When my daughter was small, a rooster charged her in a park known for aggressive birds.
There wasn’t time to think. I scooped her up and reacted.
Protection is instinctive when it’s personal.
That moment has stayed with me because it clarifies something: protection feels righteous from the inside.
But scale it up, and it gets complicated.
Nations protect borders. Institutions protect reputations. Families protect legacy. Leaders protect stability.
Protection can justify almost anything.
In Ash and Hunger, the Covenant exists because someone once argued it would keep both realms safe. Separation as security. Control as protection.
And maybe, at the beginning, it worked.
But systems built for protection often calcify. They begin to prioritize their own survival over the people they were meant to guard.
Kael protects his sisters. Serenya protects her House. Both have to confront the question: at what point does protection become preservation of something harmful?
I’m interested in that line.
Because the instinct to shield someone is powerful.
The question is what you’re shielding them from — and what you’re shielding them inside.