4. like a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees

(Shift in POV)

Out of all the things that could occur in the world, I never thought I would have to lose my brother.

The state of the Earth had become more chaotic than I could've predicted in a matter of years, but even given that, losing Ian was never on my list. I admit I acted like a jerk towards him many times, nonetheless he was the only family I had left. Our parents had been killed in the latter waves of invasion.

Yet in all rationality, I should've been able to foresee this happening. Ian is more magnanimous than I am—well, more magnanimous than anyone I have ever met, for that matter—and if the situation arose for someone to be sacrificed for the better of others, it would be Ian.

I look towards Wanda, who wears the same, unmoving expression. The plate in front of her is untouched and she stares at it dejectedly, her shoulders hunched. I swear at any moment she could start crying. Jared and Melanie share concerned glances but know it is fruitless to try and change her demeanour.

Wanda stands up, the frailty of her body immediately becoming apparent, along with the pallidity of her complexion and the loss of light in her eyes. She passes her eyes over us all briefly, a fake smile barely making its way onto her lips. She doesn't fool anyone. "Good night," she says in a whisper, the high-pitched ring in her voice no longer audible.

Then Wanda turns and disappears into the shadows of the caves as she's always done. There is no doubt she is going to return to the room she used to share with Ian. I refuse to ever title Ian's disappearance with the word death, but I have to admit we have been all losing hope, and Wanda is becoming more brittle by the day.

Guilt floods into my system as I remember how I believed Wanda's love for Ian was mere deception. She was a parasite to me back in those times, but now I am more than sure Wanda's love for Ian will be something that could kill her.

I push the seat from under me as I stand up rigidly. I don't bother to pass the farewell Wanda did, because everyone in the caves knows I have been reduced to a man of few words. Even Sunny has left me some space, even though she does spend as much time with me as possible, which I am secretly thankful of. The small wisps of comfort do help me along the way.

I walk down the same path Wanda would've until I reach the destination. My stride slows when I reach the door, knocking on it softly. No reply. I have never been much for courtesies, so I just announce loudly enough, "It's Kyle."

There is a shuffle from the room. "Come in," Wanda murmurs and I can detect the misery from outside. I gently lift the door to the side and enter the room before repeating the process.

When I turn around, I examine Wanda and she is nothing short of miserable. She is lying dismally against the wall, seated strategically below the crack in the ceiling. Half of her hair covers her expression and looks as if it hasn't been brushed for weeks, the golden tint fading to dirty blonde. From what I can see in her face, there are already faded tear lines.

She turns her head upwards to meet my tall gaze and I know there is an identical reflection of pain in my eyes. I don't often express my emotion because there are few things in the world that can affect me, but my brother happens to be the most significant one. I almost flinch at how heartbreaking her eyes are and promptly remember Ian's words before the raid which took him away from us: If anything ever happens to me, I want you to take care of Wanda.

Ian saying this wasn't a matter of coincidence in that he disappeared the same day—in fact, Ian says this to me before every raid. I don't quite know why he felt it was correct to place the responsibility onto me after all I've done, though it proves the trust and faith he has in me, a notion I cannot ignore.

I purse my lips, unable to think of something productive to say and Wanda looks down to the ground. My fists clench and unclench at my hips. I know Wanda would never blame anyone for what happened to Ian, but I also know I blame myself for what happened more than anyone else. Ian is my little brother, the one I was meant to go against the rest of the world with.

I still remember back to the day when we escaped the Seekers. It was also the day our family as we knew it died. We had survived the first waves of invasion, hiding away in a small house in the middle of nowhere. Well before the caves Ian and I had become adjusted to the desert; it was our home in a way. We used to play soccer in the dirt all the time and come out grimy with sweat, slapping clammy high-fives and rustling each other's dishevelled hair.

I always saw myself as the protector of Ian. He was the younger and thinner brother. On physical impression, people would believe I was more built to deflect the blows that would come our way, despite soon knowing Ian smarter than I was. He was slower to anger, calmer in demeanour and epitomised in kindness. But because I still would be stronger in body, I made it my responsibility to make sure the Seekers would never get their hands on him.

The day came when the Seekers located our habitat. Our family had known the day would come, we just hoped it didn't and relied on our audacity if it did. Needless to say, not many things went to plan. The Seekers surrounded our home with their vehicles and drew in a tight-knitted circle, all welding revolvers in their hands. At the time, Jodi was there as well, and we looked at each other knowing what was needed to be done. Our parents had planned this beforehand and they shuffled the three of us, Ian, Jodi and I to the back of the house while they feigned being the only individuals left.

When I was young I knew my parents to be pacifists. They were against having weapons and showing negative emotion, which was ironic because I had fury in spades. Ian followed my parents' personalities, adopted their benevolence while I strayed somewhere off-course, creating my own rebellion and inadvertently growing distant from my brother.

However, this day changed a lot of things, especially the way I perceived the world. As I held one arm around Ian and the other around Jodi, two gunshots ran through the house. I was normally oblivious to most situations, but not this one. I knew the Seekers wouldn't resort to violence, especially when they outnumbered my parents easily.

I immediately concluded my parents had shot themselves and that this was just the way the world was. I really didn't want to look back to confirm this, yet for some reason my foolish mind decided this was best: I should face the music. And face the music I did. My parents were lying face-down in their own blood, gunshots to their temples and their own revolvers in their hands.

I turned swiftly back around and pushed Ian and Jodi forward before they could witness the same scene I did. Ian obliged but Jodi was a different story—I was too late to stop her from viewing my parents, and she was frozen in place staring eye-to-eye with the Seekers. Before I knew it I was yelling at her, even though it was blatant she was in shock, the blood draining from her face.

The Seekers had heard my desperation and I was left with a choice: to stay with Jodi and to leave Ian to survive on his own, or to leave Jodi and to go with Ian. I chose Ian. I knew then that I would always choose Ian.

I didn't look back when I ran away with Ian, leaving Jodi behind. I didn't look back not just because the pain of seeing Jodi would drown me until I was suffocating, more because I believed I made the right decision. I loved Jodi, however Ian was my blood. I could learn to love another girl, even if it took years and years, but eternity wouldn't grant me another brother.

I lean myself against the wall of the cave, staring at Wanda as she silently makes her way towards the bed she would have laid in with Ian. She slumps her body onto the bed, her head buried into the pillow.

I see the silver lining of her eyes, but in the desolation of her expression, such a silver lining has become inconspicuous. The faded grey of her iris is much more noticeable, the deadening of her being akin to a wilting flower. If she looked this lustreless, what did I look like?

Has the pale sheen of my complexion degraded to a sickly, diseased wash? Have my dry lips thinned into my skin? Has my entire body become a distraught display of skeletal catastrophe, a dark cloud which never stops storming?

I had to be strong. For Ian. For Wanda. For myself. I had to be strong, like I always was, like I should be. I looked as tormented as Wanda, which meant in this situation we were quite similar, a rare occurrence. Maybe if I geared a hearty expression on my face, Wanda would reflect me like a mirror and we could share our resilience in the same way we shared our ache.

"Ian will find a way to come back," I murmur, only then realising how bleak and thick my tone sounded. I hear a rustle in the sheets of the bed, indicating Wanda heard me.

Her response is correspondingly grim. "Why?"

I smile in the darkness, haggard and ripping through my jaw, but it is a smile. I lift my eyes to the crack in the ceiling. The stars which greet me hang from the sky like golden globes of hope. Ian is alive, I resolve. The thought that he is viewing the identical night sky alleviates me.

The words which trickle from my tongue are sincere, as sincere as I have ever spoken in my life. "Because he loves you more than he has ever loved anyone." I pause, closing my eyes to will back the burning tears on the edge of my lids. In the silence, I feel Wanda trace my left bicep with her finger. She must have stepped up from her bed.

I focus my eyes to see her through the shadows and catch a glimpse of her fragile smile. "Thank you," she breathes, her gaze intense. I detect every flutter of pain which breezes over her face, no doubt caused by my resemblance to Ian. But I am more than aware Ian is irreplaceable—I have inadequacies where he has potencies and it takes all of my effort to attempt to fill in those spaces.

In Wanda I find some sort of redemption, especially in her appreciative expression. This makes me sense I have done something, that I am not completely useless without Ian. It is a revelation. Ian makes me great, and I don't want to be great unless it is with Ian.

Wanda steps away from me and returns to her bed. I settle myself to a resting position, my back firm against the wall and my knees raised to my chest. It only takes a few minutes before Wanda curls into a ball, her body rising and lowering steadily.

I can almost make out the indent of Ian's posture beside her, wrapped around her small frame.

Personally, this chapter was quite hard to write for a multitude of reasons. There are few stories with Kyle's perspective and this is something I have always wanted to experiment with because his personality is so complex, the sort you have to treat by reading inbetween the lines. I receive the perception all of the O'Shea family would have had warm hearts on the inside.

I also desire this chapter wasn't too heart-wrenching, though that may be a fault on my part as I've lost a brother of my own recently, so I poured a lot of my emotion into this one. Hopefully it made you feel all the more connected to how Kyle is feeling! :)

Thank you once again to all of the praising responses, it really makes my day and glad to continue this story. A return in POV to Glaciers/Ian will occur in the next chapter, since as you know they're finding their way to the caves. A special mention to RainbowTeeth8, whose compliments on my accuracy of Ian and the Souls made me smile.

The lyric reference at the beginning of the chapter was Turning Page by Sleeping at Last.