The sound was faint at first.
Hooves on old gravel.
Wheels against stone.
Distant, deliberate—like thunder rehearsing.
From the high towers of the estate, they watched it glide in silence. From the spires of the city, they bowed.
But far below, at the heart of Skywhisper...
One girl stood waiting.
Not for spectacle.
Not for ceremony.
Just for someone to see her.
The sky above Skywhisper Estate had turned a dull purple, the kind that didn't feel soft or magical—just bruised, like something old and tired was waiting to fall apart.
Time didn't tick here.
It drifted—like dust curling through sunlight. Slow. Quiet. Unnoticed… until it wasn't.
The hour had grown heavy.
Out in the vast courtyard, just before the Veldrin family's return, the world stood unnaturally still.
It always had.
Even as a child, Jenna had thought the place looked hollow—empty, no matter how many soldiers marched its stone-laced walkways or how many banners fluttered high above.
But today, it felt worse.
Like someone had scooped out its soul and left behind a shell—wide and grand, just to remind her how small she truly was in the machine of House Veldrin.
The cobblestones, polished to mirror sheen, reflected the fading sun—pale amber bleeding into blue-grey, stretched across the ground like bruises on porcelain.
Shadows gathered in the corners: long, soft, breath held in fear.
The wind didn't stir.
The trees stood frozen.
Even the crows—normally perched like sentries along the wrought-iron spires—were absent.
As if they too understood: something was about to change.
The estate didn't breathe. It waited.
Jenna stood in the middle of the courtyard, small shoes set close together on the warm stone, arms hanging stiff at her sides as if moving even a little would make something notice her.
Her fingers, pale and fidgety, began to twist the edge of her sleeve again—slow at first, then tighter and faster, until the fabric wrinkled like the corner of her old blanket back in the nursery.
She didn't know why she was scared, but she was; not the kind of fear that made you run—just the kind that made your chest tight and your feet too heavy to lift.
The courtyard was silent in a way that made her feel watched, even though the tall black windows held nothing but her reflection and the shadows inside.
Even the crows that usually perched on the sharp spires above the estate were gone, and that somehow felt worse than their ugly noise.
Her breath came shallow, barely moving her chest, and she shifted slightly, the heel of her right foot making a tiny sound against the stone—tap—before she froze again.
Beside her, Lina stood like always—quiet, solid, there—but Jenna didn't look at her; just knowing Lina was close made it a little easier to stand still.
Lina never said sweet things or gave hugs like the nurses used to; she was just there, like a chair that didn't move when you sat down, and that made her better than most people in this house.
Jenna's gaze drifted slowly toward the edge of the courtyard, to the place where the trees thickened and the gravel road disappeared, the place where the sound of returning wheels would come from first.
Her mouth stayed closed, but her eyes searched the horizon as if staring hard enough might make them appear faster—like she could summon them just by waiting the right way.
The warm stone beneath her feet didn't feel comforting; it was the kind of warmth that made her think of something that used to be alive and wasn't anymore.
She moved her fingers again, not out of nervousness now, but habit, twisting and releasing the sleeve as her breath hitched once, then steadied.
"They'll be here soon," Lina said softly, voice low and even, like always.
Jenna gave the tiniest nod, barely enough to move her hair, and kept her eyes on the trees as if blinking might make her miss it.
She imagined it already—the clop of hooves, the grind of heavy wheels, the flutter of banners in blue and silver, the way their arrival always came in perfect lines like a parade made only for themselves.
The Veldrins were always precise, always loud in their silence, and even though they never looked at her, Jenna always waited anyway.
She listed their names silently in her head like a spell she couldn't stop saying—Mother, Father, Grandfather, Grandmother, Serana, Mirelle… and Irian—and with each name, something in her chest curled tighter.
Thirty-seven days had passed since they left, and she knew that number exactly because she counted every morning, just to remind herself she was still here.
There had been no sound of her mother's heels echoing across the marble halls, no sharp-laughing Serana, no book-throwing Mirelle, no quiet, heavy stares from Grandfather that made her feel like a mistake someone forgot to erase.
But there had also been no one saying her name.
No "welcome back."
No, "we missed you."
Still, she counted the days.
Because counting meant something.
Her eyes stung, but she didn't cry—she had trained herself not to, after Lina once told her, "Don't cry, little miss. It makes them hate you more."
A soft breath escaped her lips, and she whispered, more to the air than to Lina, "I hate this."
Lina didn't answer, and that was fine—Jenna didn't need her to.
A small breeze brushed her cheek, and though her hair moved out of place, she didn't fix it; maybe if they saw her messy, someone would notice enough to say something, even if it was only, "Fix yourself."
Turning just slightly, Jenna caught her reflection in one of the lower windows—wide, staring eyes, red fingers, a mouth too quiet—and thought she looked more like a forgotten doll than a daughter of House Veldrin.
"Irian might still care," she murmured to herself, voice flat but soft, as if saying it too loud might make it untrue.
"He's your brother," Lina said, still not turning to look.
"So are the others," Jenna replied, and this time, she sounded tired.
Her knees shifted slightly, and she almost leaned forward, just enough to wobble, but she caught herself and stood straight again, the way she'd been taught—back stiff, chin up, even if it hurt.
She didn't want to be here.
But she stayed.
She always stayed.
"I need to be here," she whispered, barely audible.
"You don't have to," Lina said gently.
"I do," Jenna replied, no strength behind the words—just truth.
Even if no one noticed.
Even if it hurt.
Even if the silence swallowed her again like it always did.
Then, in the distance—
Clop… clop… clop…
Her breath caught in her throat.
"They're close," Lina said.
Jenna didn't answer.
She dropped her arms back to her sides, let her fingers uncurl, and pressed her heels into the stone to stop her knees from shaking.
She stood perfectly still—shoulders squared, eyes ahead, jaw set even though it trembled ever so slightly.
Her heart beat so loud she thought the stone might hear it.
Not stone.
Not strong.
She was just a little girl.
Waiting.
For the sound to come closer.
For someone to see her.
For her name to be said aloud again.
But in the space between that sound and its arrival—
All she felt was the weight of being forgotten.
TO BE CONTINUED...