Whispers of the Void

The hug broke apart, but the fear didn't leave the small cottage. It hung in the air, settling in the corners like dust in a ray of light. Elara's hands were still trembling as she smoothed Julius's hair, her eyes scanning his face as if searching for cracks. Roric stood, his big frame tense, listening to the wind howl outside – listening for anything else it might carry.

Julius stood between them, small and quiet. He knew they were scared. He saw it in the tightness around his mother's mouth, the way his father's hand rested near the heavy bar by the door. He understood relief, too, because they weren't shouting or crying anymore. But instead of fear beating inside him like a trapped bird,

there was… stillness.

It wasn't the practiced stillness of "Be the Stone." That was something he did. This was something he was. A deep, quiet pool inside him that hadn't rippled, even when the Tracker's fist hammered on the door. He remembered the words whispered outside: "...a flicker? Or... an absence?"

He was the absence. He knew it now. It wasn't a bad feeling, not exactly. It was just… empty. Like a room waiting for furniture, vast and silent.

Elara finally let out a long, shaky breath and began moving, tidying things that didn't need tidying. Straightening the already straight blanket on Julius's small cot. Wiping a clean spot on the rough table. Roric moved to the shuttered window, peering through a tiny crack at the swirling grey outside.

"They're gone," Roric said, his voice rough. "For now."

Elara nodded, her back to him. "He did well. He was so still." Her voice was full of fragile pride, but Julius heard the tremor beneath it.

Julius watched them. He loved them. But the love felt… different inside him. Like a drawing of a fire instead of the fire itself. He could see the shape of it, understand it, but he didn't feel its burn.

He walked to the corner where the loose floorboard lay, now covered again by the worn rug. He touched the rough weave with his small fingers. This was his safe place. But the real safety, the real hiding, was inside himself. In the quiet emptiness.

Later, as the grey light outside deepened towards dusk, Elara sat beside Julius on his cot. She tried to hum a lullaby, an old tune about starlight and sleeping babes, but her voice faltered. The memory of the guttural chanting outside was too fresh.

Julius listened, head tilted. The tune was familiar, comforting in its way. But as she hummed the simple notes, something else lit at the edge of his mind. It wasn't a memory, not like remembering breakfast or the feel of the hiding spot. It was… a wisp of sound. Different notes, strange and high and beautiful, like tiny glass bells ringing far away. It vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him blinking.

"What is it, Julius?" Elara asked softly, seeing the look on his face.

He shook his head. How could he explain a sound that wasn't there? "Nothing, Mama."

Roric sat at the table, slowly sharpening a knife, each stroke careful and steady.

"Scrape. Scrape." The sound was sharp in the quiet room. He glanced at Julius, his eyes thoughtful, worried. He remembered Sophia's warning – the emptiness. He saw Julius's unnatural calm, his stillness that went beyond training. The Trackers had sensed something. An absence. Was that better or worse than sensing a soul? He didn't know. He only knew the terror of almost losing his son.

"Need to check the water barrels tomorrow," Roric said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm. "With all this wind, dust might've gotten in."

Life had to go on. Fear couldn't paralyze them.

That night, Julius lay on his cot, listening to the wind scraping against the shutters. He didn't feel sleepy. He closed his eyes and tried to find the quiet place inside him again. He focused, letting his breath slow, just like Elara taught him. "Be the Stone."

But tonight, the quiet felt different. Deeper. Wider. It wasn't just empty; it felt… vast. Like looking up at the night sky, if the sky were inside him. And in that vastness, tiny sparks seemed to glitter for just a moment before fading. Colours he couldn't name – bright, shimmering blues and silvers unlike the dull grey and brown of his world. A fleeting sense of immense distance, of falling and floating all at once.

It wasn't scary. It was strange. Like dreaming while awake. Were these the whispers of the void? Fragments of something forgotten? He didn't have the words for it, but the feeling settled in him – a sense of being connected to something far, far away. Something ancient and cold and shimmering.

He opened his eyes. The rough ceiling of the cottage was inches above him. The wind howled its lonely song. The strange feelings faded, leaving only the familiar emptiness, the quiet pool.

The next few days passed under a cloud of unspoken worry. Roric spent more time reinforcing the cottage shutters, checking the door bar. Elara kept Julius close, her eyes constantly scanning the horizon whenever they stepped outside for water or wood. They spoke little of the Trackers, but their presence lingered like a bad smell.

Julius practiced his stillness, but he also explored the strange new sensations within him. Sometimes, when he watched the patterns the wind left in the dust, a swirl of light would spark behind his eyes. And sometimes, the wind's steady sound carried strange, almost musical tones. These moments were brief and strange, but they made the quiet inside him feel less empty, more like it was waiting for something.

One evening, Julius sat tracing patterns in the dust on the floor while his parents spoke in low tones near the hearth. Their voices were soft, worried.

"...supplies are running low, Elara," Roric said. "Flour's almost gone. Need lamp oil."

Elara sighed. "The settlement? So soon after..."

"We have to," Roric insisted gently. "Can't risk running out completely. We'll need to go to the market."

Market?. Julius looked up. He'd heard stories of the nearest market town – a bigger, busier place than their tiny cluster of isolated cottages. A place called Whisper Market by some, because secrets travelled there faster than traders.

"We can't take him," Elara whispered, her voice tight with fear. "Not after... not with Trackers maybe still nearby. What if someone notices?"

"And we can't leave him," Roric countered, his voice grim. "Not alone. Not even for half a day. We go together. We keep him close. Hood up, stay quiet. Just like always, but more careful."

Julius listened, the word "market" echoing in his mind. He pictured a place with more people, more noise, more everything than he was used to. A flicker of something – not fear, maybe curiosity, maybe something else – stirred within the quiet place inside him. He didn't know what dangers lurked there, beyond the ever-present threat of Trackers. But the thought of going, of seeing something new, pulled at him, a strange counterpoint to the fear he saw etched on his parents' faces. The Market of Whispers. Even the name felt like one of those fleeting glimpses from the void inside him.