Vesha stayed silent, the weight of responsibility coiling in her chest. She had already been trying to help her people, already reaching out to the struggling villages. But facing a Spark was one thing. Standing before grieving families and offering comfort was sothing else entirely.
Still, she understood what Adyr ant. This was her place. This was hers to do. And she would.
Without a word, she stepped forward, Jorvan clinging quietly to her side, tears still running down his cheeks.
Reaching the hatch, she called through the doors of the shelter. "Is there anyone who can hear ?" Her voice was steady enough, though it wavered at the edges.
For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then, finally, an aged voice replied, wary and tense. "Who are you?"
Vesha glanced briefly at Adyr. He remained still, waiting. That steadiness gave her just enough space to find her own.
"My na is Vesha Draven. I'm the daughter of Lord Orven Draven. I've co from the capital... to help." She said, her voice growing stronger with every word.
"We found a boy on the road—his na is Jorvan. He's with us now." She added, keeping her tone calm and practical.
And just as she had expected—or maybe only hoped—new voices began to rise from within the shelter.
"Jorvan? Did you say Jorvan? My son? He's alive?" A panicked voice grew louder, closer. "Open it! Please—I need to see my child!"
After a brief commotion, the heavy wooden hatch creaked open, slow and reluctant.
The first to erge was a woman only slightly taller than Vesha, sturdy in build, the kind who had spent her life doing hard labor. But her trembling eyes and hunched posture gave her a fragile look. Without a second's hesitation, she rushed forward.
"Oh gods, my boy..." She dropped to her knees and pulled him close, holding him like she'd never let go again.
More won began to climb out of the shelter, cautious and hesitant, their eyes scanning the area with quiet fear.
Among them, one stood out. The oldest of the group, her hair streaked with gray, moved slowly with the help of a cane. Her eyes, clouded with grief, turned to Vesha.
"Did you kill them?" She asked quietly. "The wolves?"
Vesha stepped forward and gently reached for her arm, offering support as she shook her head. "No. By the ti we got here... they were already gone."
A heavy silence settled over the space like a suffocating weight.
The elder woman's frail body seed to shudder at those words. She was wise, and she understood the truth even without hearing it. But still, her voice cracked as she asked, "Then... what happened to our sons? Our husbands?"
Vesha's throat tightened. She almost looked away. A part of her wanted to say nothing, to let the silence answer for her.
But instead, she took a breath and t the woman's eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "They fought to protect you. And they gave everything they had."
Suddenly, the silence shattered.
The won began to weep and wail, mourning loudly—so for sons, so for husbands. Grief spilled from them in waves. Cries filled the air, nas were called into the void, and sorrow took shape in sound.
The old woman, overtaken by the weight of it all, lost strength in her legs and stumbled. Vesha caught her before she could fall, helping her stay on her feet.
"Can we see them?" The woman asked, her voice trembling but composed, now steady enough to stand.
"Yes," Vesha replied. "But prepare your hearts for what you'll see."
She couldn't deny them this, and she knew it. All she could do was walk beside them and bear witness.
The elder woman gave a slow nod. Then, glancing over the group, she quietly nad a few whose hearts were too soft to face what lay ahead. She gently asked them to return inside and look after the children.
With the rest, she walked toward the place where the village's heroes had fallen—to see them one last ti and to lay them to rest.
—
"They didn't deserve this."
The elder's voice cracked. She stood before the scene, shaken to the core. But no tears ca. What filled her now was sothing deeper—regret and a grief too heavy to cry out.
Around her, the other won reacted with raw pain. So fainted, unable to bear it. Others scread or collapsed in sobs, their cries echoing across the ruined village.
Vesha and Adyr said nothing. There was nothing to say. They stood in silence, sharing the burden of grief simply by being present.
The elder stepped forward, her movents slow and trembling. She knelt beside a bloodstained patch of earth and touched it with her fingers.
"What happens now?" She asked, her voice barely audible. The question hung in the air—not just for herself, but for Vesha as well.
Vesha didn't respond imdiately. She turned her gaze to Adyr.
"I need to sleep," he said quietly. There wasn't much ti left until dinner, and he planned to be ho at his usual hour so Niva wouldn't worry.
Vesha nodded. It was a miracle he had stayed awake this long. The curse inside him was still draining his strength, and that was clear to anyone watching. Of course, that was exactly what Adyr wanted Vesha to see.
Then, almost hesitantly, she asked, "Will you fight?"
She needed to hear it. She needed to believe he would stand with them. And what she received in return was more than she had hoped for.
"I will kill," Adyr said with a faint smile. There was sothing smoldering in his eyes. Not rage, but sothing colder.
Vesha smiled too. She turned back to the elder and helped her rise. eting her gaze, she spoke with quiet resolve.
"I promise," she said. "When the sun rises tomorrow, your revenge will be carried out."
She didn't try to convince the woman with more words. She didn't need to. She believed it herself, and that was enough.
Vesha hadn't seen Adyr fight with her own eyes. But she knew what he had done, how he had wiped out the sa skeletal horde that had easily overpowered her six trained guards, and how he had claid the Dawn Raven with the sa effortless precision.
Even if another Spark was behind this... She believed, sohow, he would win.
***
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