Daughter of Silence

Velya crouched low in the dim alcove, cold stone biting into her spine as she melted further into shadow. Her small body trembled with effort, muscles taut against the gritty wall. The council chamber loomed ahead, silent except for occasional murmurs behind tall doors. She watched with hawk-like intensity, cataloging every flicker, every sideways glance. Her keen eyes missed nothing, as the subtle intakes of breath and strained gestures sharpened the razor edge of her awareness. The air felt heavy, throbbing with anticipation and dread, vibrating with the unsaid fear that welled up like a gathering storm. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching interminably as she strained to listen. The muted whispers of her family rippled through the charged atmosphere. Their voices were barely audible, mere ghosts of sound that quivered and threatened to be swallowed by the oppressive quiet.

Velya’s heart pounded in her ears, nearly drowning them out, but she forced herself to listen, feeling her world teeter on the brink. A finality lingered in their tones, a grim note of resignation that turned her blood to ice. She felt caught between the urge to listen and the terror of what she might hear. Holding her breath, she pressed her ear close to the ornate lattice, a barrier that felt increasingly thin against the enormity of their fear. She peered through the intricate designs, watching her family with a desperation that mirrored their own. Still, Velya did not dare to focus on a single voice, knowing the next moment might swallow the last.

Pulling her legs into herself, Velya watched Queen Lysaria, her mother, gesturing with tense authority, the candlelit shadows dancing wildly across her face. Her father, King Caelen, sat by her side with a grim determination, his fingers interlaced tightly under the table with his wife as their breaths seemed to sync up in unison. She watched how her father rubbed circles on her mother’s hand with distant affection. Her brothers sat around the table, faces taut with worry. Auren leaned forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table and listened with the same intensity Velya did. She couldn’t see Tirien’s eyes, but his posture betrayed an eagerness to act, to prove himself even against hopeless odds. Eland, her youngest brother sat cross-legged on his chair closest to her, staring into space with uncharacteristic intensity. He appeared lost in a trance, perhaps thinking too deeply, as he often did. His distant gaze unnerved her. She wondered if he understood something the others did not.

Her mother and father remained perfectly calm, though she sensed their façade might shatter at any moment. Her mother’s silver-white hair shimmered like moonlight in the shifting light, as King Caelen’s mouth formed words she couldn’t hear. His expression was grim, and it seemed to grow more severe as the discussion continue as Tirien got up and started pacing anxiously. The taut silence vibrated around her, a chilling note in this symphony of disaster. She was losing track of the urgency outside and the panic inside of her. She struggled to maintain the composure she needed to absorb what they said.

The threads of their conversation floated through the air like ghosts, weaving patterns she struggled to follow.

Vision, betrayal… death…words that made her mother close her eyes as though sealing away a memory and her father’s mouth tighten into a grim line. Her brothers’ voices rose and fell with a barely contained urgency, arguing with each other, demanding action, offering ideas that were discarded as quickly as they were suggested. They spoke of allies that couldn’t be trusted, of options that ran out fast, of escape. Tirien slammed a hand down, sending a goblet crashing to the floor. Liquid crept toward Eland, but he did not flinch. As Caelen’s voice lowered into a whisper, Velya found her thoughts rushing too quickly, unable to slow down or to breathe.

This once felt like a game, a secret among her family and herself. For the Valenyra family, silence was more than absence; it was both their refuge and their weapon. It was something to be wielded with precision and care. Her brothers’ disciplines—swordcraft, politics, negotiation—were tangible and immediate. For Velya every day was an exercise in listening—each shadowy corner of the palace a classroom in conspiracy, each stolen moment of eavesdropping a lecture in loss. Despite her age, she understood that silence was not just a void; it was a potent force, alive and dangerous. It was the loudest scream she could imagine, and she mastered it because she had to. It became the core of her very existence, a mantle she was forced to wear long before it could fit. It was how she learned to listen, to see and to hear the world without being seen. But now, crouched in the darkness and silence, she felt helpless. The air outside seemed so thin, barely enough to breathe. She wanted to be with them— at the table, not here in the dark, not with a wall between them, not with a distance she could not cross.

She held her knees to her chest and pressed against her own breathlessness, and she watched. The shadows stretched and moved with her family, each motion crisp, every expression clear in the wavering light. The details took on an unnatural clarity, the way things become obvious when you don’t want to see them. The table was bare, ominously so, save for the goblet, the one Tirien knocked over when his frustration got the better of him. The violence of his gesture had startled her, but he was always the most reckless, the most impulsive, like an arrow that couldn’t help but fly. But where? From where? Two candles remained lit, though the wax had nearly run out. Their glow twisted the family’s already grim determination into a looming aura of disaster. If there was a plan, it was not one she wanted to know. If they had a chance, it was a small one.

And still she listened, trying not to hear, but it was impossible to block out the words, no matter how hard she tried. Her small fingers clung to the wooden lattice so tightly that the grain cut into her skin. She ignored the pain, her resolve steeled by the undercurrent of terror that pulsed through her. The walls around her seemed to close in, sealing her within that tight space as the night drew closer, more ominous with each passing moment. She felt trapped, not just by the hiding place but by the weight of their inaction. She sensed, without understanding fully, that when it comes, it would leave nothing but silence. Velya squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to unravel her.

Tirien stopped pacing long enough to slam his fist on the table, his words cut through the tense air like the edge of a blade.

“Mother,” he pleaded, his voice raw with urgency. “We have to summon them. We can’t face this alone.”

Lysaria’s calm demeanor faltered, and she looked at Velya’s father. Her voice was soft but unyielding when she spoke.

“No,” she said. “A War Cry born of desperation would only summon the desperate.”

Auren, always composed, placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, steadying him, though his own face was drawn with tension.

War Cry? Velya’s mind raced.. The conversation took a turn she hadn’t expected.

Tirien’s voice rose above the others, edged with frustration and panic.

“We can’t wait any longer! We have to move! We have to do something now!”

But his own resolve seemed to crack as he looked back at their parents huddled together, holding hands as if clinging to the last moments of their lives, to their last shreds of hope. Tirien slumped into the chair next to his brother, as her older brother’s stared at their parents with unanswered questions. Lysaria faced them, her earlier resolve now colored with the faintest hint of fear. The soft glow of candlelight flickered over her and Caelen, washing them in pale light.

Velya watched, alone in her hiding place, small and silent and desperate. The rising desperation in her family’s voices mirrored her own, a crescendo that echoed in the deep places of her heart. She was torn between fear and hope, between trusting their resolve and being crushed by it. Perhaps her brothers were right. Perhaps acting now meant survival. Her chest burned with the unfairness of it, with the need to make them see what she could feel so clearly. Doom was not waiting for them. It was already here, already closing in, already ripping them apart.

The doors to the chamber flung open. The sound crashed into the room with a violence that made Velya jolt where she hid, her heart hammering against her ribs with shock. Her mind leapt with panic, too many thoughts colliding at once. The others were just as surprised, heads snapping toward the doors as if fearing what would come through. Her father and mother leapt to their feet, pushing their chairs back so swiftly that the ornate oak scraped across the marble floor with a harsh, grating shriek. Eland remained caught in the grip of that strange stillness, his small body trembling against the chair. Velya found herself holding her breath, drawn to him and yet terrified of what she might hear.

Velya could feel the instant tightening of fear, like a rope pulled taut around them all. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Maybe someone had come to help, she thought. She saw the looks on her brothers’ faces, the dawning horror that twisted their expressions as they braced themselves for disaster.

Velya’s heart sank like a stone.

Her uncle Lord Malrec walked through the door first, carrying himself with infuriating calm, moving like a man who believed entirely in his own rightness. He strode forward as if the chamber already belonged to him, as if the family sitting there were mere guests in his court.

Velya’s heart twisted inside her chest. She had not wanted to believe it would be him, not until she saw it with her own eyes. Not until she looked through the lattice and saw her uncle standing there, his confidence a poisonous cloud that drifted into the room and spread over everything.

Her family’s shock was tangible. Even Tirien couldn’t hide the sudden devastation that crossed his face, the disbelief that flickered and died in the space of a heartbeat. Auren’s fists tightened in front of him. Velya thought he might lunge for their uncle where he stood, but instead he froze, weighed down by the inevitability of it, by the finality she now felt gnawing inside herself. Her father and mother shared a look, one that was not so much a question as an acceptance of the answer they had dreaded.

Betrayal. Death.

Velya watched her uncle weave those strands more tightly around them, each step he took toward the table pulled them further apart. The world fell silent around her, and she was left to scream without a sound. After him, her aunt Nyelle moved in close concert, a ghostlike shadow as she and my Mother greeted each other with a kiss on each cheek. She heard her aunt whisper something, and her mother offering a curt nod and a glance towards my direction.

Velya’s heart leapt, her aunt’s gaze calling to her even if the words did not. Nyelle was aware of her, had known she would be there. She had not betrayed us, then. She had come because she could not stay away. She would not abandon them, abandon her.

Hope flared inside Velya, bright and painful. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe they could fight.

She saw the silent understanding that passed between her mother and her aunt, a subtle exchange of looks, a language of defiance that even Malrec could not hear. It was enough to make Velya’s desperation climb like a living thing clawing up her throat. The hope was so clear, so fragile, and yet she clung to it with all the urgency and uncertainty inside of her. She could almost imagine Nyelle sweeping toward the lattice, pulling her into the open, taking her side against them all. Like a tidal wave of impossible rescue, like an alliance that no one in this room but her would expect. She needed it more than she understood, and the shadows around her seemed to pulse with the barrage of her uncertainty. Was her aunt truly an ally? Or just another traitor waiting to strike? The question twisted around her heart and squeezed. Velya could not tell—not from here, not with the turmoil and fear tangling through her—and yet she had to know. She had to see. Her mind raced with too many thoughts all at once, and she felt herself sinking beneath them.

Malrec’s voice broke the suffocating hush like a blade through skin, disturbingly smooth, unsettlingly easy. The sharp sound of it sent Velya’s thoughts scattering, her tenuous focus shattering like glass..

“My dear family,” he said, his tone a mockery of warmth, each word dripping with false tenderness that made her skin crawl. Every drop of feigned fondness in his voice was a poison, setting her heart pounding wildly against her ribs. She watched as her father and brothers flinched at the words, their faces tightening in unison, a grim dance of betrayal recognized.

They were as unsure of Nyelle as she was, Velya realized. They thought her guilty, thought her as treacherous as Malrec. But Velya couldn’t let herself believe it. Her mother held her ground, her back impossibly straight as the weight of Malrec’s treachery pressed down around them all. Velya’s gaze darted back to where Nyelle stood.

Her aunt had moved with silent purpose, cutting across the room like a ghost at the edge of sight. With a precision that set Velya’s thoughts racing, she positioned herself between Malrec and the wall. A wall that Velya suddenly realized felt entirely too close to her hiding place. It made her breath catch in her throat, a sharp intake of wonder and dread. Nyelle stood there, her face a mask of cold indifference, but it was a mask Velya had seen before. She knew what it meant. She knew her aunt was playing a dangerous game. She willed herself to believe it. All at once Nyelle’s movements took on new meaning, each small motion a sign to Velya, secret and comforting. Velya clung to these signals, struggling to still the doubt inside her, but it was like trying to quiet a storm with a whisper.

Her resolve frayed again as Malrec began to speak.

“Are you really that surprised?” he asked, his voice smoother than silk, more slippery than oil. “The signs have been evident for years.” He sounded almost bored, almost smug, like an adult humoring a child’s stubborn innocence.

Rage flared at Velya’s core, but her hands shook where they gripped the latticework.

“How could you do this?” Tirien’s voice broke, a raw edge of desperation in the words.

How could you betray us?” His anger was a fire, bright and fierce but burning out too quickly.

With mechanical precision, Malrec sank into her Father’s empty chair, his smile wolfish. The sight of him there was a physical blow to Velya. She wanted to cry out, to scream the anger that filled her, but she bit down on it, swallowing the urge.

“You speak of betrayal as if it were unexpected,” Malrec said, his eyes glinting with malice. “But the traitor’s life is hard. Always looking over one’s shoulder, never trusting even those closest to you. Never knowing who waits in the shadows.” He glanced at Nyelle as he spoke, the look pointed, accusing. Velya’s heart lurched in response, her thoughts spinning out of control.

And Nyelle, her expression never wavering, turned calmly to look Malrec in the eye. “Not all shadows are your enemy,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Some will protect even in darkness.” Her words were as much for Velya as they were for him, a thread of hope whispered into the chaos.

“A pretty sentiment,” Malrec said, unperturbed, leaning back in the chair as if he owned it, as if he owned them all. “I wonder if you will believe it when the time comes to choose.” The threat hung in the air, wrapping around them with a chill.

Lysaria stepped forward, her presence commanding. Velya watched with desperate intensity, her aunt’s words echoing in her mind. “You are a fool if you think you can break us,” the Queen said, her voice a sharp defiance. “Blood is thicker than water.”

“Blood is nothing! Bloodlines are nothing!” Malrec’s voice cut across hers, sudden and fierce.

He rose to his feet, his true anger leaking through the cracks in his composure. “And I will prove it.”

The certainty in his words was like a knife to Velya. She wanted to block it out, to drown it with the belief she struggled to hold, but it was like holding a candle against the dark.

“Perhaps we will see,” Lysaria said, turning her back on him with finality, her dismissal cold and dignified. She looked to her husband, then to her sons, and Velya saw the farewell in her eyes.

Malrec’s voice slithered through the chamber like a living thing, insidious and smothering as he turned his attention back to the family huddled around the room. A suffocating wave of arrogance followed, pressing against them with a weight that choked the life and breath from the room. Velya felt it like poison in her lungs, and her heart began to race with a wild, panicked intensity. She clung to her hiding place as though it might root her in this moment, anchor her against the storm within. .

“I thought I summoned all of the family,” Malrec remarked, his tone disturbingly even, so casual and calm that it made Velya’s skin crawl. His eyes roved over the room—calculating, predatory—drinking in the sight of his sister and brother-in-law, his nephews, and his wife. It was a consuming gaze, relishing the turbulent mix of disbelief and rage that twisted through each expression. A consuming gaze, like a predator savoring prey already ensnared. “Where’s Velya?” he asked finally. The question came as a taunt, a serpent’s hiss, and one that dripped with dangerous pleasure.

Velya clung harder to the lattice, to that fragile wood barrier that separated her from them, and she felt as though her own fragile hold on the world around her was slipping. It was the last question she ever expected him to ask, her name sounding wrong on his tongue. Her small body stiffened with panic as her breath became ragged, too loud for the taut silence that held them all.

Dizziness swept through her like cold fire, leaving her breathless, lightheaded, barely able to think. Her eyes flicked to Nyelle and back to Malrec. Her aunt remained like an unmoving shadow. Her mind spun with the realization that everything was unraveling, the tangled web of secrecy that had kept her safe suddenly thin as gossamer. Malrec’s words. Her family’s terror. Nyelle’s silent stand. Her own name ringing in her ears, a death knell that reverberated through her like a promise of doom. Velya’s instincts screamed at her, pulling her mind in too many directions. Her family was close, so close, so terribly far away.

Velya’s bones turned to ice as she watched them from her hidden corner. Her father’s mouth was set in a grim line, her brothers’ postures braced with futile resistance. She could see the horror tinged with disbelief in their eyes, how they braced themselves for the inevitable. She watched her mother, arms crossed and fierce, but her eyes revealed a plan—a desperate plan, pulsing with the knowledge of sacrifice. The sudden quiet was a sound all its own, a haunting echo of what she knew was coming. They would fight. They would lose. And they would leave her behind. The thought pierced through her, leaving her raw and untethered. She had never felt so alone.

Then, while Malrec and Lysaria confronted one another, Nyelle suddenly turned her head and met Velya’s eyes through the lattice. The movement was so subtle, so quick, that it vanished almost before she was sure it happened. The mask slipped, just for a heartbeat. And in that moment, Velya saw everything she needed to see. Even in the face of certain ruin, they were still trying to protect her. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. The sudden crash of those truths made her tremble. She saw her parents’ unwavering resolve, the determination beneath their fear. She saw her brothers’ desperation, their refusal to give in. She saw Nyelle standing guard, silent defiance in every line of her body. Her vision blurred with tears she couldn’t let herself cry. Try as she might to fight it, the despair reached her anyway.

She felt herself tear in two. Half of her longed to scream her presence, to leap into their arms, to give them a reason to fight because she was still there, still alive, still Velya. Half of her wanted to disappear, to obey their urgent silence, to flee into the darkness and become what they so desperately needed her to be—the survivor.

The entire room jolted to silence when Eland interrupted with a sudden, sharp gasp. His eyes went wide and white, rolling back in his head as if taken by some powerful vision. His mouth fell open in an eerie gape, and for a moment, no sound came out. Just the awful, chilling quiet of his stillness. Every head turned toward him, drawn by the unnatural pause, panic flickering across their faces. He seemed possessed by some unseen force, as if the very air had stolen the breath from his lungs and filled him with something ancient and immutable.

Eland’s small body shuddered violently, his eyes glowing white like tiny moons. Time seemed to pause, stretching itself thin and fragile as glass. Velya’s heart seized with an awful certainty. His mouth fell open again, and this time, it was not empty.

Then, finally, from somewhere deep within, a low, deliberate voice spoke. “Through betrayal it shall fall, the House of silent flame.” It did not sound like him at all. It echoed with an ethereal weight, with the gravity of a prophecy.

“Blood shall light the halls, and false kings rise to claim.” The ghostly words reverberated through the chamber, and a chill swept over Velya.“The young heir’s fate shall weave,” Eland continued, his voice so strange and hollow. “A path through fire and loss.”

“She shall rise but not to save,” the terrible voice intoned, final and absolute. “All shall come at the cost.”

Auren was the first to move. He rushed to Eland’s side, but his hands were hesitant, unsure of how to break the trance or if they even should. Eland’s lips continued to move, forming each word as if pulled by invisible strings. “Until the bride of ash unites with the lost.”

The words hung in the air, heavy as iron.

Velya watched them all—their stunned faces, their eyes wide with alarm and disbelief.

The prophecy cut deeper than any weapon, and it was the one thing they were powerless to stop. Auren shook him gently. “Eland, stop!” he cried. But Eland did not stop. “Heralding the end,” he continued. “The end and then the start.”

His eyes remained open, unseeing, a thin glow now flickering within their depths. Velya’s grip on the lattice slipped, her small hands shaking. She knew something terrible was about to happen—worse than even these words. The force of the prophecy seemed to gather like a storm before a strike, coiling around Eland with the finality of its own brutal truth.

But Eland didn’t even flinch. He spoke in that dreadful voice, a steady drone that floated above the chaos.

“But from the ash, the flame shall rise,” he intoned. “And silence burn the liar’s guise.” The words sent a chill up Velya’s spine just as a sound from beyond the door pulled every eye toward it.

“Father?” Eland asked, pulling the word into two desperate syllables, breaking the tension and scattering it into the heavy air.

The shiver of an echo reached her ears before anyone else reacted. Her mother and father stood perfectly still, not looking at each other. Lysaria’s calm broke like the moon breaks a dark sky. Velya could feel the chill of it even through her hiding place, as cold as the obsidian at her back.

Eland trembled under the force of prophecy, then grew suddenly limp. “Silence is the prelude to violence,” he muttered, half delirious. “That’s what I meant.”

Her uncle clapped his hands, a cruel sound that splintered the tense silence. It was deliberate and mocking, as if heralding the family’s unraveling. “See!” he crowed, delight bleeding into every word, infecting the air with its malice. “Even the prophet agrees! Even the children see the truth!” He gestured to Eland’s shivering form with a sweeping motion that made Velya’s stomach twist. The sick smile on his lips carved into her soul, a reminder that he felt no doubt, no defeat. He was relishing this moment: the prophesied doom, the sheer inevitability of his triumph. He stood surrounded by the chaos he had wrought, and the dark pleasure in his eyes was a horror to behold. It was the satisfaction of a hunter, knowing his prey had no escape.

The single clap turned into a slow applause, each beat feeding her panic. Velya’s heart drummed in her chest, frantic and loud, drowning her with its wild rhythm. She saw the smirk in Malrec’s eyes as his gaze swept across their faces. He took in their shock and disbelief, savoring the sight as if each terrified expression was a jewel to be hoarded.

Velya felt her own certainty falter, felt the precarious hold on her world splintering beneath his smug triumph.

“Don’t panic,” she thought she heard her Aunt whisper, or maybe if she imagined it entirely. The silence was large and endless, like being trapped in a cave of black water. Velya shivered and held her knees tight to her chest, but she didn’t move. She didn’t move.

“You know what your time to choose wife, die with your family - or stand beside me.” Malrec’s voice broke through the tumult, demanding and confident, loaded with anticipation. He let each word fall like a stone, crushing in their weight, waiting to see which side of the rubble Nyelle would crawl from.

Velya felt the chill of every syllable, a dagger poised to strike them all. She felt them land upon Nyelle like the force of a thousand blows, more vicious than any single betrayal. But Nyelle didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. The silence that followed was wide and deep. It stretched around them, strangling the air, punctuated only by the ragged, distant sound of Velya’s breath as it caught in her chest. Nyelle stood as if Malrec’s ultimatum had not reached her at all, as if words that should have struck with the lethal force of prophecy were nothing more than whispers in the wind.

Her refusal was stunning. It echoed through the chamber, louder than any declaration.

Velya saw her aunt’s shoulders tense but not falter, saw the ghost of a smile at the corners of her mouth. It was an act of pure defiance, a defiance that left Velya trembling with hope and dread, caught in a tangled knot that pulled her in all directions at once.

A part of her had feared that even Nyelle, with all her silent strength, might waver when the end loomed as large as the sky. But Nyelle was still standing. She was still defying him. Even now, even when the others were frozen with the shock of Eland’s vision, she didn’t betray them.

Her small world shifted again, a wild, unpredictable spiral.

Nyelle stayed true. As they all did. She stayed true.

“You think us weak enough to die at your command?” Tirien spat, his voice cutting through the tension with fierce defiance.

His eyes burned bright with rebellion as he glared at Malrec, the challenge clear and sharp. Velya watched him, feeling the raw determination that surged through her brother, the need to prove their strength even as the walls closed in around them.

Malrec’s smirk was slight, barely a flicker, but it stung like a lash. His patience was endless, a spider watching its web quiver.

“I think you are weak enough to die, yes,” he replied, perfectly composed. The words were a mockery, casual and cruel. “Perhaps not by my hand—but you will die all the same.” He gestured, and over a dozen men appeared either side of him and throughout the room. Spears of fear lanced through Velya as the guards blocked all escape, surrounding the family with swift precision.

The cold certainty of numbers was on his side, and the sight of it chipped at their façade. Velya saw the way Tirien’s lips tightened, saw the creeping horror as he counted them. She felt the despair knot and twist inside her, but still, they didn’t yield. They didn’t break.

Cloaked in the shadows of her hiding place, she watched her family, her chest seizing with hope that defied logic. Even outmatched, they resisted. Even surrounded, they braced to fight.

More than enough to buy you a few hours,” Nyelle said, locking eyes with Lysaria.

Divine blood spilled over the onyx table as steel flashed against family bonds, cutting both with ruthless efficiency. Velya closed her eyes to shut it out but could not shut out the massacre. The sound was so large it seemed to swallow her whole.

Then she heard it, the final cry of her mother pierced through her. The sound rent the air with all the force of their divine legacy, an unearthly scream that tore away every other noise with its power. It was not the scream of a mother. It was the War Cry of Lunaris, as vast and eternal as the sky, as deafening and desperate as the end. It struck Velya like a physical blow, a force so immense that it staggered her even in her hidden space. It was a scream that should have brought violent death, a weapon of terrifying strength, but Velya knew its true intent. She felt it wrap around her, blanketing her with silence, a cloak not of destruction but of protection. Her mother’s final War Cry shrouded her, veiling her from the world and its cruelties. Velya knew it was the last sound she would ever hear from them, the last proof of their defiance.

She heard Eland’s soft voice, “But from the ash, the flame shall rise.” Before a silence thick as tar. Heavy as the grave chilled her bones and dripped like foreboding into her soul. Her heart hammered like an iron drum. She felt the weight of the silence, vast and infinite and crushing, saw her small world collapse into frozen intervals. She felt the War Cry’s shield of silence pull everything into a haunted slowness, every heartbeat a brutal eternity.

Then she heard in the spaces between her fear, “Velya, Go.” Her Aunt’s voice echoed in her ears. Her small hand reached for the passage, finding the cold stone walls just as the room began to burn around her. Then her own breath, ragged but alive. She opened her eyes and found herself still hidden. Still safe.

She did not waste another moment. The world blurred and shrank around her, closing its grip like a fist. She ran, following the maps they’d drawn in secret, maps they’d never let her forget. Her small hands traced the path by memory, her breath ragged and scared. The passage opened into itself, winding away from everything it once led to. They told me to stay hidden, she thought as the rumble of stone chased her.

I did, she thought. I stayed hidden. She remembered their lessons as clearly as she remembered her own name. They hadn’t told her much else. How to live without them. How to survive while they—

The rumble grew. It filled the tunnels with a noise so large it blotted out all her thoughts. She pushed forward with all the strength she had. Her hands touched the cold, familiar walls. Her feet slipped against the unsteady ground. The ceiling gave way behind her, collapsing in jagged heaps of dirt and stone. The force of it seemed to shove her ahead, sending her small body farther than her own power could take it. The ground continued to shake as she slipped through the narrowest of openings, the tunnel sealing tight behind her.

Dust settled around her like mist, a fine and powdery cloud as she was left coughing against it.

“Eland?” she tried, hoping someone—anyone—was still alive to hear her. The sound came back hollow. The sound came back empty.

But they never told me how to live, just. Silence.