The broken ones
605 Words
The sky above Blackroot Forest began to lighten, not with the sun, but with something more delicate — like the soft breath of hope.
Ariah moved slowly through the mist, the lantern swinging from her hand. It was still warm. It hadn’t glowed again since she’d called on the Eternal One, but she knew it would — when the time was right.
She hadn’t walked far when she heard the sound of crying. Faint, but raw. She followed it over a ridge, her boots sinking into the damp moss.
There, at the edge of a shallow stream, knelt a man. His clothes were torn, his shoulders broad but slumped in sorrow. He pressed something against his chest — a broken sword.
“I buried them,” he whispered. “I buried them all…”
Ariah took a cautious step forward. “Are you hurt?”
The man turned sharply, startled. His face was lined and weathered, eyes clouded with grief.
“Who are you?” he barked.
“I’m... Ariah. I don’t mean harm. I heard you crying.”
He narrowed his eyes. “This forest doesn’t echo cries. It hides them. You must have been close.”
“I was,” she said gently. “And I carry something the darkness doesn’t like.”
He looked down at her wrist, where the birthmark still shimmered faintly under her sleeve.
“…A lightbearer,” he whispered. “I thought you were a myth.”
“I thought the same of you,” she replied. “Are you a soldier?”
He nodded slowly. “Name’s Jalen. I fought in the King’s army... before Kael rose. Before the Eternal One fell silent.”
Ariah stepped closer. “The Eternal never stopped speaking. We just stopped listening.”
He stared at her, broken and hollow. “Then help me hear again.”
By the time the mist had cleared, they were three.
Jalen walked beside Ariah now — quieter than before, but steadier.
Their path led them to a grove of twisted trees, each one wrapped in silken threads like webs. They heard singing — a woman’s voice, pure but trembling.
Curled near one of the trees was a young woman, her dark hair tangled with leaves, her hands stained with crushed herbs.
“Mira?” Jalen whispered.
The woman looked up. Her eyes widened in shock.
“Jalen?” She stood, stumbling.
“You’re alive?”
“And you?” he said. “I thought the healers were all taken.”
“Not all,” she said, her voice breaking. “I escaped. But I can’t hear the voice anymore. The Eternal One… He stopped showing me the way.”
“No,” Ariah said softly. “He hasn’t. You just need to remember who you are.”
She reached out her hand. Mira hesitated — then took it.
The flame on Ariah’s wrist pulsed. Mira gasped.
“I… I remember this warmth.”
“It’s not mine,” Ariah said. “It’s His. Through me.”
They made camp near an abandoned shrine that night. Jalen started a fire, Mira prepared tea from wild leaves, and Ariah wrote in the scroll Nyra had given her.
Then came the rustle.
From behind a tree, a boy barely older than Ariah crept forward, eyes darting.
He held a dagger — badly, shakily — but his right arm was wrapped in vines, fused into his skin like a curse.
“Drop your bag,” he hissed. “Food. Now.”
Jalen stood swiftly, hand on his sword. But Ariah raised a hand.
“It’s okay,” she said.
- Writer
