Smiling Voids

The next morning, I found myself seated in the back of Lucía's truck, heading toward Llanabela. The sun was already high in the sky. Long shadows stretched across the dense canopy of trees, while the occasional break in the foliage revealed glimpses of the shimmering sea far below.

Enid sat in the passenger seat, elbows resting on the dashboard as her piercing eyes scanned the road ahead. She was quiet, radiating the kind of intensity that made her seem unreachable. Behind the wheel was Lucía, serious as ever. There was no small talk, no idle chatter—just the rhythmic hum of the truck's engine and the occasional whistle of wind rushing through the open windows. Unlike the others in the group, Enid and Lucía carried a seriousness that rarely wavered.

I leaned against the window, letting the cool glass press against my forehead as I watched the scenery change. The road narrowed as we climbed higher, the once-frequent buildings dwindling into scattered remnants of farmhouses and barns.

Moments later, Lucía spoke, "We're meeting with Senator Manuel Molina," she said, "He's an old friend of my father's. One of the few senators left who actually cares about the people."

I nodded, though my thoughts lingered elsewhere, caught in the fog of the restless night before.

"How long have you known him?" I asked, hoping to ground myself in the present.

"Since I was a kid," Lucía replied, her eyes still fixed on the road. "He and my father were close. Manuel used to come by our house all the time. And lately, he's been helping us quietly, telling me about new laws, new regulations, even the USC's plan to cement their hold here."

"Sounds dangerous for him," I replied.

"It is," she admitted. "But Manuel's not the kind of man who backs down. He knows what's at stake."

Enid shifted slightly in her seat, crossing her arms as she spoke. "We're also delivering supplies to the people up in Llanabela. They were hit hard—some of them still don't have power, even months after the hurricane."

"How bad is it up there?" I replied.

"Bad," she said simply, her tone flat, almost resigned. "But they'll get through it. They always do. We take care of our own."

The road wound higher, the incline steep enough to make the engine groan as we climbed. The truck jolted and bounced over deep potholes and patches of uneven dirt, and every so often, Lucía had to swerve to avoid loose rocks scattered across the path. The trees grew denser the farther we went. The air was cooler now, carrying a faint chill that hinted at the elevation.

The journey stretched on for another hour or so before we finally reached the outskirts of Llanabela, a small town nestled in the foothills of the mountains. It was a quiet place, tucked into a curve of the hills as though hiding from the outside world. The buildings were modest and made of weathered stone and wood, many of them showing the scars of the storm—collapsed roofs, shattered windows, and walls patched with tarps or sheet metal. The roads were little more than dirt and gravel, riddled with cracks and erosion.

The truck rumbled to a halt, the tires kicking up a small cloud of dust as it settled into the uneven ground. Lucía climbed out first, her boots crunching against the dirt. Within seconds, she was surrounded. Smiling faces lit up as people hurried to her, wrapping her in warm embraces, clapping her on the back, and showering her with thanks. Her calm, composed demeanor softened ever so slightly as she accepted their gratitude, offering brief smiles and nods in return.

But it wasn't Lucía who drew the most attention—it was Enid.

The moment Enid stepped out of the truck, the energy of the crowd shifted. A ripple of recognition spread through the gathered townsfolk, their voices rising in excited calls. "Enid! ¡Enid está aquí!" Her name rang out like an anthem, and within moments, she was practically swarmed. People reached for her, hugging her tightly, clapping her shoulders, and greeting her with an enthusiasm that bordered on reverence.

Enid's usual cold, distant demeanor melted away, replaced by a grin so genuine it almost caught me off guard. The sharp edges in her features softened, her body language loose and open in a way I'd never seen before. She greeted each person by name, her voice warm and familiar, the faint trace of a laugh escaping her lips as she exchanged quick jokes and heartfelt words. This wasn't the Enid I had come to know—the one with the rigid posture, the sharp tongue, and the ever-watchful eyes. This was someone completely different.

I watched her, a little stunned, as that unfamiliar grin stayed plastered on her face, and for the first time, I saw her smile—a real one, not the small, wry quirks of her lips she used to mask her emotions. Here, among these people, she was loved. Adored, even.

We started unloading supplies from the truck—bags of food, water filters, and basic medical kits—and handing them out to the gathered families. The supplies were modest, but the gratitude in their eyes made it feel like we were handing out gold. Lucía had already drifted off to speak with the town's mayor, a tall man with deeply weathered skin, kind eyes, and a steady presence that suggested he had long been the anchor of this community. Meanwhile, Enid and I made our way through the narrow streets, handing out what we could.

As we walked, I couldn't help but notice the energy of the town. It was infectious—despite everything they'd been through, the people here seemed alive. Children darted around us in laughter, playing games with sticks and stones as though the world hadn't been flipped around them. Even strangers smiled at me like I was an old friend, offering me cups of water and pieces of bread as they passed by.

I shook my head in quiet disbelief. How? How could they still be like this? I'd seen the aftermath of the storm in so many places—despair, anger, exhaustion. And yet here, in a town with no power and crumbling buildings, they were thriving.

"I don't get it," I muttered aloud. "This place... they're really okay here, aren't they?"

Enid glanced at me, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "This is my hometown," she said simply.

I blinked, caught off guard. Enid rarely spoke about her. She had always seemed so detached from everything.

She gestured toward the edge of town, where a crumbling building stood in quiet decay. Its walls were cracked and weather-stained, its windows boarded up with mismatched planks. "Over there," she said, her voice quieter now. "That used to be my dad's store."

I followed her gaze, taking in the sad shape of the building. It looked like it had been abandoned for years.

"He used to run that place," Enid continued, her tone soft but steady. "It was a small shop—nothing fancy. He sold whatever he could get his hands on. Everyone came there, though. Locals, tourists... anyone passing through who wanted to see the rivers behind the town. It was the heart of this place."

"I loved it there," she went on, her pace slowing as we walked closer to the ruined shop. "I'd spend hours in the store, meeting people, listening to their stories. The locals would tell me wild tales about Vanity Island—about the forests and mountains, the rivers that disappear and reappear like magic. The things they said stuck with me. Every night, I'd lie awake just imagining it all, getting lost in their stories."

I didn't say anything. I could feel there was more to the story.

"Then, the first big commercial store from the USC opened its doors a few years back in Ororena. It was a hit. They expanded, and eventually, they opened one here," Enid began, her voice calm but tinged with a faint bitterness that lingered just beneath the surface. Her gaze stayed fixed on the crumbling store in the distance as if the past were etched into its broken walls. "Cheaper prices, more variety... slowly, all the locals started going there.

"My dad tried everything—slashing prices, looking for new suppliers, begging for better contracts—but it didn't matter. He couldn't compete. The government didn't make it easier, either. They passed laws to reduce imports from USC territories for locals like us, but if you were from the USC, you got all the breaks. Reduced land prices. Paper exemptions, meaning you could start operating while waiting for permits—something that would take us months to get. Tax cuts for their businesses, too. It was like the whole system was designed to push people like my dad out."

Her tone stayed steady, almost clinical. I stayed quiet, letting her continue.

"My dad fought as hard as he could," she said. "But every penny he had went into the store, hoping that things would turn around. We got poorer and poorer. He'd always say, 'Hard times don't last, Enid.' He believed it with all his heart."

She let out a soft, humorless laugh that barely escaped her lips. "But my mom didn't believe it. She couldn't take it anymore. She left him for someone at the USC store—the one who opened the new chain here."

I glanced at her, expecting to see some flicker of pain or anger, but her face was unreadable. She didn't pause to explain or elaborate, as if it wasn't worth dwelling on.

Her eyes stayed locked on the store, her expression cold now. "I never forgave her for that," she said, the words quieter but heavier, "She left when things got worse. She left him fending for himself... One Christmas, my dad thought he caught a break. He found a supplier who was liquidating inventory—selling it for more than half the price. The USC didn't want it, and my dad... he saw it as a sign. He bought the whole stock. It was a gamble, but he thought it could save the store." She paused for the briefest moment, taking a small breath. "The thing is, the inventory was defective. Most of it wasn't even approved to be sold anymore. But how could he know that? The USC has teams of people to check for things like that. My dad... my dad was always alone. He didn't stand a chance."

Her voice wavered slightly, but only for a moment.

"That night," she said, her eyes still locked on the store, "I found him hanging from the ceiling."

I felt a weight settle over me, an ache deep in my chest that I didn't know how to put into words. Enid didn't look at me and didn't seem to want or need my sympathy. She told the story like it was someone else's.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, unsure if the words meant anything in the face of what she had just told me.

Her gaze finally broke from the store. She turned to me, her expression calm but distant. "No need," she said, her voice cool. "I've made peace with it. I understand why he did it. He gave everything he had, but in the end, the USC won. How could he fight them? They had the money, the power, the knowledge, and the law on their side. He had nothing. No one."

"What about the people here?" I asked after a moment, hesitant but unable to stop myself. "Don't you resent them? If they never bought from the USC store, maybe none of this would've happened—"

Enid cut me off with a sharp look, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "Ellion, why would I resent people for trying to save on what little they already have? That's survival. That's human nature. The real blame belongs to the ones who knew exactly what they were doing. They fed on the poor, knowing they'd have no choice but to give in."

Her gaze bore into mine, unflinching. "If we just stand around thinking about what-ifs, we'll never make progress. You want to solve the problem? You have to kill the root first."

For the first time, I really saw her—not just the sharp, cold exterior she projected, but the anger and purpose that drove her. The rumors, the xenophobia... they weren't irrational. They were born from something real, something deeper. Her father's death had shaped her in ways I hadn't understood before. She had learned early that playing by the rules of the USC meant losing.

Before I could say anything more, a group of children came barreling toward us, their laughter cutting through the tension. They surrounded Enid, tugging at her arms, showing her things they had found in the river—shiny rocks, a twisted piece of metal, and even a jagged old fishing lure.

"Miss Enid! ¡Un pez gigante! We saw it! A giant fish in the river!" one of them shouted, his face lit up with excitement as he gestured wildly toward the water.

Enid crouched down to their level, fully immersed in their animated stories. Her cold demeanor softened again as she smiled and listened, nodding along as they described their tall tales of the creature lurking in the depths.

I stood back, watching the scene serene scene unfold.

As I looked around the bustling town square, my eyes caught Lucía in the distance, standing in conversation with a slightly older man. He was well-dressed, but not in an extravagant way—his clothes were simple, yet sharp enough to suggest he wasn't just another local.

Lucía caught sight of me and waved me over with a subtle gesture.

As I approached, she turned slightly toward me, "Ellion, this is Senator Manuel Molina."

Manuel extended his hand with a polite smile, his handshake firm and deliberate. His expression, though friendly, carried a flicker of curiosity as his sharp eyes studied me. "The boy leader from The Sunspears," he said, his tone polite but tinged with an edge of intrigue. "Tell me, whatever happened to them?"

I stiffened slightly at the mention of The Sunspears, my chest tightening with the weight of memories I'd rather not revisit. What could I say to someone who had been part of the very system we fought against? "We... disbanded," I said finally, keeping my tone neutral. "Not everyone agreed on the same ideals."

Manuel tilted his head slightly, as though weighing my words. Then, with a faint chuckle, he said, "Huh. I've always had mixed feelings about those powers of yours, but I always respected your will. You never let them define how you fought for this island. Unlike others who believe they wield true power." He paused, his gaze drifting momentarily to the mountains in the distance. "It's funny, isn't it? How people define power in their own ways. In the end, who is truly powerful, the one who uses his powers to change things how he sees fit? Or the one who holds back his power so that nature still takes its natural course?"

I chuckled nervously, unsure how to respond but grateful he didn't press further about The Sunspears.

The senator's expression grew more serious as he turned back to Lucía. "I was just telling Lucía about the USC's latest move. They're backing Richard Roses for the next election, offering to fund his campaign—fully. And that's not all. They're also investing in the voting machines we're supposed to use, shipping them straight from their mainland."

I blinked, trying to process what he was saying. "Voting machines? Rigged ones?" The words sounded absurd as they left my mouth, but the weight of Manuel's tone told me he wasn't joking.

"That's the rumor," he said grimly. "And it wouldn't surprise me. The USC has been playing a long game here. But what bothers me even more is this—" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to draw my full attention. "A week ago, without any notice, they brought in someone from the USC and gave him a place at the table. No votes. No discussions. Nothing. He's just... there. Some old man named Don Feliciano. They call him an 'economic advisor,' but he's present at every meeting. Every decision. And our dear Governor González? She won't make a move without his input."

"How is that even legal?" I asked, though deep down, I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.

Manuel scoffed, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. "Legal? This government owes the USC millions. Vanity Island is barely holding itself together financially, and they know it. They've leveraged that debt to infiltrate us without even needing to hide it. Everything Governor González has done these past years—every deal, every policy—has been a setup for this moment. She's just a puppet, and the Roses family is pulling the strings. Their plan has always been to make us so dependent on the USC that we'll have no choice but to let them take over. While they get fatter and rich, the people slowly pay back the debt they brought us."

Lucía folded her arms, "She paved the way for them. Selling off public services, privatizing essentials, raising our bills, and housing costs so high that people are either forced to leave or accept their way of life. It's all designed to make us desperate—so desperate that if Richard Roses wins the elections, he'll make a so-called solution offered by the USC and we'll thank them for it. And that's how they'll win. And once they're here, they won't care about us. They'll take our lands and resources. Leaving us as just sheep to herd into the slaughterhouse."

Manuel sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly as his gaze drifted to the horizon. "This island..." he said softly, almost to himself. "It's changed so much in the past decade. I miss what it used to be—what it could've been." He gestured vaguely to the scenery around us: the towering mountains, the sprawling green hills, and in the far distance, the sparkling ribbon of the sea. "I used to see views like this everywhere I went. Now? I have to drive hours into the mountains just to get a piece of it."

Lucía placed a hand on his shoulder, her expression softening just slightly. "Thank you for telling us this, Manuel. I know how much risk you're taking by sharing this with us."

Manuel's expression shifted, his face hardening into one of quiet reflection. There was a heaviness in his eyes now, a kind of regret that seemed to age him in an instant. "I don't know if this is the right thing to do," he said, his voice quieter, as though speaking more to himself than to us. "I've lived my life selfishly. Always focused on what I wanted, never stopping to think about what others might need. I used to tell myself that once I had everything I wanted, I'd give back to the island... but somewhere along the way, I forgot that promise."

Manuel looked at Lucía then, his eyes softening. "I know you might not believe me, but your father was very proud of you," he said, his tone warmer now, gentler. "Even though the two of you went about things in completely opposite ways, he admired you deeply. He loved you."

Lucía's posture stiffened, but her expression began to crack. A sheen of unshed tears glimmered in her eyes as Manuel continued.

"He once told me," Manuel said with a faint smile, "that when your mother passed, her soul went into you. He believed that's why you're so full of fire. He said you're everything she was and more."

Lucía couldn't hold back anymore. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight, heartfelt hug. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

After a few seconds, Lucía pulled back, blinking quickly to compose herself. "Thank you," she said softly. She offered him a small, genuine smile, one that didn't reach her eyes but still held warmth. "Me and Ellion will head back to help spread the supplies to the town. We'll talk soon."

Manuel nodded, returning her smile with a quiet one of his own. "Take care, Lucía," he said, his voice filled with an unspoken hope that things might still change. With that, he turned and walked away, heading back up the path toward the other end of the town.

Lucía stood there for a moment, watching him go. Then she turned to me, and together we began walking back down toward the center of the town.

At first, I thought she might still be lost in the moment, reflecting on what Manuel had said. But as we walked, I noticed her expression shifting—her soft, emotional gaze hardened into one of sharp focus. Her shoulders squared, her jaw tightened, and the fire that Manuel had just spoken of seemed to reignite behind her eyes.

"Everything okay?" I asked quietly, hesitant to break the silence.

She didn't answer right away, but when she did, her tone was firm and steady, all traces of her earlier vulnerability gone. "If those machines are rigged," she said, her voice like steel, "then they're the proof we need. The proof of everything the government and the USC have been doing. We have to get one of them. No matter what."

Her voice was resolute. The cracks in her demeanor from moments before had vanished entirely. Her focus was back, locked on the mission and the people she was fighting for—like always.

I nodded, falling into step beside her as the town came back into view. The streets were alive with the sound of laughter and chatter, but the undercurrent of tension in Lucía's voice stayed with me.

Once again, It looked like another fight was brewing.