The following morning, the buzz of Levi's phone shattered the quiet of our bedroom. He fumbled for the device on the nightstand, his eyes still half-closed with sleep, "Yes?" A beat of silence stretched, then his eyes snapped fully open. "What? What did you just say?" he exclaimed, propelling upwards. He launched himself out of bed, only to groan. "Gather the cabinet," he commanded, his voice now sharp and urgent, all traces of sleep vanished.

"R-Raphael," Levi stammered, his composure completely shattered as he abruptly ended the call. He turned to face me, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Gods..." he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "How do I even begin to say this? A war... a war has started in... Cyrusia."

The world tilted.

A war. In Cyrusia. My home. The place where I grew up, where my family still lived... A war... in my home country...

"What? Oh my god... Oh my god..." I repeated, the words catching in my throat. "My family... they're still there... Did... are they attacking Ascaria? Is the country under attack too?"

Levi's warm hands cupped my face. "Raphael," he said, his voice firm, "from what little information we've managed to gather so far, it appears to be a civil war within Cyrusia itself. No, they are not attacking Ascaria, but the situation is undoubtedly dire. We need to act, Raphael. We need to help the survivors of this conflict, as a nation. I will arrange a private jet immediately to ensure your family's safe passage here. Gods..." he muttered, a hint of frustration lacing his tone. "Just when we were finally making progress with the currency change... I need to... I need to leave for that meeting now, and directly from there, I will travel to the cabinet to begin coordinating aid and support for the incoming refugees."

"T-Thank you..." I managed to stammer. "But... but what about all those other people? Oh my god..."

"If you truly want to help, Raphael," Levi said, his gaze meeting mine with a newfound intensity, "you, as someone who has navigated the complexities of immigration and building a life in a new country, possess a unique and invaluable understanding of what these refugees will face. Go to my charity foundation. You can offer them crucial legal advice, help them navigate the bureaucratic hurdles, offer a familiar face and a voice of experience." He then snatched his phone, and barked into it, "Holden? Stop whatever you're currently engaged in. Immediately begin gathering all available foundation stores of broad-spectrum antibiotics, medical kits, potent painkillers, and any other relevant supplies you can locate. And have my helicopter prepped and ready for immediate departure." He ended the call with a swift click.

He's right. I do understand. The fear, the uncertainty, the feeling of being adrift. Legal advice... yes, that will be crucial. Navigating the system, understanding their rights... I can do that. I can be that familiar face, that voice of someone who's been through it.

"O-Okay... Okay..." I stammered. "I will go to the foundation, and... and I will help with the translating, anything I can."

"Good," Levi said, his tone firm but laced with a sliver of relief that I had a direction. "Send your family's last known address and any contact information you have to Annie immediately." He was already dialing another number, his focus shifting seamlessly. "Stop panicking," he commanded into the phone, his voice sharp. Even from my side, I could hear the frantic edge of the voice on the other end. "From this moment forward, you will breathe as I dictate. Immediately declare a nationwide state of emergency, and open a public donation account under the joint auspices of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Ministry of Child Protective Services. Private charitable efforts will be coordinated through my foundation." He paused, listening intently. "Good. Now tell those spineless swine to cease their hysterics and execute their responsibilities."

My family’s last known address. Eight years. A lifetime ago. What if they had moved? What if it was already too late? A cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. No. No, I had to focus. Do as Levi said. Text Annie the address. My hands trembled violently, the letters on the screen blurring as tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to spill over. But I fought for clarity, forcing my fingers to type the street name, the house number, the old landline phone number. I added a detailed explanation of my childhood home, the faded blue gate, the overgrown bougainvillea, the small balcony overlooking the street.

Levi was a whirlwind of urgent phone calls, his voice a clipped, authoritative bark. “Deploy the troops immediately to all ports and major airlines. Yes. No, trained military personnel are perfectly capable of managing this type of emergency influx. Yes…” He paused, listening intently, his brow furrowing deeper. “Gods…” he muttered, a new wave of urgency lacing his tone. “It won’t be enough. We need to begin establishing temporary tent cities, and we need to do it now. I will contact the Minister of Health to coordinate the rapid procurement and distribution of essential medical supplies and personnel. You follow those directives precisely.”

As he disconnected, his phone buzzed again, and he answered instantly. “Yes?” A brief pause. “Excellent, now issue an immediate directive to all state hospitals to clear space within operating rooms and trauma centers. Dispatch all available trauma surgeons and nurses to the designated ports and airlines; the deployed troops will assist them with logistical coordination,” he commanded, ending the call only to dial another number. “Immediately schedule a full press conference to be broadcast on all national channels, prominently displaying the donation account information. Even better, if you can organize… Wait. Hold on… Stop. No, do not proceed with that. Instead, instruct all presidential candidates to return to the capital immediately. They will jointly address the nation in the press conference, presenting a united front, and they will spearhead a large-scale donation event, also to be televised nationally.” He listened intently. “Is that so? Remarkable,” he said, disconnecting and immediately calling another number.

“Listen carefully. Mobilize your entire police force and strategically station them throughout the capital. We cannot afford widespread panic among our citizens, potentially leading to blocked roadways and further chaos. Coordinate closely with the deployed military units,” he instructed, pausing to hear the response. “Hm… Yes, I will personally contact them.” He ended the call and swiftly dialed yet another number. “Have you commenced your departure? Hm… Understood. We will not be offering direct military aid to Cyrusia at this time, but we can immediately dispatch a significant contingent of our most experienced doctors, firefighters, and trained personnel specializing in search and rescue operations… Yes… Thank you.”

He's a force. A terrifying, magnificent force. Watching him orchestrate this response, the sheer scale of his actions… it’s overwhelming. Troops, hospitals, press conferences, even wrangling politicians into a show of unity.

"Levi..." I stammered, my fingers clutching his shirt. "H-How do you... how do you manage to do all of this? I can't... I can't even begin to wrap my head around it."

He looked down at me, his gaze steady and devoid of the frantic energy that gripped me. "I do not process fear, Raphael. Therefore," he stated with a chillingly calm logic, "I do not panic. And I know the established protocols for situations such as these." As if to punctuate his words, his phone rang again. He answered immediately.

"Did you execute my directives?" A pause. "Good. Now, inform the entire cabinet that I will arrive in forty minutes. Everyone is to be present for an emergency meeting. We need to formally declare a national state of emergency and begin contacting other nations to coordinate the reception of refugees and solicit international donations." He listened intently for a moment. "No," he stated firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Absolutely never military aid. This is not our conflict. We are simply offering humanitarian assistance. Our troops will be solely responsible for managing the influx of people at the borders and providing logistical support to the medical personnel and aid workers, ensuring the safe transport of Cyrusian citizens to the designated temporary shelters." He paused again, listening. "Good. Inform them that if any single one of them dares to remain at home during this crisis, I will personally ensure they experience the realities of the frontlines of that civil war firsthand."

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I almost forgot that fundamental difference between us. For him, this isn't a tragedy steeped in emotion; it's a complex problem demanding a swift and logical solution. He's upending the entire country's resources, deploying troops, coordinating aid, all to help my people, my kin. What in the gods' names would I do if I were in his position? The honest, gut-wrenching truth is, I know with absolute certainty that I would be paralyzed, incapable of any coherent action. I needed his direct command just to manage the pathetic, trembling text I sent to Annie.

Fuck.

My homophobic, god-fearing parents, the very people whose intolerance had forced me to flee my own home, were now potentially seeking refuge here. And all those other Cyrusians, innocent civilians caught in the brutal crossfire of a war they didn't choose. This was Cyrusia for you – a country that endlessly boasted of its military might, steeped in a suffocating pride and rigid traditionalism, a nation riddled with fucking racist pieces of shit who had always looked down upon Ascaria, deemed it inferior. And now, they were forced to rely on the very people they had scorned. Fuck everything. Fuck this senseless violence. Fuck the reasons that led to this. Fuck. Everything.

The grip of fear finally yielded to a burning anger. I surged out of bed, as I began to dress, pulling on clothes with a newfound urgency. I helped Levi with his shirt, his attention still completely consumed by a flurry of phone calls. He barely registered my assistance, his mind clearly miles away. He was waiting for his personal helicopter to arrive. Gods... I didn't see him take his medication this morning. I could only pray that his stitches would not rupture.

...

I grabbed my checkbook, and left for Levi's charity foundation. The upper floors, were a scene of chaos. Phones rang, staff and volunteers moved, a constant hum of urgent conversations filling the air. Everyone was working tirelessly, contacting other charities, shelters, food suppliers, and countless other organizations to coordinate the massive relief effort. I found myself in the executive waiting room, sinking onto the leather couch, my fists clenched. I was waiting for the first wave of displaced people to arrive. Even with the speed of air travel from the capital of Cyrusia to Ascaria's capital, it would still take at least four hours. That meant, there was a small window of time for people, to organize and gather aid, to prepare for the influx of those who had lost everything.

Even through the closed doors of the room, the sounds of the foundation's bustling activity permeated the air: the tapping of keyboards, the urgent conversations, the clatter of staff making hurried coffee rounds, and the relentless, insistent ringing of telephones. Then, the rumble of heavy engines announced the arrival of trucks, which began to congregate around the foundation's entrance. A steady stream of volunteers and staff began unloading a mountain of essential supplies into the building's cellars: clothing, blankets, sturdy tents, packed bags, and pallets of non-perishable food. Outside, the presence of law enforcement had visibly increased; police officers now lined the streets, directing the growing traffic.

An hour later, as I stood by the large windows, gazing down at the city below, a scene unfolded that both warmed my heart and reinforced my outsider's perspective. Ascarian citizens, ordinary people, were spontaneously gathering around the supply trucks. They were actively helping to unload the cargos, their hands working alongside the foundation staff and volunteers. Some even arrived carrying their own contributions – bags of groceries, extra blankets from their homes.

It was a phenomenon that never ceased to amaze me. Where I had been conditioned to expect suspicion and prejudice, especially as an openly gay man, the Ascarian people consistently surprised me with their open-mindedness and genuine empathy. Instead of the hateful, racist vitriol I had grown accustomed to, their first reaction upon learning my nationality was often one of concern, a heartfelt inquiry about my safety and well-being in light of the news.

Do I care about the political machinations, the historical grievances, the web of reasons that ignited this war? No. All I feel is this profound, aching sadness for the ordinary civilians. They've lost everything: not just material possessions, but their very sense of self – their language struggling to find voice in a foreign land, their skills rendered useless in a new economy, their cultural touchstones suddenly distant memories, their families torn apart and scattered. They've lost the simple anchors of daily life: the comfort of their neighborhood bakery, the echoes of childhood in the halls of their old school, the taste of their favorite cheap lunch, the shared ritual of watching those silly soap operas, the easy camaraderie of familiar jokes, the small joys that peppered their days, the deep-rooted sense of community that held them together.

And then there are the soldiers on the front lines, young men and women likely fed a diet of lies and extremist rhetoric, now forced to simply die for nothing. Their lives extinguished for the ambitions of power-hungry ideologues. Nothing gained, only lives lost and futures stolen. Nothing.

I might not be able to command armies or influence nations, but I could at least support those who were on the front lines of this crisis. I headed to the staff break room. I began preparing sandwiches. Forcing a smile I barely felt, I started my rounds, moving from desk to desk, offering the staff the small sustenance and a brief moment of human connection amidst the chaos. As I returned from my impromptu coffee service, I brewed a strong cup for myself and retreated to the balcony. The cool morning air offered a slight reprieve as I lit a cigarette, my gaze fixed on the main boulevard below. A constant stream of police cars, their sirens silent, and military vehicles, moved towards the airports and ports, followed by the flashing lights of ambulances. Just as I took a long drag, the ring of my phone broke the relative quiet. It was Cassiel, possibly the only other Cyrusian of significant wealth residing in Ascaria. “Raphael...”

"Cassiel..." I choked out, my voice thick with unshed tears that burned behind my eyes. "It's... it's actually happening... in our own home, in our country..."

A heavy sigh echoed through the phone. "Yes, Raphael... it is. My network and I have already made significant donations of funds and essential supplies to various charities... but..." His confident voice wavered. "...is there anything else truly meaningful we can do? I... I honestly don't know."

If he doesn't know what more can be done, what hope is there? He donated money, supplies... But it feels so... inadequate. A drop in the ocean of suffering.

"Cassiel..." A thought sparked in the midst of my despair. "The translation! Gods, Cassiel, the language barrier! There's no way the majority of Cyrusians will understand Ascarian... We'll need translators, a whole team of them, fluent in both languages. And Levi mentioned he's going to be coordinating with other nations to help people find refuge in other countries as well... He said I could be invaluable in helping them navigate the legal processes here, since I've been through it all myself as an immigrant."

"Ah... yes, Raphael, a vital point," Cassiel conceded, a thoughtful pause in his voice. "I will begin reaching out to my contacts within linguistic circles and translation agencies. However..." A note of concern crept into his tone. "...it may prove challenging to find a significant number of fluent Cyrusian speakers. Regrettably, it's not a language widely studied here." He then added, with a gentle but firm tone, "And regarding the legal processes, rest assured that we will mobilize a substantial network of pro bono lawyers. You have enough on your heart right now. You do not need to burden yourself with the full weight of that legal undertaking."

"Even if it's just a little, I can certainly translate some of it," I insisted. "Are there any... Cyrusian cultural houses, any kind of Cyrusian networks established here in Ascaria? Maybe we could reach out to them for assistance with translation and support."

Cassiel sighed softly. "None, dear Raphael. You know the insular nature of Cyrusian expatriates as well as I do. But..." A thoughtful pause. "...I will leverage my public platform, put out a call for Ascarian citizens who might have, perhaps, picked up the language as a hobby. It's a long shot, but it's worth trying." He then added, a note of regret in his voice, "I truly must depart now, but please, do not hesitate to reach out to me if anything at all is needed. Anything."

Of course, there were no established networks of Cyrusians here. Of course not. In my eight years here, I could count on one hand the number of fellow Cyrusians I'd encountered, and Cassiel was one of them. Fuck... But... platforms. Yes. That was something I had.

I crushed the smoldering end of my cigarette in the ashtray. Taking a deep breath, I fumbled with my phone and began recording a video. Speaking directly to the camera, I carefully explained the devastating situation unfolding in Cyrusia, the reasons behind the increased police presence on the streets, and the declaration of a national emergency in Ascaria to prepare for the influx of refugees. I made a heartfelt plea to the Ascarian people, specifically asking for anyone with knowledge of the Cyrusian language to volunteer their translation skills. Gods... I could only pray that some kind souls had, perhaps out of sheer curiosity or a passion for linguistics, picked up that notoriously difficult language as a hobby. It certainly wasn't an easy tongue for Ascarians to master, riddled as it was with those guttural, hard vowels that rarely appeared in their own speech.

The moment my video was sent out into the digital ether, my phone screen lit up with a torrent of messages. I shared the grim details of the situation, the gnawing fear for my family’s safety that clawed at my insides. Levi, however, remained silent. A personal call to me, I suspected, was unlikely for a long time to come.