Edwin swept the dust from the cracked tiles of the abandoned recreation center, each scrape of the broom echoing in the hollow, decaying space. The building’s peeling walls seemed to hold the weight of decades of neglect, but Edwin’s expression was set, unwavering.
The door creaked open behind him, and Kit’s voice cut through the still air, sharp and skeptical. “Are you seriously setting up a resistance movement in this run-down hole?”
Edwin turned, leaning on the broom handle. “What’s wrong with it?”
Kit stepped inside, his arms crossed, surveying the wreckage with a critical eye. “What’s wrong with it? It’s all broken and smells weird. Is this supposed to be your big rebellion place?” This is your big rebellion HQ?” He shook his head, voice thick with incredulity. “I mean, 5,000 years ago, Ketill marched to your lands. They murdered, raped, and enslaved the prey, Edwin. Entire villages wiped out. And they won. They were outnumbered then, but they still won. You really think you’re going to turn that kind of history around with... this?”
Edwin met his gaze, his jaw tight. “It’s not just about the past, Kit. It’s about the future.”
Kit raised a hand, cutting him off. “The future? Let’s talk about the present. Your mom, her mom’s mom, you get where I’m going with this. Most of the mining slaves haven’t had family see the sun in over 4,000 years. They’ve been living underground for so long, some of them probably don’t even know what the sun is anymore.”
Edwin’s grip on the broom tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “That’s exactly why we have to fight. Because it’s been 4,000 years too long. Someone has to start somewhere, Kit.”
Kit stared at him for a long moment, his skepticism unyielding. “You’re talking about dismantling a system that’s been in place longer than anyone can remember. Do you even know what you’re up against?”
Edwin straightened, his voice steady and firm. “Yes. I do. And I know we can’t win if we don’t try. This place is more than a ruin, Kit. It’s a reminder that even the strongest systems can fall. Ketill’s time will come. They built their empire on cruelty and blood, and it’s crumbling under its own weight. All we have to do is push.”
Edwin met his gaze, his jaw tight. “Don’t forget Cabarita.”
Kit let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I remember. I learned about it in public school. But let’s not get carried away. Cabarita is a prey-ruled mega city, sure. But let’s be real—the king at that time was so greedy for gold he thought it gave him powers.” He shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in disdain. “One oppressive regime is smart. That? That was just stupid.”
Edwin frowned, the broom pausing mid-sweep. “The Cabarita of the past was flawed, no doubt. But it doesn’t erase what Ketill did—or what they still do. Just because one empire crumbled under its own stupidity doesn’t mean they all have to.”
Kit raised an eyebrow, leaning against a crumbling wall. “You really think this is different? That you’re different?”
Edwin squared his shoulders. “I think if we don’t try, nothing will ever change. Cabarita’s mistakes were about greed. Ketill’s foundation is cruelty. That cruelty is its weakness. And we’re going to exploit it.”
Kit let out a sigh, then smirked. “Edwin, we’re ten years old. You should be playing video games or getting your slaves to bake cookies—not plotting rebellions in a moldy death trap.”
Edwin chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Maybe. But someone has to start. If I don’t, who will?”
Kit rolled his eyes, the smirk lingering on his face. “Fine, hero. Just don’t expect me to follow you into some doomed adventure without complaining the entire way.”
Edwin resumed sweeping, the faintest smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Kit leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a sigh. “It’s still surprising, you know. You’re holding way too much weight on your shoulders.”
Edwin stiffened, his broom pausing mid-sweep. His voice came out low. “I’d rather not talk about that.”
Kit tilted his head, his smirk fading into something sharper. “Yeah, I get it. Father’s Day isn’t exactly a celebration for you.”
Edwin’s jaw tightened, his voice cold and cutting. “Kit, that ferret raped my mom. Twice.”
Kit held his gaze, unflinching. “That’s true. But he still shot you out of his nuts.”
The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unspoken pain and anger. Edwin’s hands gripped the broom handle tightly, his knuckles turning white. “You think that’s funny?”
Kit shrugged, his tone softer now, almost defensive. “No. It’s not funny. I messed up, okay? But I’m a kid, just like you. Sometimes... shit like that is funny, even when it shouldn’t be.”
Edwin’s grip loosened slightly, though his glare lingered. “It’s not funny, Kit. Not to me.”
Kit rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away. “Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry. I just... I don’t know how to talk about stuff like this. It’s heavy. Too heavy for us, you know?”
Edwin sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “It’s heavy for everyone, not just us. But that doesn’t mean we get to laugh it off.”
Kit nodded slowly, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. “Fair enough. I’ll work on it. Just... don’t expect me to stop screwing up. That’s part of being ten, right?”
Edwin snorted despite himself, shaking his head. “Maybe. But we’re not just kids anymore, Kit. Not in this world.”
Kit gave him a small, rueful smile, his eyes flicking to the debris scattered across the floor. “Yeah, but I’m a predator, Edwin. This isn’t my fight.”
Edwin paused, his gaze sharp and unwavering as he looked at Kit. “That’s where you’re wrong. It is your fight. It’s everyone’s fight. Just because you’re a predator doesn’t mean you can’t see how broken everything is. Doesn’t mean you’re not part of it.”
Kit hesitated, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Maybe. But predators still run things. We’re not the ones in chains or hiding underground.”
Edwin’s voice hardened, but it didn’t lose its edge of empathy. “No, you’re not. But you’re not free either, Kit. Not really. The system traps everyone—predators and prey alike. You think you’re safe because you’re on top, but look around. How many predators are actually happy? Actually free?”
Kit frowned, his gaze dropping to the cracked tiles beneath his feet. “I don’t know. But... my older brother bought a young rabbit. Said she wouldn’t work. I didn’t know what was going on, but... it was loud.”
Edwin froze, the broom slipping slightly in his grasp. His voice dropped, quiet but sharp as a knife. “You heard your brother rape a female rabbit?”
Kit flinched at Edwin’s bluntness, the words hitting harder than he expected. “I—I didn’t know at the time. I’m just a kid. I didn’t understand what it meant, but... yeah. I guess I did.”
Edwin’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and sorrow. “And what did you do?”
Kit hesitated, the weight of shame pulling his shoulders down. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything. What could I have done? He’s my brother, Edwin. And predators... we don’t talk about that stuff. It’s just... it’s just how things are.”
Edwin’s hands gripped the broom so tightly his knuckles turned white. “That’s exactly the problem, Kit. It’s ‘just how things are,’ so no one does anything. No one stops it. And it keeps happening—over and over again.”
Kit looked up at him, his expression raw and conflicted. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel it every time I look at him? Every time I think about it? I hate it, Edwin. I hate him for it. But what the hell am I supposed to do? I’m just a kid.”
Edwin’s voice softened, though his eyes remained fierce. “You start by not letting it happen again. By speaking out, standing up, doing something—anything. You don’t have to fix the whole system overnight, Kit. But you can take one step. That’s how it starts.”
Kit tilted his head, his voice quieter but laced with a sharp edge. “You said we aren’t free. But if my brother was unloading all of his exam stress on her, then wasn’t he free? Free to do whatever he wanted, to whoever he wanted?”
Edwin’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the broom. “That’s not freedom, Kit. That’s control. Power without conscience. Your brother isn’t free—he’s trapped in a cycle of dominance and violence, thinking it’s the only way to deal with his problems. That’s not freedom. That’s a cage he doesn’t even see.”
Kit frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “So, what, he’s just as much a victim as she was?”
Edwin shook his head firmly. “No. What he did to her is unforgivable. But it doesn’t mean he’s not part of a broken system, one that tells predators that’s how they’re supposed to act. And if no one stands up, if no one stops it, it’ll just keep happening. To her. To others. Even to him, in some other way.”
Kit ran a hand through his hair, his voice tinged with frustration. “It’s easy for you to say, Edwin. You’ve got your speeches, your plans. But me? I’m just trying to get through each day without making things worse.”
Edwin took a step closer, his tone steady but imploring. “And that’s a start, Kit. But you can do more. We can do more. Together, we can make things better—for prey and predators. It’s not going to be easy, and we’re going to make mistakes. But if we don’t try, nothing will ever change.”
Kit let out a slow breath, nodding reluctantly. “Fine. I’ll try. But don’t expect me to forgive him—or forget.”
Edwin nodded in return, a flicker of understanding passing between them. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”
The two stood in silence for a moment before Kit reached down and picked up a broken piece of wood, brushing off the dust. “Alright, noble. Let’s see if this rebellion of yours has room for a predator who’s still figuring things out.”
