Silence

The night in Marrowvale was eerily quiet.

Cael lay against an old cracked wall, wrapped in a black cloak heavy with exhaustion. The ground beneath him was cold and unyielding—like everything else in this cursed hell. Above, the clouds hung low and unmoving, blocking any hope of starlight.

A memory stirred, distant but sharp. He was lying in the grass, beside his sister Lira. That day had been quiet, too—but back then, he had a sister beside him. She was strong. Maybe the strongest person he'd ever known. But that was the past.

His fingers clenched hard around a ribbon tied tight at his waist—the last piece he had of her.

Unlike that day with Lira, when warmth and safety filled the air, today he felt only cold and fear. Even after surviving the ruins, after clawing a shard from a creature that should have killed him, all he could hear was the eerie silence pressing down on his chest.

Cael brushed his fingers lightly over the pocket where the shard rested, pulsing faintly against the fabric. Warm—not in body, but like a memory, or hunger.

No one knew he'd kept it.

Not how many times he'd pulled it out, tracing the faint glow.

He hadn't told them what he saw in the creature's illusion.

His eyes burned from lack of sleep as he stared into the dark. He tried to steady his breath. Each heartbeat felt loud. Fragile.

He thought back to Tarris. To the sharp, bitter words spoken in the training hall—words meant to wound.

He was alive. Barely.

Not because he was strong.

Because he was afraid.

Because something deep inside him refused to break.

But he didn't feel like he'd won anything.

A soft scrape echoed nearby—the shifting of armor or a foot on loose gravel—and Cael tensed.

His hand moved instinctively to the edge of his cloak, where his Soulbrand glowed faint beneath the skin.

It was Sela.

She didn't speak. Just sat nearby, close enough to offer presence but far enough to give him space. Her gaze turned skyward, where the clouds looked like they were holding back something ancient and cruel.

For a moment, Cael wondered what she saw when she looked up.

Then he looked away.

He didn't want to see stars that weren't there.

They sat in silence for long breaths.

The fire had long since died, leaving only ash and cold.

Cael lay on his side, fingers curled tight around his coat's edges, the shards in his pocket pressing against his hip. His body ached in strange places. His soul felt scraped raw. He hadn't spoken since the tower fell.

Sela hadn't either.

She sat a few paces away, one leg drawn up, elbow resting on her knee, eyes still tilted toward the sky. Watching for stars that wouldn't return.

Then, quietly:

"You bled through your bandage."

Cael didn't move. "Yeah."

"You shouldn't sleep with your hand on the shards."

He shifted just enough to hide the fingers still wrapped around them. "Didn't mean to."

Silence again. The kind that stretches thin but doesn't snap. It didn't feel cold, just… heavy.

"You always do that," she said finally.

Cael blinked. "…Do what?"

"Look like you're about to speak. Then don't."

He exhaled, barely a laugh. "Not much worth saying."

Sela didn't answer right away. A breeze stirred the ash.

"Tarris was wrong about you."

That cut deeper than anything.

Cael sat up slightly, his heart catching.

"You weren't listening when he said it."

"I didn't have to."

She stood, brushing dirt from her knees, then paused.

"Try to sleep." Her voice was soft, almost an afterthought. "You'll need your strength tomorrow."

She turned away, her silhouette vanishing into the dark.

Cael stared after her a long time before finally letting go of the shards.

Morning came—

Or at least what Cael assumed was morning.

The clouds were still dark, blocking most of the light. It was hard to tell night from day in this hell called Marrowvale. Time felt like…

Well, not that it mattered.

There were other things on his mind.

Just as he let out a heavy breath, footsteps approached behind him—confident, but weighed down with something else. Hesitation. Weariness.

Jarrik.

He still had that usual swagger in his step, but it was dimmed now, like someone had knocked the shine off and left the cracks showing. After everything that happened yesterday, Cael couldn't blame him.

The others followed soon after, gathering near the fire someone had just managed to light. The flames gave little warmth, but in the cold bite of the morning air, even that small flicker helped.

The squad said little. Just sat there, close but disconnected. Like stones scattered by a wave.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cael saw Sela standing—arms crossed, silent—watching him. Waiting.

"Cou—cough. That Wretched looked like m…" Jarrik's voice cracked. He tried to joke, but the words fell apart halfway through.

Myka's voice was small and trembling. "That was scary, wasn't it? I'm so scared… I wanna go home."

The fire crackled, and just as Cael opened his mouth to say something, he stopped.

He noticed how Myka glanced at his coat pocket—subtle, but not missed.

No. She didn't know.

'She couldn't.' He thought

The only ones who knew were him and Sela.

And Sela wouldn't tell her.

But… why did it feel like she knew everything?

'Could she have…?'

'No—'

Cael wanted to believe in Sela. He did.

But the doubt clung to him like cold ash.

Jarrik tended to a wound Elise had gotten—Cael hadn't noticed it before. Maybe it was the stress.

Maybe it was that he could barely take care of himself, let alone anyone else.

He shifted away from the group, gripping his ribbon. It made him feel calmer, like his sister always had.

After that, he didn't speak.

Not to Jarrik. Not to Myka. Not even to Sela.

He stood slowly, brushing ash and dirt from his coat.

The shard in his pocket pulsed once—like a breath, or a heartbeat that didn't belong to him.

He didn't flinch.

But it was getting harder to pretend it wasn't there.

The others began to rise, gathering their things.

The fire burned down to smoldering embers.

No one said it, but they all knew—they couldn't stay in Marrowvale much longer. This place fed on stillness.

"We keep west," Jarrik said finally, voice scratchy. "The map showed ruins near the cliff pass. Might be shelter there."

No one argued.

No one agreed.

They just started walking.

Cael fell behind slightly, boots crunching dead leaves and twisted gravel.

He could feel Sela beside him—not close, but not far either.

She hadn't looked at him since the fire.

He didn't know what he wanted more—a word, or silence.

After some time, when the others were just out of earshot, she finally spoke.

"You didn't sleep."

Cael glanced sideways.

"Neither did you."

"No," she said quietly. "I kept watch. On you."

That froze him for a breath.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you kept twitching like something was crawling inside you." Her voice wasn't cruel. But it wasn't soft either.

He looked away.

"I'm fine."

"You're not," she said. "But you will be."

They walked on in silence.

The mist ahead began to lift, revealing crumbled ruins clinging to the cliffs like broken teeth.

Then, almost too softly:

"Just don't lie to me. I can handle the truth. I just can't handle losing another one."