Chapter 1 Surak
Missiles flew overhead the day Haiden was born.
The sound did not come all at once. It started as a distant rumble, low and constant, then built into something sharper as it passed over the city. A second later, the ground answered. The walls of the hospital trembled, and dust slipped from the ceiling in thin lines.
Fire burned somewhere not far from there. You could not see it from inside, but everyone knew. The smell carried through the air, mixed with smoke and something metallic that never really left the city.
Even inside the hospital, nothing felt safe.
People moved quickly, but not in panic. Panic had passed a long time ago. This was something else. Controlled urgency. Nurses spoke in low voices. Patients were moved without explanation. No one asked questions anymore.
Haiden’s parents came from a hardworking family. He would be the middle child of four. But in Surak, family did not protect you from anything.
For over 40 years, the country had been ruled by the same man. A dictator who built his authority through blackmail, fear, and quiet removal of anyone who stood in his way. People did not argue with him. They did not even speak about him unless they had to.
Speak against the Supreme Leader, and you were a traitor.
The Birth Party made sure of that.
They were everywhere, even when you did not see them. Watching. Listening. Writing reports on anyone who spoke too freely.
There were only two choices. You worked for them, or you disappeared.
Outside, the war with Miran had already taken too many lives. It had been going on long enough that people stopped asking how it started. Religion divided them, but both sides believed the same thing. That they were right. That God was on their side.
Inside the shelter beneath the hospital, the world felt smaller.
The walls were close. The air was heavy. People sat on the ground or leaned against whatever space they could find. Some were silent. Others whispered. A few stared at nothing.
Khadeeja held her child.
For a moment, the noise above did not matter. Not the missiles. Not the fire. Not the war.
She looked down at him, studying his face as if trying to memorize it in one glance.
His father was not there.
Moses was already in the war, somewhere beyond the city, where the fighting never really stopped. There were no messages. No certainty. Just the knowledge that he was out there.
The hospital had already received warnings. A missile was expected to hit. That was why they had moved everyone down into the shelter.
The Supreme Leader had ordered anti aircraft weapons placed on hospitals and schools. Places that were supposed to be safe had become targets instead.
Still, in that moment, none of it reached her.
She smiled.
She called him Haiden.
“Brother, I need a lift. The hospital said that we could not stay there no more. They raised the threat level and the fighting is intensifying,” Khadeeja said on the phone.
“Ok, I am coming to pick you. I do not know where Moses is when you need him,” Rika said with a sigh.
Khadeeja’s voice sharpened. “He is in the war. Not like you hiding underground when the Birth Party were looking for you when the military draft happened.”
Rika stayed silent after that.
She knew.
He did not ask how. He did not need to.
That alone was enough to make things dangerous.
In Surak, people did not wait for proof. Suspicion was enough. The Supreme Leader had turned people into watchers, and watchers into informants.
Even family could not be trusted.
Rika picked up his keys and walked toward his old Mitsubishi. The car had seen better years, but it still ran. That was enough.
Before starting the engine, he checked his fake ID again.
The edges were worn just enough to look real. The age matched what they expected to see. It had worked before.
It had to work again.
He started the engine and pulled into the road.
Traffic had already built up. Cars were packed tightly, barely moving. Engines idled. Heat gathered between vehicles, making the air feel heavier than it already was.
Soldiers moved between cars, knocking on windows, gesturing for people to lower them. Some drivers spoke. Others stayed quiet.
Birth Party militias were harder to read. They did not speak much. They looked, waited, then decided.
Rika kept both hands on the wheel. His eyes stayed forward.
The first checkpoint came quickly.
A soldier glanced at him, barely interested, and waved him through.
He did not slow down.
The second checkpoint was different.
The line stretched longer. Cars were being stopped for more time. Some people were asked to step out. Others were pulled aside entirely.
Rika leaned forward slightly, trying to see what was ahead.
Then he saw him.
A familiar face.
A friend.
Now wearing the uniform of the Birth Party.
Rika felt it immediately. His stomach dropped, and his grip on the wheel tightened without him noticing.
If he was recognized, there would be no explanation that could fix it.
The car moved forward slowly, closing the distance.
Every second felt longer.
When he finally reached the barrier, he stopped.
Concrete blocks. Armed men. Rifles held ready. No hesitation in their posture.
Badges were fixed to their uniforms. The Supreme Leader’s face on one side. The Surak flag on the other.
One of them stepped closer.
“Rika,” the man called. “Where you going?”
Hearing his name made everything heavier.
He swallowed, forcing himself to speak normally. “Oh… going to pick up my sister. She just gave birth to my baby boy nephew.”
The man smiled. It looked real, which made it worse.
“Oh, congratulations. Now let me see your ID.”
Rika handed it over.
His hand felt heavier than it should. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, slow enough not to draw attention.
The man looked down at the ID.
Time stretched.
Rika kept his eyes forward. Not on the man. Not on the others. Just ahead.
A car door slammed somewhere behind him. Voices rose for a moment, then dropped again.
He did not turn.
The ID flipped once.
Then again.
Still nothing.
Then the man handed it back.
No questions.
No reaction.
Just done.
Rika took it and gave a small nod. He did not trust himself to say anything else.
Then he drove forward.
Not too fast. Not too slow. Just enough to stay unnoticed.
Only after passing the checkpoint did he look down again.
Something felt off.
There was something on the back.
A note.
Meet me at 8 pm later at Gandoor Cafe.
