The chill of morning still lingered in the wooden cabin nestled between the steep arms of the mountains. Bravae leaned against the frame of the narrow window, watching fog slide slowly off the treetops. Beside him, Orvae sat on a rough wooden stool, flipping through a book he couldn't concentrate on. Across the room, Merab, their silent guardian for the day, crouched over a pot of stew suspended above a soft flame, humming to herself.
Indumae and Gbavamy had left before dawn, heading deeper into the mountain passes to meet with other members of the Pylae. According to Merab, the meeting was urgent. There were whispers of troubling decisions to be made, especially concerning Bravae.
"What do you think they're talking about?" Bravae asked.
"You," Orvae replied without looking up.
Bravae threw a small twig at him, and it bounced off Orvae's head.
Merab turned her head slightly, a smile teasing the corner of her lips. "They worry about you. You do have the legendary sword, after all."
Bravae sighed. His hand instinctively went to the hilt, resting beside his makeshift bed. The sword had not responded to him, not when he tried to save Rumein. It had remained still and cold. Even with Indumae's guidance, he struggled to find its spark. Meditation, focus, purpose—none of it seemed to unlock whatever was hidden within the blade.
"Do you remember anything from before you got the sword?" Merab asked gently.
"Some things," Bravae said. "Mostly fragments. My father. A tall tree near our home. I remember a song my mother used to hum. But after the war started, everything feels like shattered glass."
They spoke quietly for a while, voices blending with the crackling of the fire. Orvae, uncharacteristically calm, joined the conversation in soft tones. He spoke of his father, a fisherman with a crooked smile and bad jokes, and his younger sister who used to braid flower crowns. Merab talked about growing up among the Pylae, trained to live in silence, to listen to the mountains and the wind.
The warmth in the cabin grew as the sun rose behind the trees. Merab eventually stood to check the stew again, her back turned to the boys.
That was when Orvae froze.
Out of the corner of his eye, past the glint of the morning sun, he saw it—a thin plume of black smoke rising above the distant ridge.
"Bravae," he whispered.
Bravae turned. "What?"
Orvae pointed. "There. Beyond the pine trees. That's smoke."
Bravae rushed to the window. A sharp knot formed in his stomach. The smoke was steady, rising like a column, too dark and thick to be anything but a fire. And it was in the direction of Deiamy.
"They're burning something," Bravae muttered.
"You think it's the town?" Orvae asked.
Bravae didn't answer. He was already strapping on his boots.
Orvae stood too. "What about Merab?"
Bravae bit his lip. "She won't let us go if we tell her."
"So what do we do?"
Bravae paused. Then his eyes lit up. He leaned toward Orvae and whispered something quickly. Orvae's face broke into a mischievous grin.
A few moments later, Bravae stood by the door with his sword on his back, while Orvae hurried to Merab's side with a panicked expression.
"Merab! Bravae says he thinks something is wrong with the sword. He said it was vibrating or something."
Merab stood instantly, turning toward Bravae.
"It was humming," Bravae said, faking confusion. "Like it was calling or—I don't know."
"Put it on the floor," she said quickly, moving toward them.
Bravae obeyed. As she crouched to inspect it, Orvae quietly opened the door. A gust of mountain air rushed in.
"Now," Bravae whispered.
The boys slipped out silently and sprinted down the narrow path, disappearing into the tree line before Merab realized they were gone.
It took hours to descend the mountain. The air grew warmer and heavier the lower they went, the trees thinning into sparse woods. The column of smoke widened and darkened the sky. By the time they reached the outskirts of Deiamy, the crackle of fire and the faint cries of people reached their ears.
They stopped atop a rocky ridge overlooking the town.
The market square burned. Stalls once filled with color and spices now lay in ruin. Soldiers in dark bronze armor moved like shadows through the smoke, dragging people from hiding spots, knocking over barrels, interrogating merchants. One man tried to run and was struck down immediately. Bravae's jaw clenched.
"They're looking for someone," Orvae said.
"Or making an example of everyone," Bravae replied.
A familiar scream echoed across the square. Bravae flinched.
"I have to go check on him," he said.
"Your grandfather?"
He nodded. "He'd never leave the house unless he had to. And if this spread past the market…"
"Then I'll go see my aunt," Orvae said. "Her place is near the river. We meet back here before sunset?"
Bravae clasped his hand. "Be careful."
"You too."
They parted without another word, each disappearing into the chaos below as the smoke above Deiamy thickened into a sky of ash.