Darkness swirled, moving, pulsating with each rising breath. Darkness. Thaqib tried to focus as he sat in the meditation practice. His mind was still racing from the events of the night. That had to be the wildest one yet. His missions usually got them all caught up in some kind of trouble, but tonight was something else, things had almost gone really bad. He’d come close to being picked up by the B.C.P.D.—or worse. An encounter with a Boomer? What was that? They were military grade, kept for hunting terrorists and triads—serious criminals. He was a lowly vandal, what did they want with him?

Then he thought about that strange man, wrapped up in those weird robes, and that symbol, the coiling serpent, he could swear he’d seen it before. Was he the reason the Boomer was out? Had he just gotten caught in the middle of something else that was going on? Something to do with the firefight near the Veil wall?

A mess of thoughts ran in his head. Maybe Malik was right, maybe he had pushed things too far, spraying so close to the central city. Even if he could handle the risk, he’d almost got Jazib in trouble. He felt a sting of shame in his chest at the thought of it. Jazib would follow him anywhere and he’d not even considered what would happen if he’d gotten hurt because of him.

DING

Thaqib snapped up, realizing he’d nodded off. The low hum of metal rung out in the dark, calling him back. He tried to focus.

White mist swirled, ripples of light within, strange dark forms moving, the Veil beckoning him within. The wall fading away, him standing before the Veil, walking toward it, reaching out a hand, mist cold and wet to the touch. Suddenly, from the depths of white, a dark form moving toward him, he tried to move but his legs were stuck. The dark form moved down staring at him, terrifying in its size. Cold air blasted him as a black tendril emerged from the mist, about to pull him in.

DINNGGG

The hum of metal brought him back to the darkness.

“Thaqib!”

He shot awake, finding himself in a dimly lit room, a singing bowl glinted gold in the dark. He sighed. He was sitting on the floor, a single flickering candle before him.

An old man appeared from the dark, staring at him through bushy brows, mouth pursed sternly beneath a thick gray beard. “You were sleeping,” he said, snuffing out the candle before disappearing into the dark. A lamp flicked on.

Thaqib groaned, squinting, covering his eyes from the bright light. The room illuminated, walls made of scrap metal and foam board were revealed, covered in esoteric charts, shelves bulged with carved idols and strange instruments.

Thaqib stood up from the ground and sat down in an old couch. Its familiar cushion a relief after sitting on the hard floor. He was tired, and struggled to keep his eyes open. “Sorry Rast, couldn’t keep my head in the practice.”

Rast returned with two cups of tea, steam rising, swirling in the dark. He placed Thaqib’s cup on the small table next to him then sat down on his own sofa, blowing at the hot cup in his hand.

Thaqib watched the swirling steam, eyelids feeling heavy.

Rast sat in silence. Wrapped around him he wore rolled down overalls, a white singlet that gave him the appearance of a mechanic and skin covered in dark green tattoos. Dreadlocked hair reached down to the floor, a tumble of gray-white coils. He stroked a wrinkled hand through a white beard.

“Thaqib!”

Thaqib snapped awake. He’d drifted off again in the comfort of the warm couch.

“You were out all night again weren’t you?” Rast said, his face covered in shadow. Thaqib struggled to look at him though eyelids that seemed determined to close. “Look—you can barely keep your eyes open!”

Thaqib shook his head, trying to shake off the sleep. He threw his hands up, “I was here all night!”

“Don’t play me boy. I heard you coming in,” Rast replied.

Thaqib sighed, there was no use in playing dumb, nothing could get past Rast. “Yeah, sorry Rast. Tried my best to get home for the practice.”

“What good is being home for the practice if you’re too tired to do it?” Rast asked.

“I dunno, sorry Rast.”

Rast sighed. “What were you doing out there? Painting billboards again?”

Thaqib looked away then grabbed his cup of tea. “Yeah.”

“This here’s what you should be focusing on,” Rast said pointing at the ground. “Cultivation is where you’ll find what you’re looking for. All that vandalizing is not going to amount to anything, all you’ll have is wasted time. That’s if you don’t get picked up by the police for it, then there will be a lot more wasted time if you get sent off to Hexagon.”

Thaqib squirmed.

“This cultivation practice is for your future Thaqib. You may not understand it now, but it is the most important thing you should be concerning yourself with.”

Rast had been teaching—or trying to teach him cultivation for as long as he could remember. Cultivation—the practice of working with internal energies, gathering and condensing them over time—was an ancient Zionese method for developing spiritual powers. The practitioners of this method were known as cultivators. In the world of ancient Zion—Rast had told him—cultivation was at the heart of its civilization. Cultivators were able to perform great feats that to Thaqib sounded like fantasy.

“I just can’t get into it Rast,” Thaqib said leaning back into the worn out couch, holding the hot cup. “I can feel the chi but I just can’t get a grip on it, you know? It’s like it’s scattered all over the place. Are you sure this is how our ancestors developed their powers?”

“You question the ancient ways without giving them any serious effort?” Rast asked.

“Can’t we go back to learning the real stuff?” Thaqib asked, “you know, the part where we hit things? Feels like I’m getting rusty with my staff, could have come in handy last night.”

“You think hitting stuff has anything to do with cultivation?” Rast said, getting up achingly, shaking his head. “When you’ve developed your internal work, then you can continue learning the external arts. Otherwise, forget about it!”

“Come on Rast! We’ve been at it for months now!” Thaqib replied.

“And what have you got to show for it? You spend your energy running about those streets, acting like a fool!”

“What good is sitting around here meditating when I could be learning stuff that I can use out there, while I’m fighting Babylon?” Thaqib asked, standing, feeling a little dizzy from the head-rush.

“Fighting Babylon? Is that what you think you’re doing? Defacing billboards? And besides what is it you’re fighting for?”

“They treat us like we’re nothing, like we should be lucky they showed up to rule us! They stick those billboards up everywhere, advertising their trash. They’re tryin’ to mess with our heads! I just want to throw a spanner in the works you know? So it doesn’t all run so smoothly for ‘em. Show ‘em that not everyone is buying into it. Besides, don’t we have a right to express ourselves in our own city!?”

“That’s admirable, but scrawling incoherent writing is not the way you’re going to achieve that. You need to show them not tell them. You wish to learn to fight when you can’t even grasp the most basic concepts of cultivation and the martial way. When you can organize and eliminate your internal problems, then you can move on to external matters.”

“Babylon’s out there Rast, not in here,” Thaqib said, thumping his chest. “Sitting in the dark day after day isn’t going to make them disappear! You know what I gotta deal with out there every day?”

“What you deal with out there is a direct result of what’s going on inside of you,” Rast said, pointing a finger at his solar plexus. “I thought you understood that by now.”

“No Rast, I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’re teaching me this stuff. No one else I know wakes up at 5am to sit around in the dark. I just wanted to learn to fight, you said you could teach me, but you won’t even do that anymore!”

Rast sighed in frustration. “Soon you’ll run out of time Thaqib. Things are afoot, I’m afraid it will be too late by the time you realize what you’ve been neglecting,” Rast said easing back into the couch, a look of pain shooting across his face.

“Huh? What do you mean? What things?” Thaqib started to get concerned.

“I won’t be around forever Thaqib. Once I’m gone how will you learn to cultivate then?”

“You going somewhere?” Thaqib asked leaning in, looking at Rast intensely.

“I’m not well Thaqib, I’m getting on in years, I’m just worried about you not having what you need to progress along your path.”

Thaqib suddenly felt a piercing anxiety. Rast had never talked like this before, and now that Rast had mentioned it, he realized Rast did look worn out. “You’re not gonna leave me are you Rast?”

“Not yet, but if you go on like you’re gonna live forever, one day you’ll wake up to a rude surprise.”

Thaqib balled a fist. Rast hadn’t been well ever since he’d got out of prison. He’d been locked up for a month but that was a year ago already. They’d done something to him in there he knew it, but Rast refused to talk about it. Thaqib sat down, his head swimming.

Rast leaned in, seeing Thaqib’s concern. “Don’t let it get you down, it’s the way of things. I just want to make sure you’re prepared when the time does come. You’re meant for more than this place Thaqib, there are things out there, beyond the Veil that you cannot imagine.”

Thaqib snapped up. “Beyond the Veil? What do you mean?”

All these things I’ve been trying to teach you, they’re a part of who you are, where you come from. I know you’ve felt lost, that’s why these things are so important. You need to connect with your Zionese roots, with Zion.

“But why? Zion’s history. What good is learning all this stuff—it’s irrelevant now. We live in Babylon, we gotta deal with that. Besides all this stuff just seems—unreal.”

Rast sighed. “You’ll understand someday. It’s hard for an old man like me to understand the world you’re growing up in. Things have changed so much and so quickly.”

Thaqib looked down at his tea. He wanted to understand Rast, wanted to connect with him on a deeper level. But he felt so conflicted between the world he’d experienced and this fantastical world of the past Rast was trying to teach him about.

“Let’s have some breakfast before you head to work,” Rast said. “You hungry?” Thaqib looked up at him with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, nothing got him excited like the prospect of Rast’s cooking. “Go clean yourself up while I get it ready,” Rast said chuckling at Thaqib’s enthusiasm. Thaqib leapt off the couch and bolted down the hall to prepare himself for the day ahead.

The smell of toast filled the shack as Thaqib returned to the living area. Rast was just placing two plates down with another cup of tea. “Thanks Rast!” Thaqib said, sitting at the table.

Rast joined him. “So how’re things on the barge? Beemo still acting like he’s the big boss?”

“Yeah, dunno who he thinks he’s kidding. Everyone is cracking jokes when he’s busy chilling in the cabin instead of working like the rest of us.” Thaqib replied. Rast smiled taking a sip of his tea. “Everyone misses you there though Rast. Feels empty without you.”

“Well, can’t say I feel the same way… Nice to finally have the time to dig into my real work,” Rast replied.

“Yeah, maybe it was all good in the end, letting you off the hook with the employment authorities. Just lucky you got to come home from lock-up.”

“It’ll take more than bars to keep me locked up,” Rast said coyly.

“How did you get out of there? I never heard of anyone that got let out of lock-up—especially from what they accused you of.”

Rast grinned. “Some other time. That’s enough, jabbering. Finish up, you need to get to work.”

Thaqib’s shoulders sagged, he’d almost forgotten about work, he wished he really could, but he knew that wasn’t possible. He ran a hand over his short dreads and grabbed a bandanna to keep them out of his face. He got himself off the couch, leaving its comfort almost caused him physical pain. He grabbed his pack and made his way to the door, sliding on his work boots. “I’m sorry Rast,” he said turning back. “I’ll work harder from now on, I promise.”

Rast nodded, “You’re a good boy Thaqib, don’t let that mind of yours pull you around wherever it pleases.”

Thaqib smiled, putting on his favorite jacket, his armor against the cold and hostile world that lay outside that front door. He pulled the collar close around his face and took a deep breath. Leaving the comfort of home to face the world outside was always the worst part of the day.

He cracked open the door and stepped out. He was hit by the damp, bone-chilling air. He closed the door behind him and stepped down from the haphazardly built porch and into the dark street. He turned back to look at his home. Fashioned from scrap metal and whatever odds and ends Rast had managed to gather, it was modest to say the least. The shack held a cozy charm however, amplified now by the warm orange glow emanating from its windows, contrasting sharply to the cold dark in which he now found himself standing. It was the only home Thaqib had ever known. He felt content in the fact that no matter how bad things were outside, no matter what he had to go through during the day, it was always there for him to return to.