Liam's Burden

The weight of the world, or rather, *this* world, settled upon Liam’s shoulders like a shroud woven from mist and the scent of alien pine. It was a burden he’d woken with, the same moment he’d woken to the rustle of iridescent leaves and the chirping of creatures that sang in harmonies no earthly bird could mimic. Chapter 11, they might call it, if this were a story penned from the safety of a familiar armchair, but for Liam, it was simply another day of the unending, terrifyingly beautiful present.

He stood at the edge of the nascent village, a collection of sturdy log dwellings that seemed to sprout from the forest floor with a surprising naturalness. The smoke from a dozen hearths curled lazily into the pale, twin-sunned sky, carrying with it the comforting aroma of roasted root vegetables and something else, something uniquely of this place, a sweet, earthy fragrance that had become the perfume of their new existence. Yet, the scent did little to soothe the knot of unease that perpetually tightened in his gut.

“Daydreaming again, Captain?” Noah’s voice, ever a cheerful counterpoint to Liam’s brooding, broke through his reverie. He nudged Liam’s shoulder with a grin, a smear of mud decorating his cheek. Noah, bless his eternally optimistic heart, seemed to have embraced this new reality with an almost reckless abandon, finding adventure in every gnarly root and every peculiar bloom.