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Scene 2 - Arrival

The Bronco rumbled up the narrow dirt track, its headlights cutting through the wall of shadows. The forest seemed endless, but then a clearing opened, and Sam's house came into view ...  a low wooden structure with a wraparound porch, its windows glowing warmly against the night.

Harry leaned forward, pressing his face to the glass. The scent of woodsmoke reached him before the tires even rolled to a stop. After everything they'd just been through, the sight of a lighted home felt almost unreal.

The car jolted as Sam killed the engine. Before Harry could move, the front door swung open. Aunt Shania stepped out onto the porch, her silhouette framed by the glow behind her.

"Harry," she called, her voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around his name. She came down the steps quickly, skirts brushing against her legs, and pulled him into a hug the moment he stepped out.

"Thank you for coming," she said softly, her accent lilting but clear. "You don't know what it means to see you safe."

Harry blinked, still caught off guard by the embrace. "Uh... you're welcome?" he managed, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Behind them, Stephen closed the car door and gave Shania a small nod of greeting. Sam only grunted in acknowledgment.

Harry glanced back toward the Bronco. Kael hadn't moved. He sat in the passenger seat, scanning the dark tree lines around them. He took a binocular from his bag and scanned around once more.

Sam noticed too. "He'll keep watch a while," he said simply, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Just to be sure we weren't followed."

Harry swallowed, a flicker of unease running through him. Even here, with warm lights and family waiting, the shadows felt thick with unseen eyes.

Shania rested a hand on his arm, her smile easing the tension. "Come inside, Harry. You must be tired."

Harry hesitated only a moment before letting her guide him toward the porch, the night air pressing at his back like something that didn't want to let go.

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Scene 3 - Night Vision

The smell of roasted herbs and stew filled the cabin as Shania laid the last dish on the table.
"Alright, everyone, eat before it gets cold," she said, her voice warm but firm.

Harry and Stephen had just finished setting their bags down when they joined her. Kael lingered a little longer at the doorway, scanning the tree line one last time before finally slipping inside. His shoulders eased only slightly as he sat at the edge of the table.

For a while, the clink of spoons and the steady crackle of the fireplace replaced the tension of the road. Harry ate quickly, appetite sharpened by the long day, but his curiosity itched louder than his hunger.

He glanced at Kael, who had set a pair of compact binoculars on the chair beside him. "Hey... when you were out there, you could still see things moving, right? I mean, it's almost pitch-black outside. How did you even spot them?"

Kael dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, then lifted the binoculars with two fingers. "This isn't ordinary glass. It amplifies the light that's already there... moonlight, starlight, even the glow from distant towns. The signal is weak, but the tool makes it strong enough for the eye to read."

Harry leaned forward, intrigued. "So, it's like... boosting the volume, but with light instead of sound?"

A faint smile tugged at Kael's lips. "That's one way to put it." He set the device down again. "That's one kind of night vision. The other common type doesn't rely on visible light at all... it reads heat. Infrared thermal imaging. Living bodies shine like lanterns against the cooler background."

Stephen nodded slowly, following the explanation. Shania kept quiet, listening as she cleared a few empty bowls.

Harry's brow furrowed. "So... which one's better?"

Kael folded his arms, the firelight sharpening the lines on his face. "Neither. Each has its own strengths and weaknesses. Amplified light shows you shapes, details, sometimes even colours... but it fails if there's no light at all. Thermal imaging sees through darkness and camouflage, but it can't show fine features. Just heat signatures. The trick is knowing when to use which."

Harry's eyes glimmered with interest, the lesson slipping into his memory as naturally as breathing.

Kael rested the binoculars on the table, letting Harry get a closer look at the dull green lenses.
"Light-amplifying scopes like this are great if there's even a sliver of moon or starlight," he said. "They give you detail... shapes of weapons, facial features, even writing on signs if you're close enough. That's why scouts favour them. But there's a catch."

Harry tilted his head. "What kind of catch?"

"If the sky's cloudy, or you're underground, or the enemy knows what they're doing and kills every light source, then amplification has nothing to work with. You end up staring into green static."

Harry blinked. "So that's when the thermal kind comes in?"

Kael nodded. "Exactly. Infrared imagers detect heat instead of light. Every warm body... human, animal, even a running engine... shows up as a bright silhouette. Doesn't matter if it's pitch black, foggy, or if someone's hiding under brush. If they're warm, they glow."

"That sounds way better," Harry said, eyes wide.

Kael's tone hardened, his soldier's pragmatism cutting through. "Better in some ways, worse in others. Thermal can't see through glass... it just reflects heat back like a mirror. It also struggles in hot environments, like deserts or jungles at noon, where everything radiates heat. You get a soup of bright shapes, and distinguishing friend from foe becomes guesswork. And it won't show you fine details, like what weapon a person's carrying."

Stephen gave a small nod, adding quietly, "Which can mean the difference between avoiding a fight and walking into one."

Harry's expression turned thoughtful. "So, the smart move is to use both?"

Kael allowed himself a faint smile. "Now you're thinking like a soldier. Professionals carry both tools if they can. First use thermal to sweep the area... see if anyone's alive out there. Then switch to light-amplification to identify what you're actually looking at. One gives you presence, the other gives you detail. Together, they keep you alive."

Harry absorbed every word, glancing once at the binoculars as though they were a window into a hidden world.

Here's some references.

How Do Night Vision Goggles Work?

Get a look at Elbit?s enhanced binocular night vision goggles

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Scene 4 - Element of Surprise

Harry leaned back in his chair, still turning Kael's words over in his head. He thought about the faint rustles he saw on the way here... small shapes darting through grass or branches. Squirrels, bats, field mice. He didn't realize that people like Stephen couldn't see them in the darkness of the night.

Stephen's calm voice broke the silence. "That's because you already have enhanced night vision built into you. Compared to normal humans, your retinas pick up far more light. They are also sensitive to infrared light. That's why you notice small mammals others would miss."

Harry frowned, resting his chin on his palm. "But it's not that good. I can tell something's moving out there, but I can't see the details. Just shadows."

Stephen nodded. "That's normal. Think of it like muscles. If you don't train them, they stay weak. The same goes for your eyes. The more you practice, the more sensitive they'll become. Over time, you'll pick out outlines, textures, even movement patterns in near total darkness."

Kael raised a brow, his expression sharpening. "So that's another gift from Project David."

Stephen's gaze hardened slightly. "One of the earliest enhancements, yes. Night vision was prioritized because it's simple and effective. Soldiers who see in the dark don't just fight better... they own the battlefield when the enemy can't see them at all."

Harry's eyes widened a little. "So even Uncle Sam has it?"

"Of course," Stephen said. His tone carried a note of memory, distant but edged with respect. "Even first-generation soldiers were given it. That's how Sam found you in the forest back then... and built the trap you walked into. He could see every move in the dark when you couldn't."

The fire crackled in the hearth, shadows swaying across the cabin walls. Harry sat quietly, the weight of the revelation pressing on him. His night vision wasn't just a quirk. It was a legacy... a tool, a weapon, a reminder of where he came from.

Sam had been quiet through most of the discussion, arms folded as he leaned back in his chair. Now he spoke, his voice carrying the calm authority Harry knew from training. "Stephen's right. When I caught you that first time in the woods, Harry, I wasn't just relying on my eyes. I was prepared. I wore gloves, a uniform treated to block my body heat from leaking into the night. To your eyes... or any thermal scope... I was just another shadow. You, on the other hand, were out there in a plain T-shirt, glowing like a lantern. You never stood a chance."

Harry's cheeks flushed, but Sam's tone wasn't mocking... just matter of fact, the same way he explained a counter during sparring.

"Jonas failed where I succeeded," Sam went on, "because he didn't know who he was dealing with. He underestimated you. He came at you blind, without preparation. That's why you walked away standing while he hit the ground."

Kael gave a low hum, acknowledging the truth.

Sam's eyes narrowed slightly, his words slower, deliberate. "There's an old saying from Sun Tzu's The Art of War:

"If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.?"

The words hung in the warm air of the cabin, heavier than the smoke curling from the hearth.

Harry sat up straighter, letting them sink in. He thought about his fight with Jonas... the adrenaline, the desperate counter, the electric surge. He'd won, but barely, and not by understanding. Just by instinct.

Sam leaned forward, his gaze steady on Harry. "That's why training matters. Tools matter. Preparation matters. It keeps the element of surprise on your side instead of against you. Luck may save you once or twice, but knowledge... about yourself and about your enemy... that's what keeps you alive in the long run. "

Harry nodded silently, though inside his thoughts burned hotter than the fire in the hearth. He's right. I can't keep relying on luck or raw power. If I really want to protect Dad... Asha... even people like Kael who are running out of time... I need to be sharper. Faster. Smarter.

He clenched his fists under the table, determination hardening inside him. If night vision is a muscle, then I'll train it until I can see through every shadow. If strategy is a weapon, I'll sharpen it until it cuts through lies as easily as blades cut flesh. Because one day, the people I care about will need me... and I can't afford to fail them.

The fire popped in the hearth, but Harry hardly noticed. In that moment, he wasn't just listening to Sam's lesson... he was making a vow.

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Scene 5 - A Lifeline in a Bottle

The conversation slowed, the air in the cabin settling into a thoughtful quiet. Then Stephen reached down beside his chair, unzipping the worn canvas bag he'd carried in. He set a small glass bottle on the table, the clear container clinking lightly against the wood.

Inside, thirty pale capsules caught the firelight.

Kael's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. His hand hovered for a moment before he picked it up, fingers closing carefully around the bottle as though it might vanish if he held it too tightly.

"That's thirty doses," Stephen said evenly. "One a week. It will carry you thirty weeks forward... long enough to buy time, maybe even long enough to carve out your freedom."

Kael swallowed hard. "I... I don't know what to say." He bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."

Stephen shook his head, his gaze steady. "Don't thank me. Thank Harry."

Kael blinked, lifting his eyes toward the boy.

Stephen continued, his tone firmer. "I was hesitant. Ready to let the project's leash claim you. Harry's the one who insisted we save you. Without his voice, I would've chosen differently." He let the words hang for a beat before adding, "And without his help, I wouldn't have been able to prepare the doses in time."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding Kael's searching gaze. Neither he nor Stephen mentioned the truth... that every capsule had its origin in Harry's veins, spun out through careful work and quiet sacrifice. That secret stayed buried beneath the simple story Stephen had offered.

Kael's jaw worked, the lines on his face softening for the first time since he'd entered the cabin. "Then... thank you, Harry," he said at last, voice rough but sincere. "You may have just given me more than time. You may have given me a chance at living free."

Harry lifted his head, meeting his eyes. For a second, he saw not the hardened soldier, but a man clutching hope like a fragile ember.
He nodded, quietly. "Just... make it count."

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Chapter 15 - When Truth is Not Enough
Scene 1 - Follow the Money

The warmth of Kael's gratitude faded into silence. Stephen leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, his expression sharpening again into the cool mask of a strategist.

"There's something else you should know," he said. "I didn't just take your word about the mission you abandoned. I pulled at the threads myself. And I found who gave the order."

Kael's posture stiffened. "Who?"

"Congressman Lucas Pierce," Stephen said flatly.

The name hung in the air like a sour taste.

Kael frowned, eyes narrowing. "Pierce? How is an American congressman tied to Veridia? The mission was supposed to destabilize their politics, not ours."

Stephen gave a slow nod. "That's what I asked too. So, I followed the money trail between the Republic of Veridia and Pierce's accounts. Donations, contracts, aid packages, corporate ties. I combed through five years of transactions." He tapped the table once, deliberate. "And I found nothing."

Kael leaned forward, his jaw tight. "Nothing? You're telling me a sitting congressman signs off on a black op in another sovereign country, and there's no financial trail? No payoff? No leverage?"

"Not through conventional channels," Stephen said. His tone was even, but there was steel beneath it. "No bribes. No offshore accounts. Not even the usual shell corporations. If money moved, it was hidden deep or laundered through something cleaner than most governments dare touch."

Kael's brow furrowed, suspicion cutting into his voice. "So, either Pierce is covering his tracks better than anyone we've seen... or he wasn't doing it for money at all."

Harry frowned. "Then why would he do it? What's the point?"

Stephen's gaze turned distant, voice lower, as though he were drawing on scars of memory. "In my experience, the strongest incentive for a politician to make reckless decisions isn't money. It's survival. Staying in power at any cost."

He leaned forward slightly; his eyes fixed on Kael. "I've seen this before. Years ago, a foreign governor pushed for a military strike against what he called an insurgent base. Claimed it was a matter of national security. In reality, it was a cover-up. That 'insurgent camp' was a place where witnesses worked... people who could expose crimes he'd committed during his early career. His own coalition discovered the truth and blackmailed him. Either he ordered the strike, or they would destroy his political career. So, he sacrificed a building full of people to save himself."

The fire cracked sharply in the hearth, underscoring the silence that followed.

Kael's jaw tightened, his knuckles pale against the glass bottle he still held. "So, you think Pierce?"

"I think," Stephen said coldly, "that Pierce was cornered. Not bribed, not bought. Blackmailed. And if that's true, then whoever holds his leash is the one we should be worried about."

Harry felt a chill work its way down his spine. He thought he understood villains before... men chasing money, power, weapons. But the idea of leaders killing to hide their own sins... it made the world feel darker than any battlefield.

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Scene 2 - The Double Tap

Kael's brows drew together. "That governor you mentioned... how were you connected to that mess? You sound like you saw it up close."

Stephen's gaze dropped for a moment, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass before he answered. "Because one of the survivors came to me for help."

Harry leaned forward slightly.

"She was a volunteer medical worker," Stephen continued, his tone quiet but edged with memory. "Part of a UN relief team. When the first strike hit... a hospital claimed to be sheltering terrorists... she rushed in as a first responder. Hundreds were inside. Women, children, staff. Most of them never had a chance."

Kael's jaw clenched, but Stephen kept going.

"She was only twenty meters away when the second strike landed. A double tap. Standard tactic when the goal isn't just destruction, but to kill rescuers too." His voice hardened. "She would've died right there if not for a US Army captain assigned to the UN peacekeeping mission. He physically stopped her, dragged her back, shielded her from the blast with his own body. He took the hit instead."

Stephen's eyes flicked toward the firelight. "The shrapnel nearly blinded him. Left a scar across his right eye he'll carry for life. She never forgave herself for ignoring his orders to stay back."

Harry's mind worked over the details, his thoughts racing. A volunteer medic. A captain scarred across the eye. His heart thudded as the pieces clicked together.

"Wait..." Harry said softly. "Are you talking about Asha's parents?"

Stephen turned his gaze to his son, and for the first time that evening, a faint smile touched his lips. "Good memory, son. Yes. That volunteer was Liv Sandberg. And the captain who saved her was Akira Fujimoto."

Harry sat back slowly, the weight of the revelation pressing into him. Suddenly, Asha's bright eyes and mischievous grin seemed framed by a shadow he hadn't noticed before... a history of fire and scars her parents had carried long before she was born.
Harry swallowed, his throat tight. A hospital full of children, and they called it strategy.

Stephen's voice lowered. "That's how I knew the governor's story was a lie. Terrorists weren't hiding there. It was civilians, silenced because they knew too much about his past."

Kael's eyes narrowed, his voice sharp with restrained fury. "And the world never heard of it?"

Stephen shook his head slowly. "The official report buried it. Classified as collateral damage in a counterterrorist operation. And the politician's career? Untouched."

Harry's thoughts spun faster. He looked back at his father, curiosity breaking through the weight of the revelation. "But... Dad, how did you even know Liv? You weren't there in that war zone, were you?"

Stephen shook his head. "No. At the time, I didn't know her at all." His expression softened, a flicker of memory crossing his face. "Liv was your mother's best friend in college. When she didn't know where else to turn, she reached out to Lea. And Lea brought the story to me."

The room grew quiet. The mention of Lea's name seemed to carry its own gravity, drawing everyone's attention for a moment.

"So, your mother was still alive back then," Stephen went on, his voice gentler. "She helped Liv find her footing again after what happened. And that's how the truth of the strike first reached us."

Harry swallowed, the knot in his chest tightening. He imagined his mother and Liv as students together, long before war and politics had marked their lives. The connection felt fragile and distant yet strangely grounding... like roots he hadn't realized were still holding him to the world.

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Scene 3 - Cost of Politics

Stephen exhaled slowly, as if laying down the final piece of a puzzle. "Long story short... Akira survived. His injuries were severe, but he was treated with emerging medical technologies... prototypes that would later evolve into what became Project David. Without them, he wouldn't have lived long enough to recover."

Harry's eyes widened slightly. "So, Uncle Akira's alive because of the same project that created me?"

Stephen nodded. "In a way, yes. But survival changed him. He'd spent years as a field officer, doing everything in his power to protect civilians. And yet, in the end, he couldn't stop the strike. Couldn't stop the politics behind it. That sense of helplessness cut deeper than his scars."

Kael listened intently, his hand still resting on the bottle of capsules.

"So," Stephen went on, "he walked away from the battlefield and chose a different path. He left the uniform behind and became a lawmaker. His reasoning was simple: if the battlefield was shaped by politics, then that's where he needed to be. Otherwise, he'd always be fighting with his hands tied."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying quiet weight. "There's a quote from Plato that he often repeated to Liv... and later, to me. "One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors.?"

Kael let out a dry, humourless laugh. "Politics. In my experience, it's nothing but corruption dressed in ceremony. Every politician I've seen is either bought, blackmailed, or blind. Putting faith in them is like putting faith in quicksand."

Stephen met his gaze, calm but firm. "You're not wrong, Kael. But it won't improve on its own. If no one is willing to change it, then the rot only spreads. And when someone does try... someone who's already risked everything... the least we can do is support them as best we can."

The fire popped sharply in the hearth. Kael fell silent, his jaw tight. He didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue further.

Harry watched the exchange, sensing the weight of two very different worlds colliding: the battlefield and the congress floor. For the first time, he wondered which was the harder fight.

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Scene 4 - Truth Too Dark for Children

Harry sat in silence for a while, the firelight flickering across his thoughtful face. Then he spoke, his voice careful but curious.

"I remember Uncle Akira once said he owed you his life... and his marriage. Now I finally understand the part about his life." His brown eyes lifted to his father. "But what about his marriage? What happened?"

Stephen's gaze lingered on the flames, the weight in his eyes betraying a story untold. He drew a slow breath, then shook his head.

"That part... is too dark for you right now, Harry. Too complicated. You wouldn't understand it yet. When you're older, I'll tell you."

Harry frowned, leaning forward, his voice sharper. "But you've already told me about the darkest parts of history. Wars. The nuclear bomb. Famines. Even mass suicide. How can anything be darker than that? Why am I not allowed to know?"

For a moment, Stephen didn't answer. The room was filled only with the sound of the fire's low crackle and the faint whistle of wind pressing against the cabin walls. His face was unreadable... part stern father, part weary man carrying burdens too heavy to unload.

Kael shifted slightly, studying Stephen, but said nothing. Sam's expression was stoic, though his eyes flickered with a knowing edge, as if he already guessed the truth Stephen held back.

Finally, Stephen spoke, his voice quiet but steady. "History shows you what happened to nations. This... is about people. About choices made in desperation, betrayal, and the kind of cruelty that doesn't fit in textbooks. One day, Harry. Not tonight."

Harry's lips pressed into a thin line. Part of him burned to demand answers, but another part... smaller, reluctant... sensed the weight in his father's tone and let it go, at least for now. Still, the question gnawed at him like an itch that would never fade until scratched.

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Scene 5 - When Truth is Not Enough

Stephen's gaze lingered on Harry, the firelight casting lines of fatigue across his face. "Harry... I can't avoid telling you the truth about the darker sides of history. You deserve honesty. But there's a danger in it too. Too much exposure to cruelty, to human failure... it can hollow us out. Make us lose hope. Or worse, numb us to suffering until we stop caring altogether."

Harry tilted his head, thoughtful. "So... knowing the truth isn't enough?"

Stephen gave a slow nod. "Exactly. Truth without hope is a blade that only cuts. It can strip away illusions, but it can't heal. Without hope for a better future, people stop caring. They stop weighing right against wrong, because they've convinced themselves nothing matters. And when that happens, what follows is chaos."

Harry's brow furrowed, and then his lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. "You know... Asha's name means truth. But it also means hope."

Stephen's sternness softened, just slightly, as if the words touched something deep inside. "Yes. That's why her name matters. She carries both. Truth and hope. That balance is what holds people together, Harry. They prevent chaos."

Harry's voice grew firmer. "Asha also means cosmic order. The opposite of chaos."

For a moment, even the crackling fire seemed to hush. Kael blinked, staring at the boy with genuine surprise. "How do you know that? Most adults I've met don't even know the meaning behind names, let alone something that old and layered."

Harry shrugged, a hint of pride breaking through his seriousness. "Because I asked her once. And she smiled when she told me. I don't think I'll ever forget."

Kael leaned back, shaking his head slightly, as though trying to reconcile the child in front of him with the weight of the words he spoke.

Stephen nodded, his tone carrying the weight of conviction. "Only when chaos is avoided can people truly live a life worth living."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to respond, but Kael suddenly cut in, raising a hand. "Wait a second. Give me a break. Don't tell me this is about her name again."

Harry's cheeks flushed. "But it's true! Asha also means life."

Sam, who had been quiet through much of the exchange, suddenly let out a booming laugh. "Ha! He can't stop thinking about her. Even philosophy turns into Asha in his head."

Harry sank a little in his seat, half-embarrassed, half-defiant. "It's not like that! ...Well, maybe a little."

Sam's laughter echoed warmly in the cabin, lightening the heavy discussion. Even Stephen's stern expression softened into a small smile. For a moment, the fire crackling in the hearth seemed brighter, carrying the weight of truth, hope, order... and life... into the night.

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Scene 4 - Truth Too Dark for Children

The story mentioned here was inspired by this beautiful song.

Music video by Shania Twain performing Home Ain't Where His Heart Is (Anymore). (C) 1993 Mercury Records, a Division of UMG Recordings, Inc.

I intended to show it in more details through a flashback in next book where the story is shifted to Asha's POV, because it's personally related to her, although maybe not right after this one. I think it would bring more emotional impact. So, stay tuned and let me know what you think.

[alancalverd]

Some storytelling advices said that hyperboles are common tools to grab audience's attention.

There's a galaxy of difference between hyperbole and meaningless, unsustainable, unjustified similes, full of padding like an overstuffed tomato.