It was dark, when Cira opened her eyes…did she even have them open? She couldn't tell.
Cira blinked, once, twice, hoping that the world would slowly come into focus. But there was nothing—just the same oppressive black that seemed to press in from all sides. Her heart picked up speed, a cold prickle spreading across her skin, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.
Calm down. Breathe. Think. She forced the words into her mind, though they felt hollow, like a flimsy shield against the rising tide of panic.
Her head throbbed dully, a reminder of the blow that had knocked her out. She shifted, and something rough bit into her wrists. A chair. She was tied to a chair. Her ankles were bound, too—tight enough that she felt the bite of the rope digging into her skin with every faint twitch of movement.
Her chest tightened as the darkness seemed to grow thicker, heavier. This is just the room. Not me. Not my eyes.
She couldn’t tell if she was lying to herself.
Then came the silence. Or rather, the muffled, hollow void where sound should have been. Panic surged again as she instinctively reached for her ears—or tried to, but the restraints held fast. Her hearing aids. She couldn’t feel them.
Cira clenched her fists against the rough wood of the chair. Without sound, without sight, she was trapped. Isolated. Her breaths grew shallow, too quick, as the fear gnawed at her composure.
She tried to focus on the smallest sensations. The coarseness of the ropes, the faint ache in her arms, the sharp edge of the chair’s back digging into her spine. Every detail became an anchor to hold her in place. Her breathing slowed, just a fraction, but it was enough.
Her lips moved, though she couldn’t hear her own voice. «Where am I? What do they want?»
And why had they taken her hearing aids?
The last question burned, kindling a spark of anger that cut through the fog of fear. Anger was better. Anger kept her moving, thinking. Whoever had done this would regret underestimating her.
She shifted again, testing the restraints, feeling for any give in the bindings. The chair creaked faintly beneath her. That was something, at least.
Suddenly, a blinding light flooded the room, piercing the suffocating darkness and forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut. When she managed to blink them open, the room swam into view.
A woman stood before her, silhouetted by the stark, sterile lighting. Her presence filled the room like a storm cloud—calm but charged. She was tall, with sharp, assessing eyes that seemed to strip Cira down to her bones. A blade hung at her hip, and her hand rested on its hilt with casual menace.
The woman’s lips moved, and a voice reached Cira’s ears—a garbled, distorted sound that she could barely make out.
The woman continued, controlled, but the meaning was lost in the haze of muted sound. Cira stared, her mouth dry, forcing herself to remain silent, to not betray the panic simmering beneath the surface.
Then, the woman reached into her coat and placed something on the table in front of Cira. Her hearing aids.
Cira’s eyes darted to them, her breath hitching. They were right there, just out of reach, taunting her.
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The woman leaned in, her face sharp and angular, eyes narrowing like blades. Her lips moved, but Cira couldn’t make out more than a few garbled words. «…with Cain… you think… fool us?»
Cira stayed silent, her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn’t know what the woman was saying, and right now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Her gut told her that speaking without knowing would only make things worse.
Her silence seemed to enrage the woman. She slammed her palm onto the table, making Cira flinch. Her hand lashed out, striking Cira across the face with a force that sent a sharp sting through her cheek.
The slap echoed faintly in Cira’s ears, the sound distorted, muffled, like it was coming from underwater. Her head snapped to the side, the sting spreading across her cheek, but she bit down on the cry that threatened to escape. She wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction.
The woman stood over her, speaking again, her tone sharp, cutting. The words were little more than garbled noise to Cira, frustratingly incomprehensible. She kept her gaze on the table, on the blurry outline of her hearing aids resting there, so close and yet entirely out of reach.
The woman leaned in, her voice growing harsher, her gestures sharp and deliberate, but whatever she was saying was lost in the void of Cira’s incomplete senses.
Before another blow could land, another figure appeared, stepping between them. The room shifted as the tension in the air lessened slightly.
A new calmer, steadier voice appeared. A new woman. She was smaller, with softer features that contrasted sharply with the first woman’s fury. She reached out, her hand lightly touching the other woman’s shoulder as if to pull her back.
The first woman turned, snapping something at her, but the smaller one stood firm. Their exchange was heated but brief, the first woman finally throwing her hands up in frustration and stepping back with an angry huff.
The smaller woman turned to Cira, her expression less harsh, her eyes searching as if trying to gauge the situation. She crouched slightly to meet Cira’s gaze and spoke, her tone gentler, but the words were still muddled in Cira’s ears.
Cira didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond.
The woman frowned slightly, tilting her head as if realizing something. Her eyes darted to the table, to the hearing aids resting there, and then back to Cira.
«Oh,» the woman mouthed, more to herself than to anyone else. She reached for the hearing aids, her movements slow, deliberate, as if trying to show Cira she meant no harm.
Cira flinched as the woman brought the devices closer, but the stranger paused, her hand hovering for a moment before she gently placed the aids near Cira’s ear.
«It’s okay,» the woman said softly, her voice barely audible through the distortion. She carefully adjusted the devices, fitting them back into place.
The world came rushing back in a burst of clarity. Sounds sharpened—the hum of the lights above, the faint shuffle of boots against the floor, and the sound of the woman’s voice, calm but edged with concern.
«Can you hear me now?» the woman asked, her tone cautious, as if trying not to overwhelm.
Cira blinked, her mind catching up with the flood of sensory input. She nodded slowly, her throat dry, her voice strained as she finally spoke. «Yes… I can hear you.»
The smaller woman gave Cira a tentative smile, her hands briefly resting on her knees as she crouched. «I’m Liora,» she said, her voice maintaining that steady calm. She gestured over her shoulder to the other woman, who still stood near the table, her arms crossed, eyes glaring. «That’s Aren.»
Aren grunted, clearly uninterested in pleasantries. «I don’t trust her,» she said bluntly, her voice sharp. «She was with him. With Cain.»
«I wasn’t,» Cira blurted, her voice hoarse but resolute.
Liora turned her gaze back to Cira, her expression skeptical but not hostile. «Then explain how you ended up there,» she said softly.
Cira hesitated. She needed to choose her words carefully. «I… I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,» she began. «Cain and his group came to my village. I followed him snd then…» She swallowed hard, her throat dry. «And then your people knocked me Out and kidnapped me!»
«Convenient,» Aren said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. «So you just happened to cross paths with Cain? That doesn’t exactly scream innocent.»
Cira glared at her, anger flaring in her chest. «Do I look like I’m with him?!» she snapped, pulling against the bindings around her wrists. «I don’t have his gear. I don’t have his soldiers. Hell, I barely even have my hearing!»
Liora’s brows furrowed, her gaze flicking to Aenara for a brief moment. «She’s not wrong,» she said softly, as if weighing Cira’s words.
«I came there to fight Cain,» Cira said through her teeth.
Silence filled the room, the tension thick. Aren frowned, clearly still unconvinced, but Liora seemed to be considering her words.
«You fought Cain,» Liora said after a moment. «Why?»
Cira swallowed hard, flashes of her fight with him flickering through her mind. The rage in his eyes. The weight of his hand closing around her wrist. The metallic gleam of his arm as it crushed her against the ground. Her jaw tightened. She didn’t owe them her whole story, but she also knew she wouldn’t get far without earning a shred of their trust.
«Because he deserved it. Cain killed someone I cared about,» she admitted, her voice quieter now. «I followed him to… to make him pay. That’s the truth.»
Liora studied her, the silence stretching long before she finally spoke. «If that’s true, then you have more in common with us than you realize.»
«What’s that supposed to mean?» Cira asked warily.
Liora and Aren exchanged a look. Finally, Liora sighed, turning back to Cira. «We’ll see what to do. For now, you stay here.»
«I’m not staying tied up like some criminal,» Cira snapped.
«You’ll stay tied up,» Aren said coldly. «Until we’re sure you’re not going to stab us in the back.»
Liora hesitated, her expression softening slightly. «We’ll talk to the others,» she said. «See what they think. But for now, don’t make this harder than it has to be.»
Cira nodded stiffly. «Fine. Just… don’t leave me in the dark again.»
Liora’s expression softened further. «We won’t. But remember—your actions will decide what happens next.»
With that, Liora turned and walked toward the door, Aren close behind. Cira’s heart sank as the door clicked shut, leaving her alone once more.