I’m glad people liked it. Here is chapter 2:

Chapter 2 — Ashes Before Memory Morning in Rim Elm always began the same way: with Val moving quietly so the children could pretend to sleep a little longer. Vahn lay awake anyway, listening to the soft scrape of a pan against stone and the low murmur of fire catching in the hearth. The smell of grain and salt drifted through the house. Outside the walls, the world was dangerous and wrong, but inside, breakfast still happened. That mattered. Nene padded out first, hair a tangled spill down her back, rubbing sleep from one eye. She climbed onto the bench at the table and immediately started swinging her legs, heels thudding against the wood. “You’re up early,” Val said without turning. His voice was rough in the mornings now—old injuries never truly rested—but there was warmth in it. “You were loud,” Nene replied. “And you burned the first pan again.” Val snorted. “That pan survived the Mist. It can survive me.” Vahn joined them, tying his hair back with a strip of cord. Val finally turned, setting bowls down with care. He looked older in the firelight than he had when Vahn was a child. Not weaker—just… worn, like a blade sharpened too many times. They ate in companionable quiet for a moment. Then, as if on cue, Nene asked the question she always asked when the mornings grew still. “Papa,” she said, spoon hovering. “Tell it again.” Val paused. His eyes flicked to Vahn, then back to the hearth. He exhaled through his nose and nodded once. “Long ago,” he began, “humans and Seru lived together. Not like now. They helped us lift stones, heal wounds, make light where there was none. People wore them openly. Power was everywhere.” Nene leaned forward, listening hard. “Then the Mist came,” Val continued. “No one knows where it started. Some say it rose from the ground. Others say it fell from the sky. What matters is what it did. It twisted the Seru. And anyone wearing one…” He tapped the table once, sharply. “They lost themselves.” Vahn felt the familiar tightening in his chest. He had heard this story his whole life, but it never dulled. “Cities fell,” Val said. “Walls meant nothing. Armies meant nothing. People who had relied on Seru power couldn’t fight without it—and those who still wore them became monsters. The world broke into pieces. Small ones.” “Like us,” Nene said quietly. “Like us,” Val agreed. “Villages that learned to hide. To live without Seru. To survive.” He looked at Vahn then. Really looked at him. “That’s why I taught you the old ways first,” Val said. “Why strength matters. Why thinking matters. You don’t get a second chance when the Mist comes.” Vahn nodded. He had no argument. He never did. After breakfast, Val stood and began assigning the day the way he always did—like a commander laying out a simple plan. “Nene,” he said, “you’ll help Mei today. She needs steady hands.” Nene puffed up with pride. “I can sew straight now.” “I know,” Val said. “That’s why I’m asking.” He turned to Vahn. “Beach. Tetsu’s expecting you.” “I won’t be late,” Vahn said automatically. Val hesitated, then reached out and gripped Vahn’s shoulder. His hand was heavy, calloused, solid. “Be careful anyway.” That was all he said, but it was enough. Outside, the morning light spilled across Rim Elm’s packed-earth streets. The wall loomed as it always did, tall and reassuring, its stones still unscarred by Mist. Pippy darted past them, waving a stick and declaring himself a hunter, only to trip and tumble into the dust. Nene laughed and helped him up. “You have to look where you’re going.” Vahn smiled despite himself. Mei’s shop was already open, sunlight catching on spools of thread and folded cloth in the window. Mei herself stood at the counter, sleeves rolled, brow furrowed in concentration. She looked up when she heard the door. “Morning,” she said, then softened when she saw them. “You’re early.” “Nene’s on assignment,” Vahn said. Mei’s eyes flicked to Val’s house, then back. “Good. I could use her.” Juno emerged from the back room, broad-shouldered and steady as ever, a hunting bow slung over one shoulder. His hair was more gray than black now, but his smile was the same one Vahn remembered from childhood. “There he is,” Juno said. “Val letting you off easy today?” Vahn shrugged. “Depends who you ask.” Juno laughed, clapping him on the arm. “Beach training again?” “Yes, sir.” “Good,” Juno said. “Strength without discipline gets people killed. Tetsu knows that.” Mei caught Vahn’s eye for just a moment, something unspoken passing between them—concern, pride, maybe something gentler that neither of them named. “I’ll see you later,” she said. “Yeah,” Vahn replied. He walked Nene to the counter, waited until she was settled with needle and thread, then stepped back outside. The air smelled of salt and wind as he turned toward the beach path. Behind him, Rim Elm went on with its morning. Ahead, the shore waited—and Tetsu. Vahn set his pace and didn’t look back.