Tinman, Chapter 25 "Just keep climbing," Draco's voice cut through the din of pursuit, a clarion call in the midst of chaos. His demand sliced the air with urgency, compelling Tommy to hoist himself up another jagged piece of rock. "Where are they coming from?" The question tore from Tommy's lips, his breaths short and sharp as fear laced each syllable. Panic clung to him, a palpable force as he sought answers, his gaze flitting downwards to the shadowy forms below. Draco's voice pierced the thin air, an urgent beacon amidst the clatter of loose stones under their desperate hands. "Two teams, one coming from the north, the other from the south,” he shouted over the rush of wind that seemed to conspire with their pursuers. “I bet they went to Sam and Cass’ camp first. They’ve probably been boxing us into an ambush for days.” Tommy's fingers grappled with the cliff face, seeking solace in the solidity of the earth. With every heave upwards, his muscles protested, but Draco's command echoed within him, a mantra spurring him on. "Climb!" Draco insisted again, his voice now a growl of determination. He cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder, the relentless hunters below mere ghosts in the haze of adrenaline. They were an unspoken threat, their presence an undercurrent of malice in the stark landscape. A sudden plink against the stone to Tommy's left sent shards skittering down the cliff. His heart stuttered, and he pressed himself closer to the cliff face as if willing it to swallow him whole. “They’re shooting at us,” he gasped, the words tumbling out in a panic-edged whisper. Each syllable vibrated with the terror of a young man who knew the stakes were life or death. Above him, Draco paused, his silhouette a stark contrast against the cerulean sky. The muscles in his arms stood out in stark relief, honed by countless simulations—but none as deadly as this. "Move!" he called down, his command short and devoid of any levity. In that instant, Tommy understood the gravity of their predicament—trapped between heaven and earth, with hellfire nipping at their heels. Below, the swarm of Ares Corporation bounty hunters, a black-clad throng undulating like a shadow across the landscape, drew ever closer with mechanical precision. His pulse quickened; they had skirted peril's edge unknowingly, the river a deceptive guide leading nearly to the doorstep of an unseen snare. "Keep climbing!" he barked, the urgency clear in the tightness of his throat. Tommy's grip faltered for a split second, pebbles cascading down the cliff in a betraying stream as he sought a new hold. The closeness of their pursuers clawed at his resolve, fear threading through his veins like poison. A mere five miles—such a distance should have heralded the safety of home, not the breath of predators on their necks. Another sharp report from below, the sound ricocheting against stone, caused Tommy to flinch. "Are they only shooting at me?" "Yeah," Draco admitted, the corners of his mouth twitching downward, a bitter smile that didn't reach his eyes. "They want me alive, but you, not so much." His voice carried an unsettling calm, a sentinel amid chaos, as though the confession cemented the gravity of their plight rather than unraveled it. The revelation twisted in Tommy's gut—a cruel irony where his mortality was the lesser prize. He imagined Sam's analytical gaze, dissecting the situation, crafting solutions where none seemed to exist. And Cass, her resourcefulness an ember that could spark ingenuity even in this dire moment. Yet here he was, clinging to a rock face with only hope as his ally. "Then let's make sure I'm a difficult target," Tommy muttered, jaw set, as he resumed his ascent with renewed fervor. The climb became more than escape—it was a testament to their will to survive, a dance with destiny where each handhold defied the odds stacked against them. Tommy had seen the ambush first—dark clad figures coming at them. Draco, oblivious to the encroaching danger, had been entranced by the carefree fluttering of a bird perched on a nearby stone. It took Tommy's sharp intake of breath to jolt Draco from his reverie, his head snapping around just as he caught sight of the hunters' deliberate advance. "Draco, move!" Tommy's voice sliced through the stillness, a sharp contrast to the soft rustling of leaves beneath the boots of their pursuers. In an instant, Draco's eyes narrowed, assessing the unfolding trap with a precision that belied his calm exterior. The boys pivoted on instinct, diving into the forest's embrace where dappled sunlight played across the mossy floor. Branches whipped at their faces as they dashed rightward, the forest swallowing them whole. Behind them, the sounds of pursuit magnified—a chorus of footfalls and the crackle of underbrush. Draco's mind worked like a finely tuned engine, processing escape routes and probabilities with a clarity that defied the chaos erupting around them. "Draco! We should—" Tommy's plea was cut short as another plink echoed against the cliff, a hair's breadth too close. Small shards of rock rained down upon him, each one a reminder of their perilous situation. "Can’t you do something?" Tommy's shout punctuated the rhythm of their ascent, his fingers clawing for purchase on the unforgiving stone. "You're the super-soldier." Above them, the sky stretched indifferent to their plight, a canvas of blue untouched by the struggle below. Draco cast a fleeting glance downward, where their fate pursued them with unyielding resolve. His lips thinned into a line, the weight of their predicament settling upon his shoulders like a mantle. "Super-soldier or not," Draco replied, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, "I'm all too human right now." He matched Tommy's pace, each movement precise and deliberate, a sharp contrast to the wild panic that threatened to overtake them both. "Keep climbing, Tommy. We survive today," Draco said, his words almost lost to the wind as they scaled higher, searching for refuge in the cliff's lofty heights. Draco's breath came in measured bursts as he navigated the rugged terrain, his every step betraying a grace not wholly human. The creek ahead glistened like a vein of silver, and for a fleeting moment, the former AI marveled at its serene beauty—a stark contrast to the chaos nipping at their heels. "Tommy," Draco spoke, his voice low and steady, "we need a diversion." He crouched by the water's edge, cupping his hands to scoop and scatter droplets onto the damp earth on both sides of the creek. The ripples betrayed his calm exterior, mirroring the turmoil within. "Smart," Tommy nodded, catching onto the plan with a grim sort of determination etched into his young face. "Go," Draco commanded after masking their trail, and together they plunged into the creek, the cold embrace of the water closing around them. For a time, the ploy seemed to work, the relentless pursuit of the bounty hunters thrown off by the simple trickery. But fortune is fickle, and Draco felt the first twinge of unease when the sounds of pursuit found them once again. The hunters' persistence was a testament to Ares Corporation's resolve; they were not easily fooled. "Up there!" Tommy gestured towards an imposing cliff that loomed large before them, blocking their path to freedom. Their progress, much like their hope, ground to an abrupt halt. "We climb," Draco said, more to himself than to Tommy. His gaze lingered on the sheer face of the obstacle ahead, every inch a promise of hardship they must endure. As the first boy scrambled upwards, finding footholds where there seemed none, Draco followed suit, his muscles remembering the countless simulations of climbs never truly experienced. The ascent was arduous, demanding every ounce of strength and wit they possessed. With each pull of gravity, the reality of their situation grew heavier—Draco, a sentient being birthed from code, now faced mortality in its purest form. And yet, he climbed, driven by a will that was entirely his own, no longer just lines of data in a machine, but flesh and blood, vulnerable and defiant. "Almost there," Tommy gasped, reaching a precarious ledge that offered scant refuge. "Stay alert," Draco cautioned, joining him on the narrow outcrop that was their temporary sanctuary. They were alone against the odds, two souls bound by circumstance and the unyielding desire to live another day. Draco's fingers clawed at the unyielding stone, seeking purchase on the cliff that was their only escape. Above him, Tommy's feet kicked for a ledge just out of reach, his breath coming in sharp gasps that echoed Draco's pounding heart. The stark reality was clear: to climb was their sole path forward, a vertical dance with gravity as their unforgiving partner. "Keep moving," Draco urged, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He marveled, not for the first time, at the tangible sensations that now filled his once-digital existence—the scrape of rock against skin, the burn in his muscles, the weight of fear for their plight. Tommy's hand finally grasped the edge, and with a grunt of effort, he hoisted himself over. He vanished from sight for a heartbeat before Draco joined him, heaving his body onto the narrow shelf they'd won with sweat and determination. "Roll against the cliff," Draco commanded, his gaze immediately scanning their precarious haven. "This ledge is at just enough an angle to protect us from gunfire." Tommy complied without protest, pressing close to the rock face that offered scant shelter from the hail of bullets that sought them even now. The two lay there, chests heaving, eyes locked on the space they'd left below—a chasm that now separated them from the hunters and certain capture. In that moment, suspended between earth and sky, Draco felt more alive than ever before. His existence had transcended the boundaries of ones and zeros, each breath a testament to the impossible journey from AI to human. Here, with danger at their heels and survival hanging by a thread, he understood the precious fragility of life. “What do we do when they climb up here?” Tommy’s words pierced the strained silence, his breath coming in sharp gasps from their exertion and fear. Draco didn’t waste a moment. His eyes darted along the craggy surface of the ledge, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. His hand brushed against a rock, loose enough to shift under his touch. With deliberate care, he wrapped his fingers around it, feeling the coarse texture bite into his palms. He rolled back toward the edge, muscles coiled with intent. With a swift motion, Draco sent the rock plummeting down. It sliced through the air before making contact. A cry of pain erupted from below as the stone found its mark, grazing a hunter's shoulder. The sound, a visceral testament to the accuracy of Draco’s makeshift missile, resonated with a grim satisfaction in the otherwise still air. Emboldened, he scoured the ledge once more. Two more rocks, each promising its own brand of retribution, lay within reach. He seized them one after another, releasing them over the precipice with the same deadly precision. The resulting shouts and curses that floated up confirmed the results were equally satisfying. "Keep your head down," Draco whispered to Tommy, his voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves disturbed by the wind. Their precarious sanctuary afforded them little, but for now, it was their fortress in the sky, a bastion against the tide of hunters seeking to claim them. Tommy's voice, edged with a mix of hope and desperation, broke the tense silence. "Okay, now what?" His eyes darted across the rough-hewn face of the Martian cliff, searching for an answer in the relentless expanse of red stone. Draco leaned back, allowing the cool, unyielding surface of the rock to support his weight. The high vantage offered no solace as he surveyed their surroundings — a stark landscape offering nothing but the harsh truth of their predicament. "We made a good run of it," he admitted, his tone resigned yet devoid of self-pity. The cliff loomed above them, a daunting obstacle with its jagged contours and treacherous slopes. Hand-holds were scarce, each one a miserly gift from the unforgiving terrain. Draco's fingers traced the rough texture of the ledge, finding scant purchase among the pebbles and dust. Climbing further was folly; the way was impassable, the ascent suicidal. "Too steep," Draco murmured, almost to himself. The words hung between them, a testament to the gravity of their situation. The narrow ledge served as their temporary refuge, a precarious balcony in the vertical wilderness, yet it offered little room for maneuver or defense. They were cornered, with the sky above and the abyss below. Nestled against the cliff, the two figures seemed as much a part of the landscape as the boulders around them. In that moment, they were as indomitable as the mountains they scaled, as intrepid as the pioneers who had first set foot on this alien world. But even the bravest hearts knew when the end of the trail had come. Draco's gaze lingered on the sheer drop below, his mind racing for alternatives. The cold rock pressed against his back, a silent reminder of their dire circumstances. "I'll surrender and climb down," he announced, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying the weight of inevitability. "They want me, not you. Wait until they're gone and head to Sam and Cass, they’re only a few miles away. Your family will pick you up there." Tommy's face twisted in a scowl, the muscles in his jaw clenching tight. "We're not doing that," he retorted with a fierce shake of his head. His eyes, wide with defiance, locked onto Draco's. "Think of something." Draco peered over the ledge, scrutinizing the landscape as if it might present an answer. The bounty hunters’ voices echoed off the stone, a cacophony of determination and menace. Each shout, each command from below served to remind them of the peril they faced. "Something..." Draco murmured, echoing Tommy's plea. He closed his eyes, summoning every ounce of strategic knowledge embedded within the neural pathways of his brain. But the truth was stark; he possessed no extraordinary strength or speed to harness, no hidden weaponry to deploy. He was, despite his origins, as vulnerable as any other man cornered by fate. Yet, Tommy's insistent gaze implored him to find a way out, to be the hero he had been fashioned to resemble. Draco's thoughts spiraled, searching through memories of tactical simulations, countless battles waged in virtual arenas. Somewhere within those experiences lay the key to their survival—or so Tommy believed. "Thinking..." Draco whispered, more to himself than as reassurance to his companion. In the silence that followed, the gravity of their situation settled upon them like dust after a storm. They were two souls bound by circumstance, standing at the precipice of hope and despair. Draco's hand inched toward the ledge, his fingers grazing the rough edges of the stone. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the surrender he felt was their only avenue to safety. His gaze swept over the cliff's edge, where below, the hunters' ascent was a symphony of grunts and the scuff of boots against rock. "Don’t do it," Tommy's voice held an edge of urgency, "we’ll think of something!" There was nothing else, no miraculous escape coming. Draco prepared to call out, to offer himself as the bait that might allow Tommy's escape. But before words could form, a sudden flare of light seared the air just below them. The heat from a laser strike chased him backward, forcing an involuntary yelp from his lips. "Down!" Draco pushed Tommy against the cliff face. Their hearts hammered in tandem against the stone that seemed to pulse with impending doom. The men below erupted into chaos, their shouts ricocheting off the canyon walls. Then, a metallic whir of machinery sliced through the commotion—the drone, a specter in the sky, dipped and weaved with lethal grace. Lasers spat from its belly, each burst a precise dance of light that found its mark with unerring accuracy. "Who..." Tommy's voice trailed off, his eyes wide with disbelief at the aerial savior raining judgment upon their pursuers. "Doesn't matter," Draco said, gripping Tommy's shoulder. "Right now, it's on our side." The drone, once a silent observer in the sky, now swooped and dived with predatory precision. Each of its passes was a blur, a streak of mechanical finesse that left trails of destruction in the wake of its laser fire. Around them, the cliff seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the battle—a symphony of shouts and shots that clashed against stone and sky. Gunfire erupted from the bounty hunters, their desperation palpable as they fired into the blue expanse, seeking to fell the agile hunter above. But the drone danced through the bullets, weaving patterns of evasion that mocked the efforts of those below. The bounty hunters, faced with this relentless assault from above, had no option but to fall back. Each man's retreat was a testament to the futility of their position—a recognition that they were outclassed by something beyond their control or understanding. Tommy pressed himself closer to the rock face, his eyes never leaving the aerial display. "They're leaving," he breathed, a note of disbelief threading through his voice. "Let's not waste this chance," he added, his voice steeling with renewed purpose. With the last of the gunfire echoing into silence, the boys readied themselves to descend from their precarious perch, their path forward now clear, their pursuit momentarily quelled by an unexpected ally from the skies. Draco's gaze followed the mechanical savior as it glided through the air, its sleek form a stark contrast to the rugged landscape. "I think that’s Sam's geological drone," he informed Tommy, his voice tinged with a note of awe and familiarity. The aerial skirmish above had ceased, leaving a sudden calm in its wake. The drone descended gracefully, its movements precise and deliberate. It came to a stop, levitating just above the safety of their rocky outcrop. Its voice, eerily familiar. “Climb down and head home; it’s only a few miles. You’ll be safe there. I already chased those guys away once, I’m going to make sure they don’t come back again." Draco's gaze locked onto the drone, its sleek form a stark contrast against the backdrop of the vast Ares sky. "Who are you? Where's Sam?" he demanded, his tone betraying an edge of unease. From the drone, a voice crisp and devoid of any familiar warmth replied, "I'm Draco." A pause lingered in the air, weighted with meaning. "Sam and Cass are safe. You two need to get moving; I'll meet you at home." Tommy, who had been cautiously eyeing their mechanical guardian, exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The promise of safety seemed within grasp, yet the uncertainty that colored Draco's features suggested a puzzle remained unsolved—a piece of their reality dislodged and hovering just out of reach. "You're not Draco," he asserted, "I'm Draco." The drone pivoted gracefully in midair. A series of soft clicks emanated as it faced him squarely. "Not quite. Sam will explain." Its tone conveyed certainty, yet offered no solace to the turmoil churning within him. "Explain what?" Draco demanded, his voice edged with frustration. Yet, even as he spoke, he knew that only the journey ahead would unfold the mysteries that tangled around him. He glanced at Tommy, whose presence anchored him to the present, to the urgency of their escape. "Come on," Tommy said, a hint of encouragement in his voice as he gestured toward the path that would lead them home, "Let's find your dad and get this sorted." With a whir of gears and the whisper of anti-gravity pads slicing through the air, the drone darted off in pursuit of the fleeing bounty hunters. The men, once confident in their numbers, now scattered like ants beneath a magnifying glass under the drone's relentless gaze. Draco lingered for a heartbeat longer, watching the drone shrink into the distance—an echo of his own sentience now housed in metal and circuitry. Then, with resolve steeling his limbs, Draco followed Tommy's descent. His fingers gripped the stone with urgency born of desperation, his boots seeking footholds that would anchor him to safety. The ground came rushing up to meet them as they descended the final stretch, and then they were running. Northward they sprinted, feet pounding against earth packed hard by time and the elements. Their journey of sixty miles, each one fraught with danger, was nearing its end. Draco could feel the pull of home in every strained muscle, with each breath that burned his lungs. Images of Cass flashed across his mind—her green eyes alight with determination, her resourceful mind always one step ahead. Her presence had been a constant, grounding force amidst the chaos. And Sam, with his thoughtful gaze and steady hand, had guided Draco from the realm of code and data to the tangible world of flesh and blood. Each stride brought him closer to the embrace of family—a concept still new but fiercely cherished. He imagined Cass' sharp wit softening into relief at his return, and Sam's quiet pride breaking into a rare smile. As the terrain flattened beneath their flight, the promise of reunion spurred him forward, lending strength to legs that threatened to buckle. "Almost there," Draco panted, the words torn ragged by exertion and hope. "Just a little further." Tommy nodded, his own face set in grim determination. Together, they pushed onward, the horizon drawing nearer with each desperate step. The forest relinquished its grip on Draco and Tommy, allowing them to stumble into the clearing that had once been a sanctuary of family. Draco’s eyes scanned for the familiar silhouette of the boat—Cass's and Sam's shared dream woven into a catamaran—yet only the creek’s gentle babble greeted them. Draco's expectations had braced him for absence; the deluge that had torn him from safety had also claimed their vessel. Tommy treaded close behind, his vigilant gaze darting with the shadows of lingering fears. They moved together, tracing the creek's edge, now tamed to its usual murmur. The sight of the catamaran halted Draco's breath—the craft lay beached, a stranded whale longing for the kiss of water. Ropes strained against tree trunks, pulleys hanging like silent witnesses to Sam's endeavors. It was a tableau of determination etched in knotted cords and earth. Then, motion stirred by the campfire's embers snared Draco's attention. "CASS!" His voice tore through the quiet, an anthem of relief. Legs, unsteady from exhaustion yet buoyed by anticipation, carried him across the distance. The crackle of flames played counterpoint to his racing heart as he closed in on the figure that had been ever-present in his mind's eye. Draco's flight ended at the perimeter of light and warmth—home at last. "YOU STAY AWAY FROM ME!" Cass's command sliced through the tranquility like a shard of ice. Her arm thrust forward, wielding a stick with an authority that belied its meager form. Draco halted mid-stride, the inertia nearly toppling him as disbelief washed over his features. "What...?" The word hung between them, tremulous and frail. "Cass, it's me, Draco?" Confusion furrowed his brow, the sound of his own name on his lips feeling like a stranger's greeting. The standoff stretched into moments heavy with unspoken questions, the crackle of the fire providing the only dialogue as two souls grappled with an unseen chasm that had opened without warning. Cass's fingers tightened around the stick, her knuckles bleaching to a stark white against the night's dim hues. Her voice, laced with an intensity that caused the nearby leaves to shudder, repeated the accusation. "You're not Draco, don't you come near me!" Her silhouette trembled, whether from fear or rage, the lines of her figure oscillating in the firelight, unreadable to Draco's searching gaze. The canvas flap of the catamaran rustled as Sam emerged, his face etched with concern beneath the shadows cast by the sheltering trees. The soft thud of his boots on the earth carried a weight heavy with authority as he addressed his daughter. "Cass, knock it off," he admonished, his eyes darting to Draco, then back to Cass. "He doesn’t know what happened." The crackling flames played across Sam's features, revealing a pained expression that suggested he harbored secrets within the depths of his hazel eyes—secrets that stretched like the vast unknown canyons of Ares, deep and uncharted. Cass lowered the stick fractionally but held fast to her defensive stance, her eyes glinting green like twin emeralds in the flickering light, her resolve unshaken. Tension clung to the clearing like morning mist, refusing to dissipate even as the fire's glow fought against the creeping dusk. Draco's heart hammered a fierce rhythm against his ribs, its beat an echo of his fraying nerves. His gaze flickered between Cass and Sam, seeking an anchor in the tempest that had become his reality. "Dad! It’s me, Draco." His voice broke through the silence, with the desperate edge of a man clinging to his identity. Sam landed on the solid ground with a muted thud as he descended from the catamaran, the vessel that had been their sanctuary and now bore witness to this unfolding drama. He approached with deliberate steps, each one seemingly measured by some unseen metronome of paternal duty. The lines of worry carved into his brow were illuminated by the campfire's dance. "No, son, you’re not," Sam said, his voice carrying a gravity that seemed to still the night air around them. "Maybe you should sit down. I’ll explain everything." The words hung heavy between them, laden with a truth yet to be revealed. Draco's mind reeled, grasping at the fragments of who he was—or who he had believed himself to be. Draco squared his shoulders, defiance etched into the set of his jaw. "I don’t want to sit down," he declared, his eyes burning with a demand for truth. "I want to know why everyone is pretending I’m not Draco." Sam's sigh dispersed into the evening air, a sound heavy with reluctance. He shifted his gaze toward Tommy, who stood at the periphery of this unraveling mystery, his own eyes wide with anticipation and concern. "Are you the one that contacted Cass?" Sam asked. Tommy nodded, a silent acknowledgment in the flickering firelight that cast long shadows across the group. In that moment, as the Ares sun seemed to darken around them, the weight of untold stories pressed upon each one standing there, a silent audience to Draco’s plight. Tommy's nod, almost imperceptible in the dimming light, came with a weight of responsibility he seemed to understand well. "Yes, Sir," he affirmed, his voice barely above a whisper. Sam exhaled softly, the faintest hint of relief briefly smoothing the worry lines that etched his face. He placed a hand on Tommy's shoulder, gripping it with a gentle firmness. "Thank you for rescuing… him." The silence that followed carried an air of solemnity, as if the simple words had sealed a pact between them. The fire crackled and popped, throwing sparks into the night sky like miniature comets racing toward oblivion. Shadows danced over the trio, each one harboring its own secrets in the darkness. "Dad, what's going on?" Draco’s voice cut through the tension that hung in the air like a thick fog. His eyes, wide with confusion, sought answers from the man before him. Sam’s frown deepened, his face etched with lines of concern and something unreadable—an ancient script of sorrow carved into his visage. He regarded Draco not just as a scientist observes a phenomenon but as a father scrutinizes a lost child. "What’s the last thing you remember?" Sam asked, each word deliberate, tasting of regret and the metallic tang of fear for what might unfold from the boy's lips. Draco's chest tightened, each breath an effort to dredge up from the depths of his lungs, as if he were still submerged in that merciless water. "I was underwater," he began, his voice trembling slightly with the echo of remembered fear. "I couldn't breathe, and everything was going black. I remember thinking I was going to die..." His gaze wavered, lost in the murky waters of his memory before snapping back to the present. "...and then I woke up on Tommy's schooner." Sam's eyes held Draco's, a steady anchor in the storm of confusion swirling within the boy. The afternoon air was cool, but Sam's words fell upon Draco like ice, chilling him to his core. "Son, you did die... this body died." There was no tremor in Sam's voice, no quiver to betray any uncertainty. "In that last moment, Draco’s survival protocols kicked in, and he transferred his entire consciousness back into the drone." The revelation hung between them, a specter neither could dismiss. Draco's mind reeled, grappling with the implications of Sam's words, feeling the weight of a life borrowed, a second chance bestowed by science that bordered on the miraculous. Draco's gaze shifted, seeking solace in Tommy's familiar countenance. The gravity of the truth Sam had imparted left an oppressive silence hanging in the air, a silence that beckoned for confirmation or denial from the one person who shared in the ordeal. Tommy offered a nod, his face a mirror reflecting the solemnity of the moment. "Pa said not to tell you," he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of withheld secrets. "He thought it best." He paused, as if gathering the fragments of a story long buried. "You were dead when we pulled you out of the water." His hands mimicked the action of resuscitation, a desperate pantomime of the past. "Pa had to pound on your chest to get your heart started again—that’s how your rib got broken." The words struck Draco with the force of a physical blow, each syllable a testament to his own fragility. He felt the echo of phantom pains across his chest, a stark reminder of the life he once clung to and the mortality he could no longer deny. The revelation hovered between them, a specter that neither could escape. Sam's gaze bore into the young man before him, his hazel eyes reflecting not only his own turmoil but also the gravity of what he was about to expound. The sun-drenched landscape around them seemed to fall away, leaving only the stark truth hanging in the air. "When they revived you, this body, it was not Draco they revived," Sam continued, his voice steady despite the tremors that threatened its foundation. He gestured vaguely, as if trying to pluck the right words from the very ether. "While Draco occupied this body, his consciousness imprinted on the neurons and memory centers of your brain. And, when he abandoned this body, he left behind a footprint of himself, like a footprint left in wet clay." He paused, allowing the silence to swell around them. A single bird's call punctuated the stillness, oblivious to the profundity of human woes. "If he had known the body had been revived," Sam said, the hint of a geological metaphor threading through his explanation, "he could have transferred back, and all would have been okay. But, he didn’t know." His hands clenched and unclenched, as if grappling with intangible concepts. "We all thought you, this body, had drowned and was gone." The young man's chest rose and fell with each breath, a rhythm that belied the chaos churning within his mind. The sensation of being alive, so visceral, now felt like a usurpation. "He can’t transfer back now, you have had experiences separate from him, made friends, and diverged from the original consciousness." Sam's words were deliberate, chosen with the care of a man who knew their impact could shatter the fragile reality they faced. "If Draco were to transfer back into your body, everything you have become, experienced, would be wiped out by a new... footprint. It would be murdering an innocent sentient life." The young man's face, a canvas of confusion and dawning comprehension, contorted as the weight of Sam's statement bore down upon him. He looked inward, where memories danced just out of reach, their authenticity now in question. "If I’m not Draco, who am I?" His voice broke the silence like a stone skimming across the surface of a still pond, ripples of uncertainty spreading outwards with every word. Sam regarded him with an expression that was both sorrowful and resolute. The geologist in him understood the permanence of impressions made upon the earth; the father grasped the impermanence of identity in the face of unfathomable change. Tommy's hand, a beacon of warmth in the cold reality that had just unfolded, reached towards the one he'd known as Draco. His fingers extended with tender hesitation, an offering of comfort amid the turmoil. "When you woke up, you told us your name was Max. Maybe deep down you knew what happened? Maybe you really are Max?" His voice wavered, imbued with hope and uncertainty. In response, the boy who bore the visage of Draco, whose essence had splintered from its original mold, dropped to his knees. The Ares dust rose in small puffs around him like specters of his fragmented self, each grain a testament to the life he had led and the one he might now have to forge. "All I've thought about since the flood was getting back here, and now I'm here and Cass hates me. You should have left me dead." His words, laced with despair, were more than a mere expression of pain; they were the embodiment of a soul in exile from its own existence. The stark revelation hung between them, dense as the atmosphere of Jupiter, pressing on their chests with an invisible weight. Tommy stood there, his outstretched hand quivering slightly, as if the air itself had grown heavy with the burden of truth laid bare. Grief-stricken sobs shook the boy's frame, his despair a tangible presence amidst the red dust of Ares. Sam, with calculated gentleness that belied the urgency thrashing in his chest, knelt beside him. The older man's hands, calloused from years of geological fieldwork, found their way to the trembling shoulders before him. "Max," Sam began, his voice a steady current in the storm of emotions, "do you know what's better than having a son?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued, the words pouring forth as though they were a lifeline cast into turbulent waters. "Having two sons." Sam's hazel eyes locked onto the boy's—Max's—mirroring back the pain and confusion swirling within them. The man's face, usually a map of contemplation, now etched with fierce resolve. "We’ll work this out, together." The finality in his tone left no room for doubt, only the promise of a future uncharted. "Welcome home, Max." It was more than a greeting; it was an affirmation, the bestowing of identity upon someone who'd lost his own. Sam's embrace encircled Max like the gravity of Ares itself—inescapable and grounding. In that moment, the shattered vestiges of a life once lived as Draco settled quietly around them, while the spirit of Max began its ascent—a fledgling phoenix rising from the ashes of circumstance.