Original story of the character:
Something small and smoking had burrowed into the sand. The wind stirred the drifting ash around it, as if even the sea itself were mocking the sight.
A boot struck down beside it—then another—and the charred fragment was sent flying as the man kicked it into the air.
“Damn it all!” he snarled, driving the wreckage further into the water, where it vanished beneath the surface at once.
For a while, he simply stood there, breathing hard, staring out at the sea. His chest rose and fell, his fists clenched tight.
“These idiots don’t understand a thing…” he spat into the sand. “We’re never leaving this godforsaken ocean island. Never.”
Footsteps approached, soft grains of sand shifting underfoot.
“Miré…” he muttered hoarsely, without turning. “What is it?”
“I just wanted to see if you’re alright,” the woman replied quietly, her voice soft but steady.
“I need peace,” he snapped. “Please—just leave me alone for now.”
Miré stopped, but did not retreat.
“Lairo…” she said gently, “you don’t have to carry this alone. Just breathe. Let others help you.”
She slowly reached out, trying to touch his shoulder.
“You don’t understand either!” Lairo barked, his voice sharp with anger, his eyes blazing.
Miré’s face tightened; she tried to hold back her frustration, but not entirely successfully.
“Lairo… is it possible you’re expecting too much from the leaders? The danger you think you see… it might not be—”
“No. No!” Lairo cut her off, his voice snapping like a whip. “You don’t understand either, Miré! I recognize the handwriting—it’s the same as Nali’s, the one who came here long ago from Na Pali. And the drawing—”
“But Lairo,” she tried again, “the glass—”
“No, Miré!” he snapped. “I won’t let anyone dismiss this! I know what I saw, and I won’t let my people remain blind!”
Miré stepped back slowly, her voice tense but controlled.
“And you… are you certain you’re thinking clearly, Lairo? You call everyone else blind—yet perhaps you’re blinded by your own fears.”
Lairo drew a slow breath. His fists remained clenched, but the edge of his anger dulled.
“Can I explain it one more time?” he asked, staring into the distance. “For the last time?”
“Please.”
“I recognized the handwriting…” he began, his tone still tight, but no longer explosive. “It’s the same. And the drawing—there were spacecraft, weapons, explosions… massive, terrifying creatures… and Nalis enslaved beneath them. And at the bottom, one word: Skaarj.”
He turned to her.
“Do you understand? This isn’t a story, Miré. This threat is real.”
Miré nodded slowly.
“And… what does ‘Skaarj’ mean?”
“Skaarj…” Lairo hesitated, visibly uncertain. “I don’t know exactly. The date of their arrival—I can’t fully make sense of it. But one thing is clear: we were warned. From Na Pali.”
Miré said nothing. Concern and fear flickered across her face, but she remained silent. She knew Lairo was pouring all his strength into protecting their people—even if he himself didn’t fully understand how.
“I’ll do everything for them!” Lairo growled, then suddenly lifted his head. “That’s why there’s Mochu!” He pointed to the basket in Miré’s hands, filled with fresh, bluish pastries. “So they can work harder. Be stronger!”
He slowed, looking her over, and a small, involuntary smile flickered across his face.
“And… I have to admit—that shade of blue suits you, Miré.”
He let out a brief laugh, as if trying to ease the tension.
Then his voice hardened again.
“The ship needs taridium too… but they won’t give it. They say it’s too much.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter. I just want you all to be safe. Even Lui… even if no one ever attacks us.”
Miré watched him quietly for a moment.
“I believe you,” she said softly. “Not because you’re always right… but because I see how hard you fight.”
She hesitated.
“There’s something I haven’t told you. I didn’t want to upset you further.”
Lairo turned slowly, suspicion flashing in his eyes.
“Miré… what did you do this time?”
She smiled faintly, though fear lingered behind it.
“Not me… A few days ago, when Lui and I were out by the shore watching the stars… we saw lights in the sky.”
She paused, then added, almost inaudibly:
“Just like the ships you showed in the drawing.”
Lui’s laughter pulled him out of sleep. Sunlight streamed sharply through the window. Lairo rose quickly, washed, dressed, and headed toward the kitchen. Miré greeted him; breakfast was already set.
“Are you sure you can do this? You won’t get scared? You won’t feel guilty?”
“Lairo… we’ve been over this so many times. Don’t worry. I can handle it.”
“Be careful. Take only what won’t get you caught… but bring as much as you can.”
“Alright,” Miré said, continuing her preparations. “I’ll bring as much as I can too. One month—and it’ll be done.”
And she was gone.
For a month, every day, they smuggled home as much taridium as they could carry.
On the final day, Lairo sat beside the half-finished ship, doubt creeping in.
“It might not be enough… Seloria is small, but everyone needs space aboard. We can’t build two ships… that’s impossible. And what if it doesn’t work at all? What if it sinks… falls apart… and all of this was for nothing?”
Miré set down her hammer and studied the structure. The sun was low; the taridium plates shimmered blue in the fading light.
“Lairo… this ship will have three levels. You designed space for every family. There’s no way we won’t fit.”
He continued fiddling with the wood and crystal, saying nothing.
“If something goes wrong… then it goes wrong. But it will float. When we launched the base, it didn’t sink, didn’t tilt—it held perfectly.”
Lairo looked up at her. The tension in his gaze slowly eased.
“Maybe you’re right…”
“Not maybe. Certainly.”
The ship was far from complete, but for weeks now, an uneasy tension had hung in the air.
Lights flickered in the sky—at first distant, then lower, as if searching over the dark sea.
No one spoke of it openly. But everyone knew.
When the lights appeared, no one was truly surprised.
Some believed the aliens were coming.
Others shrugged and carried on.
But sometimes, in the evening, when a flash reflected off the sea… conversations would fall silent.
No one spoke—but everyone saw.
Lairo sat at the table, drumming his fingers impatiently.
Now they’re afraid too, he thought bitterly. When it was just a story, they didn’t have to believe me. And now they sit here, discussing the very thing I told them years ago—word for word.
A voice broke his thoughts:
“Lairo… how certain are you that this is truly a threat to us?”
He straightened, drew a deep breath—
Finally, he could say everything he had tried to explain for years.
But before he could speak, the door burst open.
A Nali rushed in, gasping, eyes wide with terror.
“Lairo was right!” he shouted. “We have to leave!”
The council chamber froze.
Every movement halted as all eyes turned toward the trembling Nali.
“I saw them…” he managed, though his voice faltered. “A ship landed in the forest—near the eastern shore. Not far… half a day’s journey, at most. The ground shook when it came down. Trees snapped and fell, like they’d been struck by lightning.”
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees, struggling to steady his breathing.
“It opened… along the side. I saw them come out. Tall—twice the height of a man. Their skin… thick, gray, like armor. And their eyes…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “I don’t remember them having any.”
One of the council members shifted, but said nothing.
“They carried weapons too,” he added. “Long barrels… they gleamed like they were catching the sun itself. And I wasn’t the only one who saw them.”
Lairo closed his eyes briefly, then raised his head again, slow and deliberate.
“Now you understand,” he said quietly. “Why I’ve been telling you for years that we must prepare. This is no longer a question. No longer speculation. If we make a mistake…” His gaze hardened. “It won’t just be us at risk.”
The expressions around the room had changed. They were looking at him differently now—as if seeing him clearly for the first time.
At last, one of them spoke.
“What do you propose?”
Lairo let his gaze pass over them, aware that, for once, he was not speaking into resistance—but into attention.
“First… we evacuate the eastern shore. Immediately. Anyone living there may already be in danger. We don’t know which direction they’ll move next.”
An older council member leaned forward.
“And if they’ve already seen our villages? If they’re heading here?”
“Then they’ll arrive sooner than we think,” Lairo replied. “Which is why everyone must know what’s happening. There’s no point hiding it anymore. If we have to run… better we do it prepared, not in panic.”
“Fine,” another said. “Let’s assume you’re right. Let’s assume we need to leave. But how?” He gestured around the room. “We have no ship, Lairo. Wooden barges won’t survive open water—not far from Seloria. And…” He cleared his throat. “…the taridium ship proposal was rejected. Multiple times. We’ve discussed this. There isn’t enough time to build one now.”
Murmurs of agreement spread through the chamber—something to cling to, in the midst of fear.
Lairo inhaled slowly. The tension pressed in on him—yet drove him forward at the same time.
Then, at the corner of his mouth, a small, almost sheepish smile appeared.
“Well…” he began.
Every head turned toward him.
“…I might have a minor announcement.”
The leader frowned.
“What kind of announcement?”
Lairo glanced aside, shrugging lightly.
“It’s just that… well…” He cleared his throat. “…the ship… is already built.”
A pause.
“…halfway.”
Silence.
The council stared at him as though he had just kicked open a hornet’s nest.
“What?” someone demanded. “How? You were never granted permission to use taridium!”
Lairo exhaled.
“Yes… I’m aware.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, faintly embarrassed. “We… handled that differently. Miré and I… ah… borrowed some taridium.”
“Borrowed?” a council member repeated slowly.
“Yes. Borrowed,” Lairo said, his expression widening into a disarmingly innocent smile. “A little each day. So little… no one would notice.”
The leader sank back into his seat.
“How much taridium?” he asked, voice suddenly tired.
Lairo straightened, almost proudly.
“Enough that the ship is standing. It just needs finishing. A bit. Well… quite a bit, actually. But the structure is solid! The base is completely stable!”
Another silence followed.
Then one of the elders rubbed his forehead.
“So… while we believed we had no ship… you and your wife built one… from stolen taridium?”
Lairo nodded.
With pride.
“Exactly.”
This time, the silence lingered longer.
From somewhere in the back, a weary sigh rose:
“Of course. What else could it be.”
The leader closed his eyes briefly.
“Very well. Let’s assume… we overlook this. Let’s assume we do not, at this moment, address your… creative accounting.” He opened his eyes again. “Where is this… half-finished miracle?”
Lairo brightened, as though he had just been complimented.
“On the eastern cliffs,” he said. “Beneath the large cave. You know—the place everyone always says ‘no one ever goes there.’ Well… that’s precisely why no one went there. It was perfect.”
Another council member leaned forward, forcing a thin smile.
“And you’re entirely certain… it won’t explode when we launch it?”
Lairo straightened.
“Absolutely!” he declared firmly.
Then, inevitably, that uncertain half-smile returned.
“…Well. Almost absolutely. Miré did mention we still need to calibrate one of the stabilizers—but that won’t require… more taridium.”
“Only time,” someone muttered dryly.
“Exactly!” Lairo clapped his hands together, as though that settled everything. “We’ll have time… hopefully.”
A groan rippled through the chamber.
The leader exhaled slowly.
“Then it seems,” he said at last, “that in the coming hours, we will have two options: we accept that a half-finished, partially illegal, potentially unstable taridium ship is our best chance… or we remain here—and wait for those things to find us.”
Around the hull, everyone was moving.
Planks slammed into place, nails rang sharply through the air. Families worked side by side—children passing tools, elders checking the alignment of plates.
Lairo stood on the deck, his gaze fixed on the taridium panels as waves lapped gently against the ship’s sides.
Then—a faint tremor ran through the structure.
A chime followed.
At first, Lairo thought it was nothing more than resonance. But the sound sharpened—clear, ringing, almost melodic… as if the ship itself had begun to sing.
Too clear.
Too loud.
And somewhere among the trees… something moved.
Slowly.
Unnaturally.
“We have to do something!” one Nali shouted. “If we leave it like this, it’ll draw whatever’s out there!”
“Cover the taridium plates touching the water!” another called. “With planks—now!”
Boards snapped into place in quick succession.
“Anyone not working—move! Warn the others! Start loading everything!”
The dull thud of wood against metal silenced the chime. The hull fell quiet.
The Nalis moved swiftly, hauling belongings aboard. From the forest came a deep, heavy crash—like a thick branch breaking under immense weight.
Lairo’s head snapped up.
“Move!” he barked. “It’s getting closer.”
The pace quickened. The last bundles were grabbed, carried aboard. The sand itself seemed to tremble faintly beneath their feet.
Lairo raised his hand.
“That’s enough. Onboard. Now.”
Behind the shoreline, a deep, hollow impact echoed—something larger than falling wood.
Lairo glanced back only briefly—then snapped at the others:
“Move already!”
The gangplank creaked under the strain as the ship rocked impatiently in the water.
Lairo drew a slow breath, looked across the deck, and murmured—almost to himself:
“We’re afloat… for now.”
The ship drifted into the distance.
Behind them, the shore faded quietly into the horizon—
as if life had never been there at all.