heavenward | n.scatorccio

As the group settled into the cramped lighthouse, Misty's curiosity, as usual, got the better of her. She had been eyeing the lighthouse's still-functioning beam since they arrived, her mind buzzing with questions about how it could possibly still work when the majority of the world's power grids had long since failed.

She sidled up to Hershel, who was sitting on an old wooden chair near the fire, his gun still within arm's reach. The man gave her a sidelong glance, clearly not in the mood for small talk, but Misty either didn't notice or didn't care.

"So," she started brightly, clasping her hands in front of her. "How does the beam work? I mean, most places don't even have running water anymore, let alone a functioning lighthouse beam. It's fascinating, really."

Hershel grunted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. "You always ask this many questions?"

"Oh, absolutely," Misty replied without missing a beat. "It's how you learn things. And I'm guessing you're, like, really smart if you figured out how to keep that thing running." She pointed toward the ceiling, where the faint glow of the beam flickered through a vented opening, as she pressed her finger to the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up with a quiet, habitual motion.

The corner of Hershel's mouth twitched, whether it was amusement or irritation, Julianna couldn't tell. She watched the interaction from her spot near the wall, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. Part of her wanted to intervene, worried Misty might push the man too far, but another part of her was curious, too.

Hershel finally sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It's not electricity, if that's what you're thinking," he said gruffly.

Misty's eyes lit up. "Oh, I knew it! I knew it couldn't be a generator. Too loud, too unreliable. So what is it? Solar panels? Wind power?"

"Neither."

That one word was enough to make the entire group glance up, their interest now piqued despite themselves. Hershel glanced around at them, his expression wary, as if deciding how much he wanted to reveal. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"It's powered by bio-luminescent bacteria," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

Misty's jaw dropped. "No way. That's...that's incredible! You're saying you're using living organisms to keep the beam running?"

Hershel nodded slowly. "Soma bacteria," he said. "Harvested and contained. It's the infected stuff, but if you know what you're doing, it'll give you enough light to keep the beam going. Doesn't need much to sustain it, either."

"That's..." Misty paused, clearly trying to find the right word. "Genius! Where did you even figure something like that out? And how do you contain it? What's its life cycle like?"

Hershel held up a hand to stop her rapid-fire questions. "Enough," he said sharply. "I'm not giving you the whole damn manual. The less you know, the better."

Misty frowned, visibly disappointed but smart enough not to push further. She crossed her arms and muttered, "Still fascinating, though," under her breath.

Shauna, who had been listening from across the room, raised an eyebrow. "So you've been up here this whole time, just keeping that thing going? Why? What's the point?"

Hershel's eyes darkened slightly, and Julianna caught the subtle tension in his jaw. "It serves its purpose," he said curtly.

"What purpose?" Shauna pressed, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, as if to shield herself from his response.

Hershel didn't answer right away. He shifted in his chair, his gaze moving to the window as if he were looking at something far away. "It's neutral ground," he said finally. "A place for trade. People come here to exchange goods, information. No fighting, no bloodshed. Not here."

That piqued Natalie's interest. She leaned forward, her brow furrowing. "People? What people? We haven't seen anyone out here for days."

Hershel's gaze snapped back to her, sharp and guarded. "Groups," he said vaguely. "You don't need to know more than that."

"What kind of groups?" Natalie pressed, her tone edging on suspicion.

"Enough questions," Hershel barked, his voice rising slightly. He leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening. "You've got a roof over your heads for the night, and that's more than most people get. Don't push your luck."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Misty looked like she wanted to say more, but one glance at Julianna, who gave her a subtle shake of the head, was enough to make her stop.

Julianna stared down at the floor, her mind churning. Neutral ground. Trade. Groups. The implications of it all sent a ripple of unease through her, but she kept her thoughts to herself. The last thing they needed was to antagonize the one person willing to give them shelter, even if only for a night.

As the fire crackled softly in the drum, Hershel turned his attention back to the group. "Get some rest," he said gruffly. "You've got a long road ahead of you."

Julianna nodded silently, her chest tightening. Long road ahead, indeed.

Everyone found their own corner of the lighthouse to rest in, trying to make the most of their brief respite. Julianna had claimed a small spot near one of the cracked windows, the salty sea air breezing in as she stared out at the dark, endless ocean.

Her gaze held the restless dance of the water, the shimmer like shattered glass in the fading light, each ripple tugging at her thoughts. And within that silence, a question bloomed, quiet, persistent, as if it had always been there, waiting for her to notice: How much would the sea miss salt if it were taken away?

The thought slid through her mind, cold and unbidden, its taste sharp like something bitter caught on her tongue. The waves lapped relentlessly, yet beneath their movement, there was a hollow space, a void that whispered of something vital lost.

She felt it then, an absence deeper than the horizon itself, an ache that sank beneath her ribs, like a forgotten part of herself she couldn't name. The sea, with its ceaseless rhythm of life and death, its eternal ebb and flow, could it survive without the salt? Would the ocean become less than it was, a bland thing, adrift without purpose? Like a body without blood, a song without sound, the salt was the pulse that gave it meaning, the sharpness that made it cut through the air. The essence that made it different from everything else.

And she wondered, as the waves licked the shore, if anything could truly hold its shape if the very thing that defined it was stripped away. Would it still be the sea, or just a hollow stretch of water? Would anything matter if their salt were gone?

She wondered who her salt was.

The one who gave her life its sharpness, who made the mundane world crackle with meaning. Who was the one who kept her from dissolving into the endless tide of nothingness, who flavored her existence with something raw, something real? Was it someone she had once held close, or had they too slipped away, dissolved like so many memories lost to time?

Or had she simply not met her salt yet? Maybe that was why her life felt like a muted echo, a song half-remembered. Without it, everything tasted bland, like a world stripped of its edges, where nothing could pierce her skin or stir her soul.

She was adrift, floating through days that slipped past her like water through her fingers, never catching hold. The emptiness wasn't loneliness, it was the absence of something that could make her feel, that could make her exist with purpose.
To stay for herself, not as a sacrifice made for someone else's survival, but as a quiet rebellion against the pull of constant self-neglect. Not to live just for the sake of making another breathe, but to find her own breath, to carve out a space in the world that was solely hers, where her existence wasn't defined by what she could give, but by what she could be.

Perhaps the salt was still out there, waiting to carve its mark on her, to make her come alive in ways she hadn't known were possible. Or perhaps she had been looking for it in all the wrong places.

Javi was sitting on the floor a few feet away, quietly picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. Something Julianna constantly did. He'd been unusually quiet since they arrived, his small frame dwarfed by the oversized jacket he wore, that belonged to his father.

Every now and then, Julianna noticed his eyes dart to the older group members, Natalie fixing her headband, Misty bettering her medical kit, Shauna sitting with her knees drawn up. It was like he was trying to figure out where he fit in.

Julianna had carried that feeling her whole life, the constant struggle to find where she belonged, where she could fit in without crumbling under the expectations. And she wasn't about to let him feel it too, to see him lost in that same relentless search for a place that would ever truly accept him. No, she would protect him from it, even if it meant staying on the outside herself.

Julianna hesitated for a moment before glancing at Javi again. She was never great at comforting people, but something about the boy's quiet demeanor pulled at her. She shifted, leaning back on her hands.

"You okay over there?" she asked softly.

Javi's head snapped up, surprised that she was addressing him. His brown eyes, wide and hesitant, met hers. "Yeah," he said quietly, though the way he hugged his knees said otherwise.

Julianna tilted her head. "You sure? You've been awfully quiet."

He hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't know... I guess I just feel like I don't belong here."

Her heart clenched at his honesty. She sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Why would you think that?"

Javi glanced at the others before looking down at his hands. "I'm just a kid. Everyone else is... older. They all know what they're doing. I just slow everyone down."

Julianna frowned, guilt prickling at her. He wasn't wrong; the group had been arguing nonstop since he'd shown up, and he was a liability. But it wasn't his fault. He was a kid in a world that didn't have room for kids anymore, and that wasn't something he should have to apologize for.

He saw something in the others, something he couldn't quite grasp, something that made them seem pure, like they had it all figured out. He looked up to them, convinced they were selfless, that their goodness was carved into their bones, and that by simply being around them, he might catch a glimpse of that elusive grace. He believed in their light, assuming it was something they possessed effortlessly, as though it came naturally, without struggle.

"You're not slowing anyone down," she said gently. "If anything, you're braver than most people I know."

Javi looked up at her, his eyebrows knitting together. "You think I'm brave?"

"Yeah," Julianna said, nodding. "You left the safety of the school to come out here because you wanted to help. That's brave. A little reckless, maybe, but brave."

A small smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly faded. "I don't think Travis thinks so."

Julianna sighed, her chest tightening again. "Your brother's just worried about you. He doesn't want to lose you."

Javi shifted uncomfortably. "But I wanted to do something good. Like you do."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Her stomach twisted, a nauseating knot tightening deep within her, as if a dark, suffocating pressure had taken root, expanding with every shallow breath. She had to look away, staring back out the window to avoid the earnest expression on his face.

She didn't know what to say to that. He shouldn't be looking up to her, not when all she ever seemed to do was get people hurt. She thought of Laura Lee, of the toolbox slipping from her father's hand, the scar on her neck, of the dread that seemed to follow her everywhere. If anything happened to Javi because of her, she'd never forgive herself.

"You shouldn't—" she started, her voice trailing off. She took a deep breath and tried again. "I'm not always a good example, Javi. Sometimes I mess up. A lot."

Javi frowned, tilting his head at her. "But you always try. That's what matters, right?"

The simplicity of his statement caught her off guard. She blinked at him, her mind momentarily blank. He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world to understand, and maybe, to him, it was. Julianna didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I guess so," she said softly. "But that doesn't mean you have to follow in my footsteps, okay? You're already good, Javi. Just as you are."

His smile came back, shy but genuine this time. "Thanks, Julianna."

She gave him a small smile in return. "Anytime."

Javi shifted closer, sitting cross-legged beside her as they both stared out at the dark waves crashing against the rocks below. He was quiet again, but it didn't feel like the uncomfortable kind of quiet anymore. It felt safe.