Ocular Astra Journeys: The Seven Hearth

CHAPTER 6: THE FAITHFUL

The journey from Eira’s militarized ridges to Arin’s land took several hours of steady walking. The terrain shifted from sharp, needled trees to rolling, patchwork hills. From a high pass, Stollen and Lyra looked down at what the map called a “continent.”

To them, it was an island perhaps ten miles across. Fields spread in quilted squares, but many were fallow or choked with weeds. The settlements they could see were clusters of simple, thatched huts—no watchtowers, no forges smoking, no high-tech vehicles.

“A ‘continent’,” Lyra said, her voice flat. “It’s smaller than some lakes back home.”

“Scale is everything here,” Stollen replied, his eyes scanning. “To a two-inch tall person, ten miles might as well be a planet. But… look at the fields. The soil’s thin. Eroded.”

As they descended, the scale played its usual tricks. What looked like a gentle slope became a steep hillside of grass that reached their shins. A “forest” ahead resolved into a stand of trees no taller than twice their height. A river they had to cross was little more than a burbling stream that didn’t reach their knees.

The first village lay in a shallow valley. The people who emerged to watch them were thinner than those on Skrul’s or even Eira’s land. Their clothes were patched, their tools simple wood and stone. They didn’t flee, but watched with a kind of weary awe.

Elder Arin came forward to meet them. He was dressed in simple, undyed robes, his face lined with what looked like gentle sorrow rather than hardness. He carried no amplifier, but his voice, though soft, carried clearly in the quiet air.

“You have come,” he said, looking up at them. “The giants from the suns.”

Stollen crouched, bringing himself closer to the elder’s level. “Elder Arin. We’re from a world called Earth. We crashed here. We mean no harm. We were told your land has composites—materials we need to build a ship to leave.”

Arin’s smile was patient, beatific. “Earth. A humble name for a holy world. You are here now. That is what matters.” He gestured to the struggling village. “There is not much here, but you are welcome to what we have.”

Lyra exchanged a glance with Stollen. He’s not hearing us, her look said. He’s seeing what he wants to see.

They were given shelter in the largest structure—a barn that, to them, was the size of a garden shed. As they settled, Lyra activated her suit’s medical scanner, sweeping it subtly over a group of children watching them from a distance. The readout flashed: LOW BODY MASS. NUTRIENT DEFICIENCIES DETECTED.

“They’re starving,” she murmured to Stollen.

The next day, they began to help. There was no discussion of payment, no deal like with Eira. Arin simply showed them where a landslide had blocked an irrigation channel—a channel no wider than a gutter to them. Stollen moved the “boulders,” which were fist-sized stones, in minutes. Lyra helped reinforce the banks.

As they worked, Lyra asked the question that had been burning in her. “Elder Arin, why is your land so… struggling?”

Arin watched his people moving slowly in the fields. “We are few. And what we have, others need more.”

“The composites,” Stollen said, wiping his hands. “Your land is supposed to be rich in them. We need them. Where are they?”

Arin’s gentle expression faltered. He looked down. “We do not know.”

Lyra stared. “You don’t know where your own resources are?”

“We were told by the other continents that we have them,” Arin admitted, his voice tinged with shame. “They come with their machines. They take what they need. In return, we receive food. Medicine. It is the agreement.”

Stollen thought of Skrul’s impossibly detailed map, the symbol for composites clearly marked here. “You don’t participate? You don’t even know where the mines are?”

Arin shook his head. “It is not for us to know. It is for us to have faith.”

Lyra’s fists clenched. “You’re being robbed. Can’t you see that?”

“Perhaps,” Arin said softly. “But faith is not about sight.”

That afternoon, Arin took them to the heart of the village: a simple wooden building, larger than the huts. Inside, the walls were painted with a faded mural. Stollen’s breath caught.. The Giants sat outside the hut on the ground.

It showed seven worlds, each slightly larger than the last, stacked in a vertical column. Beings descended from the larger worlds to the smaller ones. The art was primitive, but the concept was unmistakable.

“The truth of creation,” Arin said, kneeling before the mural. “The Ovón Ihinyon. The Seven Suns. The larger watch over the smaller. As you watch over us.”

Stollen pointed at the mural, his engineer’s mind making connections. “This isn’t a metaphor. This is a diagram. You’ve known. For generations, you’ve known.”

Arin looked up at him, tears in his eyes. “We are destined to be saved by giants from the sun. The scripture says: ‘Giants will save you in time of need. Revere them and serve them. They are your Gods.’ You are here. Our time of need is now.”

The weight of the mistaken divinity settled on Stollen’s shoulders like stone. “We’re not gods. We’re mechanics. We’re lost.”

“Then let your being lost be our blessing,” Arin pleaded. “Help us.”

Lyra couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Why didn’t the other continents help you? If you’re all part of the same world?”

Arin’s face darkened with a memory. “My father, the elder before me… he tried to keep the composites for our people. He said they were sacred, saved for the holy beings to come.” He paused. “Thorold’s continent did not agree. They have the greatest army. They came. What they called a war was over in two days. It was a massacre. They took what they wanted. Now they, and others, take what they want, when they want it.”

“And you just let them?” Lyra’s voice was sharp.

“We pray for forgiveness for our incompetence,” Arin said, bowing his head. “That is why we built more churches.”

Something in Stollen snapped. The fatigue, the hunger, the sheer illogic of it all boiled over. He gestured violently at the crumbling fields outside, then at the well-kept temple.

“You idiots!” The words erupted, echoing in the small space. “You’re supposed to use that strength to grow crops, not build more churches! Church won’t feed you! Prayer won’t plow a field! God only helps those who help themselves!”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Arin didn’t look angry, just profoundly sad. He sank to his knees.

“You sound like him,” Arin whispered.

Stollen froze. “Like who?”

“The giant who came fifty years ago,” Arin said. “He was not as large as you. But he helped. He taught us better ways to farm, to store water. He was kind. And then… he disappeared.”

The barn was silent save for the distant sounds of the village. Then, a rustle came from their piled supplies. A small figure pushed out from under a folded tarp.

Nathe stood up, brushing dust from his clothes. He looked even thinner than he had on Eira’s land, his eyes huge in his face.

Lyra gasped. “Nathe! What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stay,” Nathe said, his voice steady. “Not after what I heard Eira planning. And you… you need a guide who knows this world isn’t what the elders say it is.”

Stollen knelt. “How did you survive the journey? Without food?”

Nathe offered a weak smile. “Our bodies are not like yours. We can go months without eating. We get hungry, yes. Weak. But we don’t die from it. Not quickly. It is how we are made.” He looked at Arin. “Elder Arin hasn’t eaten in a week. Many here haven’t.”

Lyra’s medical scanner confirmed it—Nathe’s metabolism readings were incredibly slow, his body in a state of deep conservation.

“My mission,” Nathe continued, “is to find out what happened to the giants. The one fifty years ago. The one two years ago that Eira hates. Where do they go? Why do they disappear?” He looked between Stollen and Lyra. “You’re my best chance.”

Arin finally rose, his eyes moving from Nathe to the giants. “The composites you seek… the ones stolen from us… they are the key. Find who truly controls them, and you may find your answers.”

Stollen helped Arin to his feet. “We’ll help your people first. We’ll clear fields, repair what we can. While we do… tell us everything about these ‘composite takers.’ Everything you’ve seen.”

As they left the temple, the painted worlds seemed to watch them from the wall. Stollen looked at Lyra, then at Nathe, who now stood with them as an ally.

They had come for materials. They’d walked into a holy war, a history of exploitation, and a mystery of vanishing giants.

And the only map they had was painted by the oppressed.

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END OF CHAPTER 6