POW: The Pond Must Listen

We knew the townhall would be rough.

Kera and I spent hours the night before—croaking out every scenario, every possible objection.

She’s smart, sharper than any comm rig I ever soldered. But the pressure? The weight of facing your people—your elders—with a message they don't want to hear? That’s something you can't rehearse.

I told her everything. Laid out how the Ripples felt when I first arrived.

Thick. Powerful. Vibrant. I could feel the pond’s energy thrumming through my bones. By my measure, they had at least 15 to 20 cycles before things got dire. Maybe more. But it wasn’t about buying time. Not anymore.

“What if, instead of preparing to abandon this place… we prepared to heal it?”

That question hung in the air all night.

The townhall was packed. Every POW in the village circled around the elder’s stone. The murmurs were already thick before Kera even spoke.

She stepped forward. Calm. Focused. Brave.

“Our harvests are thinning,” she began. “We have time, but not forever. There may be a way—”

She didn’t even finish before the objections started.

“You speak of taking from the pond?”

“Do you know what it means to disturb the cycle?”

“Would you trade our ways for a stranger’s survival tale?”

They weren’t just questions. They were judgments, sharpened with tradition and fear.

Kera tried. She stood her ground. Explained what I told her—about balance, about fishing as part of a living system, not a death sentence. But the elders weren’t giving her room to breathe, let alone speak.

I couldn’t sit there.

Not while she was getting crushed under their fear.

So I stood up.

“You want answers? Then listen.”

The crowd quieted.

“Your pond is strong—but it’s not immortal. I've seen what happens when Ripples fade. I’ve watched a pond dry up into dust. We lost almost everyone. Five of us went searching for something—anything. I found this. You.”

Looking right at the eldest of them all. The one who accused Kera of betrayal.

“You think I’m here to break your ways? I’m here to save them. And I’d rather see your pond filled with fish and your children alive than keep some sacred silence while the Ripples die quietly.”

I laid it all out. Numbers. Estimates. The cycle timeline. Even how we used bait systems to keep fish populations sustainable back home. I gave them truth, not comfort.

When I finished… silence.

No anger. No applause.

Just the sound of POW's breathing and the Ripples lapping the pond edge.

I don’t know what they’ll decide. Not yet.

But now they know. The truth is out there—like the signal I sent.

And just like before… I can only wait.