Elian

Darkness clung to the corners of the cramped room, pierced only by a pale, moonlight thread snaking through a high, iron-barred window to cast faded squares upon the cold floor. In the corner, eight-year-old Elian huddled, wrapping her small arms around herself as if trying to recapture a warmth long stolen.

The light of distant stars danced in her hazel eyes, now glazed with a veil of tears. Her voice, trembling with bewilderment, came in a fractured whisper:

"Where am I? Why this place?"

She did not miss freedom alone; she missed herself. Her memory was a blank page, nameless and addressless. A scream ripped through the silence, tearing at the stillness: "Can no one hear me? Who am I? I’m afraid!" But the deaf walls offered only a hollow, haunting echo.

She looked up at the sky beyond the bars, her expression broken. "Do you see me? Is there anyone out there who feels me?" And as she bowed her head in despair, the impossible happened.

Despite the window’s height and narrowness, a sudden gust of wind rushed in—not merely air, but a touch. It teased her tousled blonde hair and brushed tenderly against her wet cheeks, drying the lingering tears.

Elian stopped trembling. Her eyes widened in wonder—not the shock of terror, but the awe of realization. She felt that breeze to be an answer that bypassed the throat and settled directly into her heart.

A certainty took root in the child’s depths, a strength whose source she did not know but felt profoundly. She looked at the sky again; she no longer saw distant stars, but a protective care encompassing her. She believed that the One who created her was not absent, and that despite His throne above the heavens, He was touching her soul now with a silent word: I am with you.

Eight years passed, and the prison bars were replaced by a wooden attic in the heart of Bolivar, where the scent of spices embraced the fumes of crowded eateries. On a bed that groaned with every movement, Elian slept, until the first threads of golden sun crawled through the window to tease her eyelids.

She furrowed her brows in annoyance, burying her face under the pillow to escape the light. But "morning peace" was short-lived. A sharp voice shattered the silence, piercing wood and door alike:

"Elian! Get up, you lazy girl! The pots won’t clean themselves!"

It was Sara, the manager, whose throat seemed incapable of softness. Elian sighed deeply, whispering to herself, drowsy and drained:

"God, am I not even allowed to dream in peace?"

Before a single breath could pass, the familiar threat came from behind the door: "Two seconds, Elian... one... if you aren’t down, I’ll rip that blonde hair right out of your head with these two hands!"

Elian bolted from her bed as if struck by lightning, scrambling to arrange her disheveled clothes. "I’m coming! I’m coming, Mistress Sara!"

She heard the rhythm of Sara’s departing footsteps, accompanied by a haughty murmur: "Such a girl. Thinks she’s a princess when she’s just a lazy servant." Elian pushed open the window shutters, and the cool, early summer breeze of Bolivar rushed in, carrying a hint of morning chill before the day’s heat could turn fierce. She inhaled deeply, feeling her body reclaim a flicker of vitality. "What a soul-restoring breeze..."

She quickly tidied her room, navigated the creaky wooden hallway, and descended to the dining hall. The place was eerily still; no customer noise, no scent of soup. There, in the center, sat Sara, legs crossed, hiding behind a newspaper.

"Good morning," Elian said, approaching with caution.

Sara lowered the paper slowly, her look far from promising. "What 'good' morning dawns upon a face like yours? Don’t stand there like a statue. A mountain of work lies before you—start scrubbing every inch of this place."

Elian’s brows knit in confusion. "But I cleaned everything before I slept last night!"

"Don’t you grumble at me!" Sara shrieked. Elian flinched, eyes instinctively snapping shut at the harshness. Sara pointed a trembling finger at the tables. "Don't you see the dust? The King and his family are coming today. Everything must shine like a mirror. One tiny mistake and your head might end up on the chopping block. The King does not forgive."

Elian swallowed hard, a chill running through her limbs. She asked in a low voice: "Understood... but, why is the King coming? I don't even know his name."

Sara slammed the table, the sound echoing through the empty hall. "His name is King Simon! Show some respect when you speak of your masters. Now, get out of my sight!"

Elian turned to leave, but Sara’s voice lashed out like a whip: "Wait! After the cleaning, go immediately to the harbor."

Elian froze, her shoulders sagging in despair. "Don't tell me the shipments arrived today, too..."

Sara’s eyes blazed. "Back to your grumbling?"

Elian sighed, bowing her head in silence, and retreated with her mop. She knew this long day would not end with a gentle breeze like the morning had.

She bent to her work with rhythmic, precise movements—six years had honed her skill since she arrived as a lost child with nothing but the will to survive. When she finished the final corner, Sara appeared, true to form, poking her nose into every crevice, checking surfaces with the tip of a finger. Finding not a single grain of dust to satisfy her rage, she barked:

"Fine. Don’t stand there admiring your own success. Get to the next task!"

"Yes, Mistress," Elian recited mechanically, slipping out into the wide street.

She took the path through the Grand Market, where the aroma of cheap incense mingled with the expensive perfumes of merchants. It was a canvas of contradictions: stalls displaying silks from distant kingdoms alongside mounds of seasonal fruit. Elian was a favorite; her lightness of spirit and kindness made her the "daughter of the district."

At the harbor, she was met by a different symphony: the screeching of ropes, the crashing of ships against wooden docks, and the shouts of men wrestling heavy crates. Amid the giants, Elian looked like a sparrow, but her need to survive was stronger than any fatigue.

Above the din, a familiar voice cut through from the deck of a ship:

"Hey! Elian!"

She turned to see Siam, her friend, a year her senior. He waved with arms strained from lifting, a smile cutting through his weary, dust-covered face.

Elian’s smile widened, and Siam cupped his hands to shout over the crashing waves:

"I see you're here today, Elian!"

She mimicked his gesture, pitching her voice to beat the clamor:

"Work as usual!"

Siam nodded, grinning. "Good luck, then!" The conversation was cut short by the Captain’s gruff roar: "You brat! Don't slack off to chat with the girls, or I'll dock your pay!" Siam’s smile wilted. "Yes, sir! I'll finish it all!"

Elian climbed the wooden steps to the deck, only to be met by a massive shadow blotting out the sun. A man of hulking build, with features as coarse as hewn rock, stared at her in disdain. "Who are you, girl? What are you doing here?"

Elian met his gaze with steady resolve. "I am a worker here."

"What?!" The giant guffawed, but his laughter cut short as another man emerged from behind the masts. He was lean, with a cunning, cruel glint in his eyes. The giant gestured toward Elian. "Look—vermin crawling onto our deck today."

The lean man eyed her, his lips curling into a mocking smile. "My friend, this is 'useful' vermin. It knows how to toil in silence."

Elian burned with the urge to lash out, but she bit her tongue, tasting the bitterness of restraint. Her silence wasn't fear; it was a calculation for survival. A single reckless word here meant being barred from the harbor, and being barred from the harbor meant facing Sara’s wrath and the cold, unforgiving street.

The lean man cut her thoughts with a sharp cry: "Why are you standing there? Move and work!"

Elian took a deep breath, masking her fury with a cloak of indifference. "Very well." She bent to the grueling labor under their mocking gazes. The crates were small mountains to her slight frame. Her small hands strained, veins popping as she struggled to drag a weight meant for brawny shoulders. Under the summer sun, which poured its fire upon them, the air grew thick and briny, searing her lungs with every breath.

She paused for a heartbeat, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead to wipe away the sweat stinging her eyes. She looked up at the blazing sun—the only "freedom" she had in this material hell.

"What are you doing, staring at the sun like you're on a royal picnic?" the giant’s voice boomed. "Move those stiff limbs and work!"

She didn't look at him, didn't answer. She bent again to drag her fated burden. By midday, the sun reached its zenith. Elian collapsed onto her knees in the sliver of shade cast by the crates, her breath coming in ragged, audible gasps. "Done... finally," she whispered.

In her exhaustion, she felt a sudden, sharp cold against her burning forehead. She opened her eyes to see Siam standing over her, holding two mist-covered, ice-cold bottles of water. His smile remained, despite the dust. "You must be near dehydration. Here."

She grabbed the bottle, the sting of cold reviving her palms before she drank, feeling the chill trace its path into her core. She stopped, startled, watching Siam open his own bottle and empty it entirely over his head.

"Siam," she frowned, her tone sympathetic. "Isn't it time to quit that habit? It’s midsummer. Soaking yourself like that will make you sick."

Siam shook his head, droplets flying from his hair, and laughed confidently. "Don't worry, Elian. My body is tough—a little water and heat won't break it. I’m strong, as you know."

Elian narrowed her eyes, exhaustion tugging at her lids. She said with a mocking warmth: "Really? We’ll see about that when you start sneezing later." Siam lifted his head in playful defiance. "And when have I ever sneezed for you to say that?"

He hadn't finished the sentence when his nose betrayed him, unleashing a thunderous sneeze that shook his shoulders. Elian raised her brows in eloquent silence. "There. You just sneezed."

Siam rubbed his nose, embarrassed, trying to regain his composure. "Fine, it happened. But one sneeze doesn't mean I’ll get sick. I’m stronger than that."

Elian exhaled, shaking her head. "Good heavens, I feel like I'm talking to a toddler who doesn't know what’s good for him."

Siam’s smile faded slightly. He studied her, finally noticing the pallor of her skin and the suppressed fatigue. His voice grew anxious. "What is it, Elian? You seem distressed. Did something happen at the restaurant?"

Elian avoided his gaze, pressing her hands to her weary knees to rise slowly. "No. Just the usual exhaustion."

Siam looked toward the horizon. "Will you go back to her now?"

Elian sighed, her voice heavy with the day’s bitterness. "Where else would I go? She’s waiting, her eyes seeing nothing but the coins I’ve sweated for."

Siam’s grip tightened on the empty bottle. "That hag grows more arrogant by the day. She loads you with burdens that would break mountains!"

Elian touched her head, trying to chase away a mounting headache. "Please, Siam, don't speak of her. I’m just trying to ignore her existence so I can survive."

Siam stepped closer, a sincere protectiveness in his eyes. "Elian, you don't have to follow her foolish orders. You don't have to stay under her roof! You could live with my family. They love you—they'd be overjoyed to have you."

Elian’s features softened, a faint, genuine smile touching her lips. "Thank you, Siam. And my deepest thanks to your family. But I don't want to be a burden. I’ve become accustomed to carrying my own weight."

"But—"

She silenced him with a gentle touch on his shoulder. "Siam, I truly appreciate your care. But I’m fine, believe me." She waved as she walked away, her steps heavy. "Goodbye for now. Stay safe."

Siam watched her small back disappear into the harbor’s crush, his brows still knit with unresolved concern. He whispered her name under his breath: "Elian..."

Minutes later, she felt a long shadow lengthening beside her, and the steady rhythm of footsteps matching her own. She turned to see Siam walking beside her, hands in his pockets, as if by mere coincidence.

"Siam?" she asked.

He flashed a wide, lighthearted grin. "You don't mind if I keep you company, do you?"

Elian sighed, her lips relaxing. "Of course not. But please, I hope you have no intention of causing trouble again like last time."

Siam raised his brows in feigned innocence. "Me? When have I ever caused trouble?"

Elian gave him a meaningful side-glance as she kept walking. "No need to remind you, Siam. The list is long enough."

Siam nodded, humor dancing in his eyes. "Fair enough. But I don't go looking for trouble without a good reason—especially if it concerns my dearest friend."

Elian didn't answer, settling for a soft smile. They walked together as the market transformed into a beehive of activity, the shouts of vendors tangling with the creak of carts.

"Red apples from the finest lands! One coin apiece!" a vendor suddenly called out.

Siam stopped, inspecting the fruit. "How much, uncle?" "One coin, my boy." "I'll take five," Siam said, producing the money.

The merchant weighed them and handed Siam a paper bag. Siam walked on, then suddenly reached in and pulled out a bright red apple, offering it to her. "This is for you."

Elian hesitated. "For me? But... you paid for them, I shouldn't—"

"Are we not done with this argument?" Siam laughed, tossing the apple into the air. She caught it instinctively. "The rest are for my family," he added. Elian turned the apple in her hands, a mysterious smile on her lips. "You’re being unusually kind these days."

Siam stopped and looked at her, feigning shock, then walked on with his hands behind his head. "Really? I must have been a cruel monster in the past, then!"

Elian’s clear laughter rang out. "No, don't get me wrong, I meant—"

Her sentence was severed by the sharp, splintering sound of wood and the thunderous screech of an overturning cart. The market’s clamor vanished, as if someone had stifled the breath of the crowd to make room for the sudden chaos.

Elian and Siam slipped through the throng to see. An ornate carriage lay overturned, its colorful textiles scattered in the dust like casualties. Above, on stallions, sat two horsemen dripping with arrogance. One pointed a lash toward a poor merchant kneeling in the dirt near the wreckage.

"You idiot!" the horseman roared, filled with contempt. "Can’t you see where you're going? You nearly tripped our horses!"

The merchant trembled, pressing his forehead into the earth. "I am sorry, my lord... the cart went out of control, I didn't..."

"Silence!" the horseman cut him off with a roar that rattled the market stalls.

A heavy silence descended. No one dared speak; Elian saw it in the averted eyes, the faces bowed in fear. The horseman broke the silence with a voice dripping with vanity:

"It seems you do not realize who you stand before. I am Rami, personal guard to the great King Simon."

The merchant bowed his head, his voice broken and trembling. "I repeat my apology, my lord, I meant no—"

Rami cut him off with a cold laugh. "I am not satisfied with your pathetic apology. Here... kiss my boots and I shall forgive your stupidity."

The merchant was a man with gray hair and dignity, despite his ruined cart. How could he be humiliated like this at his age? Elian felt the fire of rage boiling in her chest. But when she looked beside her, she saw something more dangerous: Siam was clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his eyes burning with a flame she had never seen before.

The merchant hesitated, humiliation devouring his features, but the fear of dungeon darkness was stronger. He began to bow to perform the degrading act. Rami’s victory-smile widened—until it vanished the moment Siam’s voice cut through the air like a thunderclap:

"That is enough!"

Siam surged forward like an arrow, gently pulling the merchant up to separate him from Rami, standing tall, boiling with rage. Elian screamed from afar, her heart hammering in panic: "Siam! Don't be reckless!"

But Siam didn't look back. He locked eyes with the horseman. "He did nothing wrong. If you hold authority, you have no right to use it to oppress people."

Rami bristled, his face reddening as he snarled, "Who are you, you brat? Do you truly not know who I am?"

"No," Siam replied with icy resolve. "And I don't care to."

Murmurs of the crowd turned into a terrified hush as Rami shouted, "Silence, all of you!" He turned to Siam, eyes ablaze with hatred. "You fool. Do you think your courage will save you? Since you chose to protect this old man, you shall suffer the punishment in his stead."

Siam didn't retreat an inch. He set his jaw. "I am not afraid of you, nor anyone else!"

Rami’s brow twitched with fury. "Not even King Simon?"

Siam’s retort landed like a lightning bolt: "He is your King, not mine! And if he finds pleasure in this injustice, then damn him and his reign!"

At that word, the thread of patience snapped. Rami drew his gleaming sword, pointing it at Siam’s chest. Elian screamed in terror: "No! Stop!"

But Siam silenced her without shifting his gaze from the blade: "Stay out of this, Elian!"

Rami roared: "You are an ungrateful wretch! I shall make you taste the bitterness of the King’s dungeons!"

He struck, but Siam was faster, dodging the blow with a grace that stunned the onlookers. The second horseman drew his sword, pinning the young man in a circle of cold steel. Yet Siam dodged with a brilliance that drove Rami to madness. "Where is your courage? Can you only run?"

In a moment of treachery, Rami pulled a black sphere and threw it at Siam’s feet. It exploded into a dense, pungent, drugged smoke. Siam swayed, gasping for air. "You... coward..."

Before the smoke could clear, a treacherous blow from the sword’s pommel landed on the back of Siam’s head. He collapsed. Vision blurred for Elian in the thick fog, and all that remained was her own voice, piercing the stillness as she called out in despair: "SIAAAAM!"

The smoke gradually dissipated, leaving only the sound of Rami’s arrogant voice as he rode off:

"This is the penalty for those who dare challenge the will of King Simon, and for those who blaspheme against his might!"

Elian screamed with all her might: "Leave him alone!" But her voice was swallowed by the sound of receding hooves. When the dust cleared, the place was empty. Siam was gone, the horsemen were gone, and nothing remained but a hollow vacuum. A sorrowful whisper moved through the crowd; everyone knew that those taken for "blasphemy against the King" had only one destination: the dark cells beneath the royal palace.

Elian clutched her chest, her heart fluttering in terror. "Oh, the disaster! What must I do now?"

She looked around to see the old merchant stooped over the earth, gathering his soiled silks, tears silently tracking through his white beard. Elian approached with shaking steps, reaching out to help him. "Are you alright, uncle?"

The merchant raised his head, his eyes reflecting a grief deeper than the loss of his trade. "I am well, my daughter... but that young man..." He choked on his tears. "They took him because of me. He will suffer for saving me. I am so sorry... I wish they had taken me in his place."

Despite the trembling in her limbs, Elian smoothed his shoulder with a strength she didn't know she possessed. Her voice held the weight of a difficult hope. "It is alright, uncle. Do not blame yourself. Siam did what his heart dictated... there must be a way to save him. There must be."