The shard shimmered faintly, its indiscernible coloring shifting like oil on water, casting elusive glints of iridescent light into the dimly lit room. Atiyah held it between her fingers, the size of a small coin yet heavier than it had any right to be, it fit easily in her hand. It was cold, the chill sinking into her palm as if it were feeding on the warmth of her skin. She turned it over slowly, watching the light move within—a hypnotic swirl, alive but contained, refusing to spill beyond its smooth edges into the darkness of the room. It was beautiful, but it offered no comfort.

Her mother’s legacy. Her mother’s memory.

The room was cloaked in shadows, save for the faint silver glow of moonlight slipping through the crooked wooden slats of her single window. Dust motes floated lazily in the pale beam, drifting aimlessly in the warm summer air. The night outside was quiet, though not silent—faint murmurs from distant conversations and the occasional bark of a dog wove together into the city’s lullaby. The walls of her one-room apartment felt close, pressing in as if trying to suffocate her with their stillness.

Atiyah lay back on her cot, the rough fabric scratching at her arms. She placed the shard on her chest, its coldness startling against her skin. She let her head sink into the pillow. Dark curls splayed out on the pillow beneath her as she exhaled sharply, trying to clear her mind. 

What was she supposed to feel? Grief? Gratitude? Reverence?

Instead, there was only the hollow ache in her chest, a void where all those emotions should have been. Her mother had always spoken of shards as sacred, as legacies to be cherished and passed down. But as Atiyah held the shard, all she could think about was how small it was. How impossibly small for something that was supposed to hold so much.

The moonlight shifted as a cloud passed, dimming the room further. She closed her eyes and let out a sharp exhale, trying to empty her mind. The week had been a blur—the funeral, the condolences from neighbors she barely knew, the paperwork that seemed to multiply every time she thought she’d finished it. Her life felt like a series of motions performed by someone else, and she was merely an observer, drifting on the edges of her own reality.

The shard’s coldness bit into her skin, a reminder that it was still there. Still waiting.

Normally she should have ingested her mother's crystal by now, and if all went well, if her mother had lived a purposeful life, Atiyah would gain her memory and her affinity. But she hesitated. She didn’t know why, and the not-knowing gnawed at her.

She placed the shard carefully into the drawer of her nightstand, closing it with a soft thud that echoed louder than it should have in the stillness. The weight in her chest didn’t lift as she lay back down. Her breaths came slow and deliberate, the only sound breaking the silence of the room.

“Goodnight, Mom,” she whispered into the quiet as her mind continued it's tulmutuous churnning deep into the night.

-------------

A loud banging on her door woke her up.

“Atiyah!” Gerald’s gravelly baritone boomed through the planks. “You’re getting lazier by the day! Get out here—the morning’s wasting!”

Her eyes shot open, her heart pounding as reality snapped back into focus. Atiyah groaned, stretched under the covers, and groggily turned towards the doorway. Her body ached from the restless night, and she wasn’t ready to face the day, or Gerald. 

Her boss Gerald was the only one who called her by her full name anymore, and though she complained she supposed she rather liked him for it. Plus he was a good boss all told.

“It’s Ati!” she shouted back, her voice thick with sleep. She swung her legs off the cot and planted her bare feet on the cool wooden floor, wincing at the ache in her neck.

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“At this time of day, it’s whatever the hells I say it is,” Gerald retorted, his voice muffled but no less commanding. “You don’t get out here before I finish my next round, you best not be getting out here at all!” The doorframe creaked as his heavy footsteps receded, leaving behind an echo of his threat.

Gruff as he was, given the light streaming in from outside, she knew Gerald must have let her sleep in. Meaning he must have had someone cover her shift. Meaning she owed yet another favor to one of her coworkers.

Atiyah sighed, running a hand through her tangled curls. She glanced at the nightstand, at the drawer where the shard lay hidden. It seemed to pulse in her mind, though she knew it hadn’t moved. Shaking her head, she pushed the thought aside and rose to her feet. The shard could wait. It had waited this long—what was one more day?

---------------

The air outside was thick and humid, clinging to Atiyah’s skin as she stepped into the dusty streets. The city was already alive with the sounds of morning—merchants hawking their wares, the clatter of wheels on cobblestones, and the distant murmur of conversations weaving together into an ambient hum. She shielded her eyes against the bright sunlight and made her way toward the prison.

The building loomed ahead, a squat, unassuming structure of stone and iron that seemed out of place amid the bustling market stalls and crooked wooden houses. It wasn’t grand or imposing, but it had an air of permanence, a quiet authority that didn’t need to announce itself.

Atiyah slipped inside, the heavy iron door creaking shut behind her. The familiar scent of stale air and old stone greeted her, grounding her in the routine she had grown used to over the years. Her station was a small desk tucked near the front entrance, stacked with ledgers and forms she’d long since memorized.

Her job working at the front desk of the city prison was actually a lot easier than most people thought. More than dealing with dangerous criminals or anything nearing such excitement, she mostly dealt with boredom and filling out visitation ledgers. The guards did their rounds, she logged their entry and exit times, and very occasionally, one of the prisoners would have a visitor, with a guard as an escort, that she would also check in and out as they passed through. It was a low-security prison situated at the edge of the city, nothing like the famous rock pits, and largely held those who had committed non-violent crimes like avoiding taxes, pickpocketing, or, more often than not, those who had imbibed too much to the point of disruption. Unofficially, it was called the drunk tank.

In a word it was a job. No more, no less.

"Morning!" A happy voice called from across the room. 

Door locked, Atiyah turned around and frowned at the person sitting in the chair behind the desk. The person who had covered her shift. 

“That happy to see me?” Adam asked, grin plastered on his face.

Atiyah sighed reluctantly, walking up to get a cup of tea from the side stand as she met his cheerful gaze. 

They worked the same job, though he was technically her junior. He was younger than her by a year, with blond hair and a boyish face and the kind of boundless energy that grated on her nerves. He had the personality and, to Atiyah's mind, the appearance of a friendly yellow lab. 

“It’s a sad day in the world when that’s actually somewhat true,” she replied reluctantly. 

“Three,” he announced, holding up his own cup as if in a toast. “Three shifts you owe me now. I just wanted to let you know that I plan to time them at the most inconvenient moments possible.”

Atiyah rolled her eyes. “Of course it was you. How about I trade you several rounds for one instead? I could use an excuse to get out tonight.”

“Deal,” Adam said easily, as Atiyah poured a cup a tea and situated herself in the chair to the side of the room. His grin softened slightly as he leaned towards her. “Aside from that, I know you just got here, but given it might happen at any moment, you should know that there’s word of a surprise inspection today. Someone from Lyssium.”

Atiyah’s stomach sank. “Lyssium? You’re joking.”

“I wish I were. They’re not just checking ledgers. They want to speak to anyone who hasn’t ingested their shard yet.” He gave her a meaningful look. “You know what that means.”

She set her cup down carefully, her fingers tightening around the handle. “Let them talk. It’s not like I’m breaking any laws.”

“Sure,” Adam said, his tone light but his expression turning serious. “But you know how people are. Working here, surrounded by all this structure and authority, and you still haven’t picked a path? People talk, Ati.”

“Let them,” she snapped, though the words felt hollow. She pushed herself up from her chair, brushing past him. “Thanks for the warning, Adam. But if they want to interrogate me, they can get in line.”

Before he could respond, a shadow fell across the doorway. The sound of muffled conversation and a lock turning silenced any further conversation. The door opened and Gerald’s massive frame filled the space, his scowl deepening as his gaze landed on her.

“Atiyah,” he barked. “Inspector’s here. Wants to see you. Now.”

Her heart sank, but she nodded, brushing past Adam as she followed Gerald into the corridor. The air felt heavier with each step, the weight of the shard in her nightstand suddenly unbearable even though it was miles away.

The inspector was waiting.