The wind howled around me, biting at my cheeks as I climbed the jagged path toward the edge of Ashora. The moon hung low, casting long shadows that made the rocks look like clawed hands reaching for me. The air smelled of salt and stone, the distant ocean an endless void that whispered in the distance, as if the waves themselves hesitated to touch this place.
I could still hear Abba’s voice in my head, sharp and steady, cutting through my defiance like it had been forged to break me.
"You don’t know what it means to carry a people, Aya. Not yet."
What did he know? I was trying. Every time I spoke out, every time I acted, it wasn’t for me. It was for us. For Ashora. For all of them who couldn’t, or wouldn’t—see past the dirt under their knees.
If I didn’t push, who would? I may be a child, but who else is going to do it? Maybe I wasn’t doing it like him, with his potions and tools and quiet wisdom. But I was doing something. And wasn’t that better than nothing?
I didn’t care if it was messy. I didn’t care if it wasn’t the way he thought it should be. Carrying wasn’t supposed to be easy.
The old woman’s hovel came into view, a dark, crooked shape against the cliffside. It looked as if the wind had been trying to knock it over for years and had only half succeeded. The door hung slightly ajar, the faintest orange glow spilling out onto the rocks. I hesitated at the threshold, my fingers curling into fists.
People didn’t talk about Naima much, not directly. They didn’t have to. She’d been someone once. Not just anyone, but the Rasurah, the leader of the Zurahs. They said her words could move mountains, that her belief was so strong it bled into the rest of us, even the doubters. But that was before.
Before whatever broke her.
I’d heard scraps of the story, little pieces that didn’t fit together no matter how hard I tried to make sense of them. She’d seen something, they said. Something that made her stop. Not just stop chanting, but stop believing. Right there in the middle of a ritual, she ripped off her veil, threw her staff into the flames, and said things no one dared repeat.
Heresy, the elders called it. They dragged her from the square, stripped her of everything. The ash, the gold, her name. But they didn’t kill her. Maybe they should have. Maybe they were too afraid. Instead, they threw her out, pushed her to the edges of Ashora where no one had to look at her or hear her.
But we did hear her. We still do. Her voice carries in ways it shouldn’t, winding through the village like smoke. She’s still there, on the edge of everything, carving her strange little figures and whispering things no one wants to hear.
I shouldn’t be here. I knew that. But here I was, staring at Naima’s crooked door with my fists clenched and my jaw tight. Every time I came, I told myself it would be the last. And every time, I found myself standing here again.
But I kept coming back. Maybe because her voice, sharp and cutting, made more sense than the murmured chants and whispered prayers.
I pressed my hand against the door, the rough wood cool under my palm. My thoughts twisted in on themselves, hot and restless. I didn’t want to hear what she had to say, but I couldn’t turn away either. Not when the world felt like it was cracking beneath my feet, and no one else seemed to notice.
I stepped inside.
The air was warm and thick, filled with the smell of burning wood and something else, something bitter and metallic that made my nose wrinkle. Shadows danced across the walls, thrown by the small fire crackling in the corner. The shelves were cluttered with jars of dried herbs and strange, unrecognizable objects: twisted bits of metal, bones worn smooth, and wooden figures that seemed to watch me with hollow eyes.
She was sitting by the fire, her back to me, her hands busy with something I couldn’t see. Her knife scraped softly against wood, a rhythmic sound that made my skin crawl.
“Come closer, little ember,” she said without turning around. Her voice was dry and rasping, like old leaves crumbling underfoot. “Don’t make me shout. My throat isn’t what it used to be.”
I hesitated, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. The uneven floor groaned under my boots as I stepped further in, the door creaking shut behind me. “Don’t call me that,” I muttered.
Naima laughed, a sound dry and brittle, like twigs snapping in the cold. “What should I call you, then? You don’t wear the ash, you don’t speak the prayers, and yet here you are, trying to burn brighter than the gods themselves.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t take the bait. Instead, I crossed my arms and glared at her. “You knew I was coming?”
“Not knew,” she said, tilting her head as her knife scraped against the wood. “Felt. The wind carries whispers, and yours have grown loud lately. Louder than they should.”
I hated it when she talked like that.
“I didn’t come to hear your riddles.”
“No?” She looked up then, her dark eyes catching the firelight. “Then why are you here?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. Why was I here? Her words, fragmented and twisted as they were, held a clarity the chants and prayers of Ashora never did.
Naima’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Ah. You don’t know, do you? You burn so brightly, but even fire forgets its shape when the wind stirs too fiercely.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I snapped, my voice louder than I intended. The sound seemed to bounce off the cluttered shelves and jars, mocking me.
“Doesn’t it?” Her knife paused, and she set the carving down. The small wooden figure. A grotesque thing with twisted limbs and hollow eyes. Seemed to stare back at me. Its elongated limbs too thin, too sharp, to feel human. Its hunched back twisted unnaturally, and its head, jagged and angular, resembled a crown more than a skull. She gestured to it, her hand slow and deliberate. “Do you know what this is?”
I frowned, taking a cautious step closer. “A doll?”
She snorted. “A doll. Is that what you see? Then maybe that’s all it is.” Her voice dipped, almost to a whisper. “Or maybe it’s what you don’t want to see. What no one wants to see.”
“I’m not here to play games,” I said, my voice shaking with frustration.
“Ah, but life is a game, little ember,” she said, leaning forward. “And you’re playing it poorly.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“And you’re not playing at all,” I said, I couldn’t hide the anger on my face.
Naima’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something sharper in her gaze now. “What have you done, little ember? Toppled a crown? Shouted at the sky? Tell me, has the mountain bowed? Has Cyris fallen? Or are you just making the flames dance for a moment before they die out?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. The knot in my chest twisted tighter, the heat rising until it burned. “I—” My throat tightened, the words catching. “At least I’m trying.”
“Trying,” she repeated, the word like a stone dropped into a well. “And where has that gotten you? Did your trying save Ena? Did it save the others? Your mother? Who are you willing to sacrifice for your dream? Cynane? Kael? Your father?”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
I flinched, my nails digging into my palms. “That’s not fair.”
Naima tilted her head, her sharp gaze resting on me like the weight of a thousand questions. She leaned forward, the firelight carving hollows into her face, casting shadows that seemed too jagged, too deliberate. “Fairness,” she said softly, as though the word itself amused her. “Is that what you’re looking for, little ember? Some balance to the scales that tipped before you ever drew breath?”
I clenched my fists tighter, nails digging into my palms. “You don’t know that,” I said, though the heat in my chest twisted into something colder, sharper. “You don’t know what I can do.”
Her smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “And neither do you.”
Her words coiled in my chest like a snake, tightening around the knot that had been building since the moment I stepped inside. “Why do you even care?” I snapped, my voice rising. “You don’t believe in anything, do you?”
She leaned forward, her shadow bending with her, long and jagged. “And what is it you think you’re surviving for?” she asked, her voice low but cutting, each word slicing through me like a blade. “To save Ashora? To save them? Or is it just yourself you’re trying to protect, little ember?”
“I’m fighting for all of us—”
“Are you?” she interrupted, her voice rising slightly, sharp and cold. “Or are you just thrashing in the dark, hoping to land a blow on something you can’t even see?”
“I’m not blind,” I said, though my voice cracked under the weight of my own defiance. “I see what’s happening. The raids. The attacks. The outskirts. They just take and take, and we’re left with nothing.”
“And you think your fire will change that?” she asked, her tone softening slightly, though her words remained unrelenting. “Do you think you’re something more than another piece on their board? Another shadow they use to keep the others kneeling?”
I stared at her, my throat tightening, my scar prickling faintly against my forehead. “I’m not kneeling,” I said finally, though my voice wavered.
“No,” she said, her lips curling into that faint, brittle smile again. “You’re barking.”
The fire popped, throwing sparks into the air, and I took a step back, the uneven floor groaning under my boots.
“You think you’re different,” Naima continued, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. “You think your fire is enough to break the mountain, enough to tear the sky. But even the brightest flame, little ember, is still fed by the same fuel. Still tied to the same fire.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded, though the lump rising in my throat made it hard to speak.
Naima sat back, her fingers brushing the hollow eyes of the figure on the table. “You think you understand the hollows,” she said, her tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “You think you know why they fell. Why their fire was taken. But do you?”
“They betrayed Mamba,” I said quickly, the words falling out like a reflex, like the chant of a prayer I didn’t fully believe. “That’s why they—”
“Why they were stripped of their mana, left powerless in shame” Naima interrupted, her tone flat, emotionless. “Yes, we all know the tale. But have you ever wondered why betrayal would hollow the veins? Why betrayal would turn them into nothing more than shadows of themselves?”
I hesitated, her words twisting inside me like a blade. “Because they deserved it,” I said, though the words felt fragile, like they might shatter if I said them too loud. “They betrayed him.”
Naima tilted her head, her dark eyes glinting in the firelight. “And you believe that? That their greed was a curse? That their fire was stolen because they refused to kneel?”
Her words sent a chill down my spine, though I didn’t know why. “That’s the story,” I said, though my voice faltered.
“Yes,” she murmured, her lips curling into that faint smile again. “A story. And stories are neat little things, aren’t they? Easy to carry. Easy to believe.”
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, heavy and unrelenting, before she leaned back again, her shadow retreating. The fire spat sparks into the air, and in the silence that followed, her words hung like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.
Her lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, brittle and cold. “You think your fire is for them? That your anger and your noise will carry their weight? No, little ember. You burn for yourself. To prove you’re more than what they see when they look at you.”
“At least I don’t just sit here, carving monsters.”
Her carving continued without a pause. “It’s better than shouting at the sky, expecting the world to bend to your commands.”
This old hag is getting on my nerves. “And your doing nothing, waiting for things to fall apart.”
Her knife slammed into the table with a loud crack, and the sound cut through the room like a thunderclap. “You think I’m waiting?” she hissed, her voice sharper now, her gaze burning. “Do you think I don’t know what they’ve taken? What it means to lose everything?”
Her abrupt shift in tone took me by surprise.
“They came for us in the night,” she continued, her voice quieter now, though no less sharp. “I wasn’t even at the edges. Not really. Just far enough to think we were safe. Far enough that the air was still, and the wind carried no warnings.”
Her fingers tightened around the figure, her knuckles pale. “By the time I woke, the door was already splintering. I tried to stop them. I fought, but it wasn’t enough. They took her. My child.” She exhaled sharply, her voice trembling slightly before steadying again. “And they didn’t even leave me a body to bury, I begged the gods to take me too. But they didn’t.”
The weight of her words pressed against me, and for the first time, I had no answer. My fists unclenched, my hands falling to my sides.
“They don’t take,” she said, her voice colder now, harder. “They collect. Piece by piece. Breath by breath. They drag the things that burn brightest into their silence.” Her gaze flicked to mine, sharp and unrelenting. “You don’t think they see you, little ember? You don’t think they’ve already marked you?”
“That’s not true,” I shot back. “I’m not theirs. I’m not like them.”
“No,” she said simply, her faint smile fading. “You’re worse.”
The words hung in the air, cold and heavy, and I took a step forward, anger surging in my chest. “Then tell me,” I demanded, my voice trembling but fierce. “If you know so much, then tell me why they keep coming. Why the raids never stop. Why they take everything.”
Naima exhaled softly, shaking her head as her fingers brushed the edges of the carving. “You think they come for your scraps?” she asked, her tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “For your stone and metal, your weak little prayers? They don’t.”
Her words twisted in my chest, sharp and cold, but I forced myself to hold her gaze. “Then what do they want?” I demanded, my fists trembling.
“They come for the fire,” she said simply. “For the one who dares to carry it.”
The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows pressing closer as her words sank into the air. I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening further.
“What does that mean?” I asked, though the question barely escaped my lips.
“It means something’s caught their eye,” she said, her gaze heavy and unrelenting. “The long-forgotten tale of ash and blood has returned.”
Her faint smile returned, bitter and cold. “You’re not fighting, little ember,” she said softly. “You’re barking. At a leash you can’t even see.”
The fire popped loudly, embers scattering into the dim air. “Then why are you still here? Why not fight back if you know so much?”
Naima leaned forward slightly, her shadow stretching across the table as her fingers stilled on the carving. “Because I already know the price,” she said, her voice low but unrelenting. “And because some destinies can’t be unwritten.”
Her gaze flicked to mine, sharp as a blade. “You think your fire is free. That this path is yours to take, but it’s not. The gods turned their backs on this place long ago, and what you’re carrying? It isn’t yours to hold.”
“That’s not true,” I snapped, the heat surging in my chest. “I’m not walking anyone’s path—I forge the way.” The words began to spill out faster than I could keep up. “I’ll step beyond the whispers of the elders, the reach of Cyris, the silence of the gods, even the shadow of Mamba himself. I’ll—”
“Burn your name into the heavens?” she said amused, her crackling laugh filling the air, growing louder by the second. “You seek to defy the gods?”
She paused, as if the laughter was a reminder, “If only it were that simple.”
Naima shifted her weight, leaning in, cutting the distance between us. Her pale eyes caught mine, I couldn’t look away. “Little ember, you think you're forging the way, but this path has been laid long before you were born. You’re no rebel. You bark when they pull the leash, chasing shadows they let you see.”
Her lips relaxed, her smile fading in an instant. “You’re nothing but their fucking dog,” she said.
Naima didn’t look at me again. Her eyes drifted back to the carving, her fingers tracing its edges as though it were whispering something only she could hear.
Her words coiled around me, hot and suffocating. My fists shook at my sides, and before I could stop myself, I spun toward the door.
It slammed shut behind me, and the cold wind struck my face like a slap. I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. The jagged rocks crunched beneath my boots as I stormed into the night, the fire inside me burning brighter, hotter, with every step.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Naima’s voice carried faintly through the wind, sharp and quiet, like a blade cutting the dark. “The leash always tightens before the fire dies.”
The wind howled louder, swallowing her words as I disappeared into the shadows.