The land itself was still mostly barren, but the valley was sheltered from the worst of the cold and there was a river only a few minutes away. It was a good place to winter, and many families came each year, seeking community in the hard months. The camp had already swelled to twice its size since the leaves had begun to fall, since the last of the meager crops had been harvested, and the former vedek knew that more would come—many more, to hear her message of unity. She hoped she was up to the task. The people here had embraced her as their guide in matters of spirit. Many were already coming to her for direction, alone and in groups, and while she did the best she could, offered advice from the heart and spoke what she believed, she was often afraid of faltering.

She sat on the floor of her shelter, alone. A few of the camp residents had taken it upon themselves to build her a wood pallet, which made sleeping on the ground much more comfortable. They’d wanted to do more, but she wouldn’t have it; they had few enough resources, and she tried to see that all was shared.

She folded her arms around her legs, listening to the movements of life outside—children playing, people working together. Good sounds. It was often difficult for her to find a moment to herself, and usually she was thankful for it; the company of her spiritual family helped to stave off the loneliness that sometimes overwhelmed her, since Fasil had gone his own way. She’d been without him almost two full turns of the season, and still missed him terribly. But today she wanted to have a moment of peace, needed a moment to herself to reflect on the man who had been one of the greatest living inspirations to her—because he lived no more. She had received word that Kai Arin had been found dead in his sanctuary, apparently of natural causes.

Looking back, Opaka could see how her spirituality had grown under his tutelage, could recall many of his services that had touched her faith so profoundly, and she indulged in a moment of tearful regret as she recalled their last conversation. She wished she could have parted ways with him on more amiable terms. But of course, were it not for the disagreement, she would never have left. It was more reason to be grateful to him, for forcing her to be stronger, to be brave enough to do as she had.

Someone whipped back the flap of her makeshift tent, and she hastily wiped her eyes. “Yes? I…I wish to be alone for a moment, if it can wait.”

“Mother.”

She turned, and saw her son standing in the entryway of her rough home. It had been over a year since he had left to fight in the resistance, and many months had passed since he had visited her last—months during which she had not known if he was alive or dead.

His face was more gaunt than it had been when he first left, the soft edges of his childhood replaced with the craggy features of an adult. He sported a new scar that crept diagonally across his left cheek, but his eyes were still the same, warm and wise. She stood and hurried to embrace him, her tears joyful now.

After a long, lovely moment they parted, Opaka smiling up at her boy. She’d never been a tall woman; Fasil had gotten his father’s height.

“It is good to see you, Mother. You are looking well.”

“You also look well, my son. Of course, just to have you here…” Her eyes welled again.

“I can’t stay long. I came because I heard about Kai Arin.”

She nodded. “Yes. He was a good man, and he will be missed. Surely, you can stay a few days?”

He smiled at her, but did not answer. “I came to ask you what you have considered, regarding who his successor will be.”

“I suppose there will be an election,” she said. The Vedek Assembly was no longer a powerful force in her world, nor was it in the realities of the people she spoke with each day. Perhaps that was why the Cardassians still allowed it to exist.

“I imagine Gar Osen will be a candidate,” she added, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter who the kai is now.”

“It does matter,” Fasil said. “I believe the next kai should be you.”

Opaka laughed briefly before realizing that her son was serious. “Fasil, I have no interest in holding that office.”

“Do you know how many people know about you?” Fasil asked. “And what better way to spread your message than under the authority of the kai?”

“I do not wish to be kai,” she repeated. “Let the people choose who they want, it will not affect my work.”

“The people will want you, Mother.”

“The kai is chosen from the Vedek Assembly,” she said. “I’m not even—”

“—a vedek anymore, I remember,” Fasil said, a touch of young male exasperation in his voice, and she smiled, loving him so much that it hurt her heart.

“But think, Mother. This new prefect cares not about our religious beliefs. You would have access to travel permits, to political functions, to so many more people.”

Opaka considered him seriously for the briefest of moments. If she were the kai, she could spread her message everywhere,she would not be dependent on word-of-mouth among small fringe groups. She might even have access to media—Kai Arin’s Festival sermon on the D’jarras had been recorded and broadcast, had even reached Bajorans who had settled offworld…

But it was only a moment before the absurdity of it made her laugh again—Kai Opaka!—and she took her son’s hand. “You must be tired,” she said. “Let us eat something. Help me prepare food, and we’ll talk of this later.”

He grinned. “I admit, the offer of food is enough to make me agree to anything. It is very good to see you again, Mother. I have…missed you.” He squeezed her hand, looking away, his face working to avoid tears.

Opaka was nearly overcome to see her son so affected. It seemed she wasn’t destined to have dry eyes today. She embraced him again.

“I have missed you, too, Fasil. So very much.”

The days had turned into weeks since the Derna incident. Lenaris had not entirely given up hope that Lac would return to them—his disappearance had been so abrupt, Lenaris still couldn’t quite believe it—but he knew better than to mistake hope for possibility. Lac was not coming back.

Seefa, who had always leaned toward the anxious, had become convinced that the Cardassians would be coming for them any day now.

“The Cardassians have Lac’s raider,” he’d said, on more than one occasion since Derna. “They know he was using balon to power it, and they know there is a massive balon deposit right here. Mark my words, they will come. After that, it’s only a matter of time before they find the rest of our ships and take us all to work camps—or worse. Most likely, they’ll execute a few of us to make examples, and then—”

“Let’s not get hysterical, Seefa. There are plenty of other balon deposits on Bajor.” It was always Taryl who pulled him back. She refused to be rattled by what anyone had to say regarding Lac, choosing instead to approach the situation with her customary calm rationality. It worried Lenaris not a little that Taryl seemed so placid in the face of her brother’s disappearance; he feared that one day the reality of it was going to hit her, and then—he didn’t know what would happen then, for he had never seen Taryl succumb to the kind of upsets that he himself was prone to. Taryl had a fiery temper, but sadness and worry were not usually in her repertoire. Lenaris envied her for it. If he could have drawn on that kind of strength when Darin had died…Lac’s disappearance held certain parallels to that particular tragedy, but Lenaris was determined to keep himself together this time.

Still, he was overwhelmed with guilt that it had been Lac who had been caught, and not himself. It was just dumb luck, of course. But then—Lenaris had forgotten to put in a transmission to Lac after exiting the atmosphere himself. What if he could have helped his friend somehow? He didn’t know how, but still…He could not help but agonize over every detail of that ill-fated mission.