Page 103 of Echos and Empires
The applause that followed was hesitant, scattered, as if the clapping hands were still debating whether they dared to believe him. The sound settled over him, an uneven blanket of skepticism and tentative faith. He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words to fill the silences that stretched between each reluctant clap.
“For now,” he continued, his voice gentler, “know that you’re safe. The island is secure. When the next ship comes in, we’ll decide—together—what happens then.” He let the words sink in, let the enormity of the choice he offered take root in their minds.“No one will be punished. You have my word on that. We all need to begin again.”
Chris watched the crowd carefully, trying to gauge whether his assurances had struck their target or drifted aimlessly. The crowd seemed to waver, their faces like an unsettled sea, caught between storm and calm. For every glimmer of belief, there was a shadow of mistrust. Chris felt the uncertainty claw at him, even as he tried to hold on to the fleeting glimpses of hope. He was putting everything on the line with these promises, including his own heart.
Everyone began to talk among themselves, their voices a low and uneasy chorus. Chris stood at the center of it, feeling the fragile ground beneath him shift with each murmured word. Doubt gnawed at him, the possibility of failure looming large. Had he given them enough? Had he given them too much? He was on the verge of turning away when something unexpected happened.
A small group, around ten in number, broke from the larger crowd and approached him. Chris tensed, bracing for an accusation, a demand. Instead, their leader—a tall, gaunt man with hollow cheeks and haunted eyes that Chris had never seen before—spoke words that took Chris by surprise.
“We were loyal to Victor,” the man confessed, his voice raw with the weight of the admission. “We’re loyal to you now. Our loyalty was to the man in charge, to his money. I’m ashamed of that, but maybe we can fix our mistake.”
The words seemed to steady the ground beneath him, just a little. He nodded, unable to fully hide the shock on his face, but touched by the tentative show of faith. He knew what it meant for them to say this. Knew the risk they took, the leap they made. He accepted it as a beginning, a fragile, precious beginning, and for the first time that day, he dared to let a flicker of optimism take hold.
Today waslike the last over the last several weeks since he found himself somehow in charge of an entire island of people. Another meeting. Another set of fights that could break out over legitimate things that he could neither control nor stop.
The walls strained to contain the tension that built within them, the air buzzing with voices and clashing ideas. Chris stood at the center of it all, a conductor trying to wrangle this dissonant symphony into something resembling harmony. Former rebels, old allies, and new converts argued their cases, their visions for a future that seemed both tantalizingly close and impossibly far. Each faction spoke with urgency, the din of their words forming a chaotic symphony that threatened to consume the room.
“Security should be our main priority,” a voice shouted from the left side, where a cluster of former rebels gathered. Their faces were fierce with determination, the old fight still burning in their eyes.
“Security means nothing without trust,” countered Henderson, a guard who had stepped forward as part of the changing tide who hated Victor. He looked less certain, more cautious, as if testing the waters of the newfound allegiance.
Chris raised a hand, cutting through the cacophony. “Everyone will have their say,” he promised, his tone both authoritative and conciliatory. “But we have to remember why we’re here. This is a chance to heal, not to relive old battles.”
The room quieted, but tension still crackled beneath the surface, a live wire waiting for the slightest touch to set it off. Chris scanned the faces around him, saw the fear, the hope, the anger—all jockeying for space. It was up to him to steer them through this minefield of emotions without detonating it.
Beth, a thin woman with sharp eyes and a guarded demeanor, stood up. “We know what Victor’s followers were capable of,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “We need to ensure if there are any on the mainland who ever find us, we can survive it.”
Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the room, and Chris felt the momentum slipping toward retribution. He stepped in, determined to redirect it. “What happened here will not be ignored,” he said, his gaze sweeping across both old allies and new ones. “But we can’t build a future on revenge. Unity has to come first.”
Everyone shifted uneasily, but Chris saw something else in their eyes—something that looked like a cautious willingness to listen. He held onto it, even as other voices rose in dissent.
“It’s easy to talk about unity when you haven’t lost anyone,” an older man accused, his face lined with grief. He was one of the former rebels, and Chris recognized the weight of his sorrow. He felt it echo within himself.
The air grew dense with old grudges, each breath fraught with the ghosts of the past. Chris knew he had to break through it before they suffocated on their own histories. He had to show them there was more to fight for than vengeance.
“We’ve all lost,” Chris acknowledged, his voice softer but no less firm. “We’ve all paid a price. But if we let anger guide us now, we’ll just end up in the same place—fighting the same battles over and over again. That can’t be the legacy we leave behind.”
The debate ebbed and flowed, heated exchanges giving way to uneasy silences and back again. Some argued passionately for immediate action against those who had been loyal to Victor, their voices raw with the need for justice—or at least, their version of it. Others echoed Chris’s call for a more restorative approach, their arguments quieter but no less fervent.
Chris remained the anchor in the storm, holding them steady, refusing to let the discussion spiral out of control. “The goal is not to punish,” he reminded them, “but to rebuild. Not just the island, but the relationships that have been fractured. We need to be stronger than the things that divided us.”
Slowly, the tide began to turn. The people were still far from united, but Chris saw the first glimmers of understanding pass between them, like sparks in the darkness. It was a start. It was more than he’d dared to hope for when the meeting began.
“William,” he beckoned for William who looked uneasy as he left his post by the door. “Think you’re up to playing mediator?”
“Me?”
Chris nodded, knowing that William would’ve been taken off guard. “Every situation we’ve ever been in, your ability to read people has helped. You’re too damn reckless—shooting at Marcus, rushing off to unknown corridors—but you’re the best person I know for this sort of thing.”
A smile broke out over William’s lips and Chris was again reminded of the young man who’d come to join his unit almost four years ago. He wasn’t here anymore, but the man in his place was a fine soldier.
“I’d love the trust.” William turned back to the room. “Chris is taking his leave, but we aren’t done.”
Chris slipped out of the crowded room, feeling the tension of the meeting slowly drain from his body. As the open air brushed over his face, his relief was almost palpable. And there, waiting for him, was Emma—her belly round with the life they’d dared tocreate in the midst of so much destruction. He marveled at how much had changed in the past few weeks, how her pregnancy now stood as a visible testament to hope and resilience.
She smiled when she saw him, the warmth of it cutting through the weight of the morning’s debate. “How did it go?” she asked, and Chris knew she could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the conflict still simmering just beneath the surface of his calm.
“Better than I expected,” he replied, pulling her into a gentle embrace. He could feel the swell of her belly against him, a reminder of all they stood to gain—or lose. “But we’ve got a long way to go.”
