Omid Islands

Chapter Eleven · The First Ally

Zheng An disappeared.

On the first day, no one noticed.

He was a quiet man by nature. Aside from official duties, he barely spoke to anyone. His absence from the Island Lord’s compound didn’t raise questions.

On the second day, people started asking.

“Where’s Deputy Zheng?”

“Don’t know. Probably sick.”

“Has anyone seen him?”

“Heard nothing.”

Suyan heard the whispers from a corner of the corridor. Her face remained expressionless, but inside —

Where did he go?

What has he done?

Can he bear the truth?

By the third day, she was worried.

She found an excuse to visit his quarters.

It was a small detached courtyard beside the military compound, austere, nearly bare of decoration. She knocked. No answer. The door was locked.

She circled to the window and peered through the c***k.

Inside, the room was tidy. A few books on the desk. Bed neatly made. No signs of struggle or flight.

But several things were missing —

A blade. A traveling cloak. And an old wooden box.

Suyan’s chest tightened.

She’d seen that box once in Zheng An’s study. His mother’s keepsakes — a letter, a piece of cloth, a tiny faded shell necklace.

He had taken his mother’s remnants.

Was he going to find answers? Or —

She couldn’t let herself finish the thought.

On the fourth morning, a knock woke her.

She sat up, not fully alert, when a familiar voice came from outside.

“It’s me.”

Suyan’s pulse skipped.

She crossed the room barefoot and cracked the door.

Zheng An stood outside.

He looked terrible — face sallow, eyes bloodshot, the blue shadow of stubble on his jaw as if he hadn’t shaved in days. His clothes were rumpled, slept in or not slept in at all.

But his eyes —

His eyes had changed.

The old Zheng An had always carried a compressed, ready-to-explode anger — aimed at the Thirteenth Island, at anyone connected to it, including her.

That anger was gone now.

In its place was something deeper, something that looked like —

Like all the fire had burned out, and only ash remained.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She opened the door wider.

He stepped inside, stood in the center of the room, looked around briefly, then turned to face her.

“I found it.” He said.

His voice was flat. Unnaturally calm.

“I found the navigation logs from that incident — not the official archive, but a backup from before the destruction, hidden in a very old warehouse.”

“What you said was true.”

“First Island’s warship crossed the line first. They seized my mother’s boat, and then —”

He stopped.

“Then, to eliminate evidence, they killed everyone aboard.”

Suyan said nothing.

She stood still, watching him, waiting.

“I looked further.” Zheng An said. “I found the officer who commanded that operation — a man named Zhao.”

“He was the War Minister at the time.”

“He gave the order to kill everyone on that boat.”

“And his descendant — is in the camp right now. My subordinate.”

Suyan’s breath caught.

“What do you want to do?”

Zheng An looked at her for a long time.

Then he said something she hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know.”

“My whole life I hated the Thirteenth Island. I thought my mother was killed by Thirteenth Islanders. I thought serving First Island was avenging her.”

“Now I learn — the people I served are the ones who killed her.”

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

His voice was calm, but underneath Suyan heard something else — not anger, not despair, but the hollow that remains when a soul has been emptied.

“But I know one thing.”

He raised his head and met her eyes.

“You told me the truth.”

“You could have stayed silent. Let me keep living in hatred. Let me keep treating you as an enemy, keep planning how to kill you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“You chose to tell me.”

“So —”

He inhaled.

“From now on, I’m on your side.”

“Whatever you’re going to do — vengeance, truth, anything — I’ll help you.”

Suyan stood there a long time without speaking.

She looked at Zheng An, at the emptiness and exhaustion in his eyes, and felt something rise from her chest — something like grief.

They were cousins.

Their grandmothers were sisters.

The same blood ran in both of them — Thirteenth Island bloodline.

Yet they’d grown up in completely different worlds. She had been taught to hate; he had been taught to hate. The same lie had split them into enemies.

Now that lie had been torn open.

“You don’t have to help me.” Suyan said. “You should —”

“Should what?” Zheng An cut her off. “Should I go kill that commander’s descendant? Should I make myself an enemy of First Island?”

“I spent thirty years getting where I am. I’ve bled for this island. I’ve killed for it. I thought I was avenging my mother. The whole time I was serving her murderers.”

“What do you expect me to do now?”

Suyan didn’t answer.

She didn’t have an answer.

She only stood there, feeling something complicated flow between them — something that felt like we’re in the same boat.

“I can’t give you direction.” Suyan said. “I’m still looking for my own.”

“But if you want —”

She paused.

“We can look together.”

Zheng An studied her for a long moment.

Then he nodded.

“All right.” He said.

That night, Suyan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts still circling around Zheng An.

She’d made a choice — to tell him the truth. That choice had produced an ally.

But it had also produced something else — a responsibility she didn’t yet fully understand.

Zheng An was now on her side. But his heart was hollow, shattered. He didn’t know where to go, what to believe.

She needed to help him find direction.

Just as she needed to find her own.

She was still turning these thoughts when she heard a sound.

Faint. From outside the window.

Not footsteps — someone tapping.

She sat up and looked toward the window.

Moonlight filtered through the paper, casting a blurred silhouette.

She rose, crossed to the window, and pushed it open.

Omid stood outside.

He wasn’t wearing formal attire — only a thin dark robe, hair unbound, falling over his shoulders. His expression was different from usual — not the cold, controlled stillness, but something softer, as if he’d set down a heavy burden.

“My Lord?” Suyan was surprised. “At this hour —”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Omid said.

His voice was soft, as if speaking to himself.

“I kept thinking —”

He paused.

“About what?”

Omid looked at her for a long time.

Moonlight fell on his face, softening his features. From this angle, Suyan realized, he looked younger than usual — not a cultivated youthfulness, but something that seemed to come from inside, as if he’d returned to a much earlier moment in time.

“Thinking about how I ended up here.” Omid said.

“What do you mean?”

“I inherited this position at eighteen.” He said. “My father died young. No time to learn, no time to prepare. I was simply — pushed into this seat and had to hold it.”

“Twenty years I spent becoming the person this position required.”

“Cold. Rational. Distant.”

“I thought that was me.”

“Until —”

He stopped.

Suyan watched him, waiting.

“Until you appeared.”

Her pulse stilled.

“You’re different from anyone I’ve ever met.” Omid said. “You’re in danger. You should be afraid. But you’re never afraid. You should run. But you never run. You could choose the safest path, yet you always choose the hardest one.”

“You remind me of —”

He lowered his gaze.

“Myself.”

“The me from long ago.”

“Before I learned to hide.”

Suyan stood there, silent for a long time.

She didn’t know how to respond.

She only looked at Omid, looked at his face in the moonlight, and felt something pass

…(truncated)…