Kairo: Revenge of the Last Survivor

1 - The Past Is In Front Of Us

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In the darkness, a warm light will be born.
In hopeless times, he shall see it through, a soul forlorn.
A dragon, the horizon, love or obsession.

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"Rise and shine!" the thick curtains opened, letting in warm, dark, orange rays which enveloped the small and cozy room of a young boy, but to that boy, it felt like it hit his closed eyes with a flash.

It woke him up, but still feeling tired, he reflexively turned to his back, away from the annoying light with a groan.

"Oh, don't be like that," the comforting, motherly voice said. "You know you have to get up early for your chores. Your friends are waiting for you," she said gently.

Moments later, the boy began to move around in his bed. "I assume you're waking up. Your father's already done making breakfast. Prep up, Kairo dear."

And so, the woman left the room. The boy, whom the woman called "Kairo", turned back around to take a peek at the sun to try and get a glimpse of the time, but instead saw the sun peeking back at him sharply, driving him to close his eyes. From what he gathered in that split second, he surmised it was still dark and early outside.

He sat up on his bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. His dark hair reached to his plain, charcoal eyes, so he swept it away from his face. The strands returned right atop his eyebrows since that was its natural place. He stretched for a bit before standing up from his bed.

Still rubbing the dirt off of his eyes while lazily walking out of his room, he took a whiff of the air and smelled something warm and familiar.

It was the pleasant scent of bread and cooked fish. It was probably reheated bread from yesterday as it was still too early to bake anything.

Before eating, he took a wooden cup and went outside to fill it with water. He used the water to wash his face and gargle. He never felt like his day had started without doing that routine first.

"Hmm?" he found himself pausing. Something felt off. Did he used to have such a habit?

He met with his father right outside their house as Kairo was just about done with his morning routine.

"Io," his father greeted him.

His father has short, dark, grayish hair and a big nose. His build is thin, but not sickly. He has prominent eyebrows resting on top of his determined eyes and a considerably clean-shaven face.

"Io, father," Kairo greeted back respectfully.

"Io" is a greeting commonly used in rural and remote areas, a foreign expression to people that lived in settlements close to modern kingdoms and cities.

He saw his father reply with a nod. His father's forehead was wrinkly, but Kairo knew that it was a result of his father's hardworking character. He was proud of that fact and always wished to be as passionate as his father.

"What're you doing with that cup?" his father asked.

"Huh? For gargling and washing my face. Like usual."

"Really?"

"Huh?" Kairo scratched his head in confusion.

"Well, anyway, the other two're already eating. After you finish your meal, you'll be using this to collect dry sticks with them," he handed Kairo a makeshift container made out of thick branches and rope.

Kairo's eyes widened with interest at the new contraption before looking back up at his father. "With this, you'll be able to hold more dry sticks before having to go back. As usual, get a lot, but not too much. Save some for the future and so your back may thank you. Now giddy up, Kairo," he said, slapping his son's back vigorously with hearty laughter.