable information a glimmer of hope in the uncertainty.

“That actually sounds pretty exciting,” Luke said, his tone reflecting a mix of anticipation and intrigue.

“It is,” I agreed, the resurgent thoughts of not being so alone out here bringing back some hope. “And also terrifying. Everything is just so unknown.”

“You’ll keep us updated?” Luke asked, looking for reassurance.

“Of course,” I assured. When you actually hang around long enough for us to have a real conversation that doesn’t include sorting through the next mess you’ve made, I finished silently, unable to hold the thought at bay.

“Come on, then,” Luke said, rallying Beatrix and me with a light-hearted tone. “Let’s grab some of this food before it’s all gone!”

The night unfolded with the bonfire celebration reaching a crescendo, the flames casting a warm glow on faces wrapped in laughter and camaraderie. Settlers gathered around, sharing funny anecdotes that wove a tapestry of stories, tightening the bonds of our growing community.

Charles, ever the jokester, took his turn at centre stage. His dramatic retelling of the Smith’s arrival painted a vivid picture of chaos, surprise, and un unexpected surplus of toilet rolls. Chuckling at the embellished tale, another very vivid memory sprung to mind, causing me to laugh harder.

“Speaking of toilet rolls,” Jerome interjected playfully, and in an instant, I knew where this was going.

“Is this that time in Broken Hill with the Clarke’s?” I asked, a grin playing on my lips as I sought the clarification while keeping a sense of mystery and intrigue.

Jerome broke into a broad smile. “Yep. That one,” he affirmed.

Mum’s eyes narrowed at Jerome. “Is this really something I want to know?” she asked, suspiciously.

“Oh, come on!” Kain exclaimed. “You have to tell us now.”

Jerome struggled to contain his composure as he began the tale. “It was when we were living in Broken Hill. I was still quite young, but Paul and Luke let me come along.”

I groaned playfully with the immediacy that my name was dragged into the story. “If you promised not to get us caught!” I interjected, prompting gasps around the campfire.

“I bet they got caught,” Karen teased.

Jerome chuckled, sharing excessive details until I felt compelled to interrupt. “Forget the irrelevant stuff. We t-pee’d the Clarke’s house, and then-”

“Hang on!” Nial interrupted, drink poised mid-sip. “What’s t-peeing?”

Mum, unimpressed, clarified. “It means they threw toilet paper all over their house in the middle of the night.”

“Oh,” Nial chuckled. “That actually sounds like a bit of fun.”

“But that’s not the best part,” Jerome teased, regaining everyone’s undivided attention. “We… we…” he struggled.

Luke chimed in, grinning widely. “Paul and I sent Jerome to knock on their front door wile we went into hiding just over the small garden fence.”

More gasps erupted, and attention shifted back to Jerome.

“I knock on the door, and…” Jerome tried to continue the tale.

Fighting to suppress my amusement, I took over. “And then you just stood there!” I blurted in dramatic form.

“Paul and I thought we were done for,” Luke added, eyes wide.

“And what happened? Did Jerome get caught?” Sarah asked eagerly.

“No,” I answered. “I had to sprint to the front door to grab him and drag him behind the fence. He nearly tripped me up on the way.”

Chuckles spread across the group.

“And then the front door opens,” Luke continued the dramatic narrative.

“And the family comes out and finds that their house has been t-peed,” I said, struggling to control my laughter. “They were so confused. They had no idea who had done it or why.”

“They came so close to finding us behind the fence,” Luke added.

Finally regaining control of his composure, Jerome continued. “But then one of their kids was like, I know who it was.” He paused to giggle profusely.

Luke and I glanced at each other, a shared silent agreement to let Jerome be the one to finish the story.

Encouragement echoed around the campfire, everyone waiting with bated breath for the final revelation.

Jerome didn’t disappoint, concluding in dramatically fine form. “And he was like, ‘it must be the Smith’s. They use homebrand’,”.

Laughter filled the camp, and even mum couldn’t resist a chuckle, her stern face finally cracking.

Feeling a deep sense of camaraderie that had fallen over the group, I seized the opportunity to initiate the symbolic gesture, placing three fingers against my right temple. “Light the fire,” I declared.

As attention shifted uncertainly to me, Luke and Beatrix exchanged a quick glance, and then mirrored the gesture, placing three fingers on their left temples. “Share the light,” they responded in unison.

A hush fell over the group, a tangible sense of significance lingering in the air. To reinforce the expression, I repeated the gesture. “Light the fire!” I exclaimed, even bolder than the first time.

Luke and Beatrix encouraged the group, and in a spine-tingling chorus, “Share the light!” erupted triumphantly into the dark Clivilius sky. The symbolic act solidifying our unity, a beacon of hope in the dark of night.

The celebration around us was a tapestry of laughter and light, but beneath it ran a current of tension, invisible yet palpable. As I stood there, the bonfire casting flickering shadows across the faces of the settlers, I felt the shift in the air. It was like a hushed murmur, unsettling in its subtlety.

My mother, the unwavering pillar of our family's religious beliefs, approached us. Her furrowed brow and the deep lines on her face were like etchings of her inner turmoil. She stood before Dad, Luke, and me, her presence almost imposing despite her slight frame.

“Noah,” she murmured, her voice a delicate whisper that seemed oddly loud against the backdrop of vibrant chatter. “I’m getting a bit worried about the drinking. It’s too much, and I don’t like it.”

Her words hung in the air, stark and incongruent with the scenes of jubilation around us. I couldn't help but recall how Mum’s social interactions were usually confined to her circle of religious friends, and the occasional gossip with other school mums. This world of revelry was foreign to her, unsettling in its unfamiliarity.

Dad, his face etched with concern, glanced at Luke and me. “I don’t really like it either,” he confessed. “But I don’t think there’s a lot we can do about it.” His voice was tinged with resignation, a surrender to the inevitable.

Mum’s resolve, however, was unshaken. “I think we should leave now. Will you get the kids?” she directed at Dad, her voice firm yet laced with anxiety.

Dad, ever the peacemaker, attempted to reason with her. “Are you sure that’s necessary?” he asked, his tone gentle but questioning.

I watched this exchange intently, feeling a knot of apprehension in my stomach. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Luke, his posture tense, beginning to edge away from the group. It was a silent retreat, a quiet rebellion.

“Don’t you dare,” I mouthed at him, a silent plea laden with frustration. I was desperate not to be left alone to navigate the brewing storm of maternal disapproval and concern.

But Luke, perhaps sensing the inevitability of the situation, merely shrugged. Without a word or a backward glance, he faded into the flickering darkness of the night, leaving me to face the unfolding drama. His departure felt like a small betrayal, a silent abandonment to the whims of family dynamics I was all too familiar with.

Jerome and Sarah, whom I had observed engaging in numerous conversations throughout the evening, approached us, their eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Jerome's expression, however, shifted swiftly to one of regret, as if he'd unwittingly stepped into a quagmire of familial tension.

Mum's panic escalated rapidly, her breathing became laboured, and her hands fluttered to her chest in a display of acute distress. Her eyes, wide with fear, scanned the lively scene around us as she gasped for air. "Noah, please, I can't stay here," she pleaded, her voice quivering with anxiety.

Dad, his forehead creased with worry, reached out to steady Mum's trembling hands. His voice was calm but firm, "Greta, we can't just leave. This is our home now, and the kids are here. We can't run away just because we don’t like something.”

In the midst of this, Mum's agitated gestures accidentally sent Sarah’s drink tumbling to the ground, spilling its contents with a soft thud. Sarah, momentarily startled, quickly stooped to retrieve her fallen cup.

Mum's apology was a stuttering mess, her voice shaking as she tried to express her regret. Sarah, kneeling beside her, exuded a warmth and understanding that seemed to envelop Mum. She reassured her gently, "It's alright, Greta. Don't worry about the drink. Let's focus on helping you feel better.”

Feeling a heavy responsibility settling on my shoulders, I offered, “Look, since there’s no spare motorhomes, why don’t you take mine for the night? I can sleep in one of the tents.”

Dad's response was hesitant, “That’s really not necessary,” but Mum was quick to latch onto the offer, her eyes desperate for a solution.

Jerome, always thinking a step ahead, inquired, "What about the motorhome that Beatrix delivered late this afternoon?"

"I don’t recall seeing it," I admitted, feeling slightly puzzled. “It must be still near the Portal.”

Dad, deciding to take the pragmatic route, concluded, "That's okay, we can take that one for the night.”

“No,” Jerome interrupted quickly. “I brought it back to camp. It’s just over there,” he said, pointing into the darkness beyond the fence.

“I can walk you there,” Sarah offered graciously. “I need to be getting home anyway.”

Mum's face brightened with a glimmer of hope. "Oh, which one is yours?"

Sarah’s response was tinged with a nervous chuckle, “My brother and I stay in a motorhome just over there she said,” her finger indicating the spot.

Mum looked on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by the day’s events, and Dad instinctively wrapped his arms around her in comfort.

“Come on,” Sarah urged gently. “Let me walk you to the motorhome.”

I offered to accompany them, but Dad insisted, “It's fine.”

Accepting his decision, I simply shrugged, “Sure.”

As Sarah beckoned for my parents to follow, Jerome unexpectedly volunteered, "I'll come too."

Sarah and I responded in unison, "No," our eyes meeting with a shared sense of confusion and curiosity. Why was Jerome so eager to join? And why was Sarah so fast to say no?

"There's plenty of room in my motorhome for you, Jerome," I reassured him, thinking of Lois who might appreciate the extra company.

Jerome exhaled a reluctant sigh and agreed.

We exchanged brief goodnights, each of us echoing a wish for their safety, and as they disappeared into the night, I turned to Jerome, raising an eyebrow. "What was that all about?"

He feigned ignorance with a shrug, "What?"

I teased him, imitating his earlier offer, “Oh, I’ll walk you home.”

Jerome's face turned a bright shade of red, embarrassment written all over it.

"That's what I thought," I said with a smug grin, patting him affectionately on the shoulder. A cautious smile played on my lips as I pondered the implications of Jerome's budding interest in a woman who was far more experienced in life than he was. The question hung in the air, unspoken yet persistent: Was he dating anybody on Earth? I let the thought linger, unresolved, as I rejoined the flickering warmth of the bonfire.