{Cinder}

Silence knew little. Little of herself and little of the world. She only knew this was not the world she expected. When she went to sleep so long ago, the world she knew surged in war.

This world poised on the brink, but not the same as Cinder of old. No. These people were organized. They worked together. Funny, they rarely bothered to look up.

Silence hovered in the sky for days, observing the churning parade of Icari migrating from Cinder to Earth. To paradise, they called it. The remnants of Umbra’s tyranny rained grief the color of sin down on her people. Even his son fell to corruption in the end.

The forgotten woman struggled with sorrows of her own. She stared at her gray arms. The muscle deeply striated as if she maintained her form, even in her sleep. A cobalt streak pulsed under her skin.

And such power.

What was Silence made for? Why was she awoken? And by whom?

Among the cacophony, the fortress stood sentinel to the bridge between worlds. It bore the testimony of millennia in asylum like a silent witness. They since repaired the damage she caused during her exit. The male with the intoxicating blood occasionally traveled from it through the conduit. Never without an entourage.

Curly brunette hair cut short. Athletic build. Average human height. His eyes… A perfect green. They held more warmth than Silence remembered in her entire—

She shook her head.

He wore ridiculous clothes. Bright, colorful patterns. Often oversized, swallowing him. Hiding him. And in the pants’ many pockets, she imagined he stowed dozens of those hand-rolled, sweet herbal inhalants. In his appearances on the balustrade and in his journeys to Cinder, he always walked with one in his hands. At his lips.

She liked his smile.

Silence clenched her fists until blood dripped from her palms. Work awaited her. She wasn’t sure what work exactly, but an assignment of some import.

An azure pulse surged across her entire body.

Yes, important work. She needed her mission made clear. The male mentioned they used her blood to investigate her lineage. Perhaps his resources held the key to unlocking her memory. Then she could rediscover her mission.

Music erupted from the thoroughfare. Flags and signs erected in Icarean, Egyptian, and English. They demarcated game stands, entertaining contraptions called “rides,” and food stations. Metal cylinders opened and even all the way up here, she smelled smoked meats and grilled vegetables.

Silence’s many appetites hungered. The male fulfilled the most immediate one most sufficiently. But the others—

Her empty well of a stomach blared like the horns of Umbra’s Spire. It twisted and cramped. Her acute focus on the male’s features belonged to the remaining appetite. If she didn’t see herself serviced soon, she would desire to the point of distraction.

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Silence shuddered, ruffling her feathers. No one wanted that.

The lone woman lingered in the air another hour until sunset, and the dizzying display of lights tempted her into joining. Only one problem. She required clothes to blend into the crowd. And her hair… it was far too long. The blue might attract unwanted attention.

So, Silence acquired camouflage to blend in.

Before long, she walked amid the strobing lights, sounds, and smells. Sweat, food, grease, and sand. People worked the stands and offered wares for free. The meat tasted salty, and spices lingered on her tongue. A frozen cream on a sweetened chalice shivered and delighted her. The games involved throwing many things on targets through irritating obstacles. The rides, although intriguing, confined their participants. She refused them.

At every stand Silence attended, the men and women stationed at them observed her with lingering gazes and pleasant smiles. Their fingers brushed hers during exchanges. One volunteered the time of his evening retirement from his duties.

Yes, she would fulfill all her cravings this night.

All finished at the last stand, she turned to take in the thoroughfare and stopped smiling. Empty. Everyone disappeared.

Well, not exactly everyone.

The male stood at the other end. Alone.

Silence knew better. He never went unattended. He was important.

She wondered what gave her away. The clothes she took off the human covered her. Sure, the top was too short, stopping at her ribs. The pants at her knees. Maybe the hair? She cut it with the guard’s knife without a mirror. Then wrapped it in a flag.

“Melissa has worked for me since the war ended. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You choked her unconscious and left her naked in the dunes.” His voice grew colder the longer he spoke.

A gust blew through the festival, stealing the flag from her hair. The dark strands fell jagged and uneven past her shoulders, exposing the blue stripe.

He looked away then. Harshly, he cursed. “We don’t mean you any harm. We’re here to help.” The male raised his eyes to hers with an arresting sincerity. “Please, stop giving us reasons to treat you like a threat. I saw your memory. You’re aimless and alone. Let us help.”

Silence sensed his garrison hidden in the stands. Twelve. Not her memory, but instinct declared that they underestimated her. The azure pulse traveled across her skin, drawing a gasp from him.

His green eyes searched her, fascinated, but harmless. The male’s offer felt genuine. She saw it in his loose, empty hands and the tightness of his features. Unarmed. Almost desperate.

When she escaped the fortress, Silence wronged him. He suffered from her exit. She needed him. And the Icarean woman thought of only one way to make it right.

Silence stripped out of her clothes, ignoring his shock and averted gaze. Humans were so modest. With the articles folded, she glided over to him. She tried to present as non-threatening.

He watched her come to him, perplexed, but a little intrigued. When Silence held the clothes out to him, the male brushed her hands as he took them.

“I apologize for the wrong I committed against your guard.” Her speech required some practice. The words took time to form, and her voice came out hoarse. She almost didn’t recognize it.

“Thank you.” He tucked the clothes under his arm and signaled for his garrison. The male focused with some difficulty on her gaze. In a pleasant tenor, he asked, “Will you come with us? I want to help you. My name is Kyle, by the way. But everyone calls me Story Taker. You don’t have to. Obviously. But—” He cut himself off as if he realized he was rambling.

She smiled, drawing his gaze to her lips. “Kyle.”

He glanced momentarily to the side and gave a single chuckle. “Yea, that’s me. Do you remember your name?”

Around them, people dismantled the festival. The armed soldiers maintained what they considered a decent proximity. Amateurs. Her body knew better.

With that in mind, she gave him the only information she knew for certain, “I am Silence.”

Kyle’s eyes widened, and he caught the gazes of a hazel-eyed man and an Icarean warrior nearby. The three communicated without words before Story Taker returned his attention to her.

Awkwardly stretching his arm behind his head and clearing his throat, Kyle asked, “So, Silence… do you go everywhere naked?”