Calm words
846 Words
Zaria had learned to listen differently since the night everything was taken.
The bells that rang across Aru’Shenu weren’t just noise anymore. They were languages. Warning. Memory. A different kind of heartbeat; one that belonged to the city and all its ghosts.
And tonight, they rang with seven short strikes, all fast and sharp.
She froze.
Not because she was afraid. Not entirely. But because that rhythm meant one thing.
Run. Or fight.
Zaria stood at the edge of the doorway, fingers pressed lightly to the frame, her ears tuned not just to sound but to silence; the kind of silence that always came right before fire.
The wind tugged at the loose fabric of her blouse. She was already sweating, already tense. But the feeling in her chest wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. A storm rising through her bones.
She placed one hand over her stomach.
Four weeks. Not showing yet. But her body knew. Her breath caught differently now. Her hunger came in waves like the tide. And her dreams… they had started whispering in languages she didn’t understand.
It’s not just a child, she thought. It’s a key.
Behind her, the house was quiet. Safe. She had spent days reinforcing it; bolted doors, concealed exits, the hidden room beneath the floorboards with the old spear tucked neatly beneath a woven carpet. Kaelen had helped her build it, long before their world cracked open.
And now, he is gone. Dead or disappeared. She still didn’t know which.
But she waited for him every night.
She didn’t cry. Not anymore. Instead, she sharpened things. Her focus. Her plans. Her resolve. Grief had turned her soft edges into something steel-forged.
When the seventh bell struck, her pulse doubled.
She turned to bolt the door; just as a knock echoed against the wood.
Not hard. Not frantic.
But... intentional.
Her breath hitched.
No one knocked during a siege. Not unless they wanted something.
She reached beneath the chair by the fire and pulled the weapon box from underneath. The same one Kaelen had made. Inside: a curved dagger, a short-handled stun hammer, and her spear; long, polished, blue cloth tied near the tip.
She gripped it without hesitation.
Another knock.
Then a voice; low, familiar, and entirely unwelcome.
“Zaria... open up. It’s Amara.”
Zaria’s stance faltered. Not because she was surprised, but because she wasn’t sure what kind of trouble Amara’s presence meant this time.
She opened the door slowly. “You’ve got a terrible sense of timing.”
Amara smirked. “And yet, I always arrive right before the fire.”
Zaria stepped back, letting her in. “What’s happened?”
Amara moved through the house with the confidence of someone who knew every creak of the floorboards. She removed her gloves, her movements practiced and deliberate.
“They’re watching the streets,” she said. “They’ve started targeting anyone connected to the old names.”
Zaria stiffened. “That means me.”
“That means us,” Amara corrected.
Zaria closed the door and bolted it behind her. “You came to warn me?”
“No. I came to protect you. You and what you’re carrying.”
Zaria’s hand moved again to her stomach, this time instinctively.
“You’re not here because of loyalty,” she said softly. “You’re here because of a prophecy.”
Amara didn’t deny it. But her voice was gentle. “I’m here because your mother asked me to be. Before the empire fell. Before any of this began.”
Zaria looked at her, hard. “She’s no longer alive.”
“And still giving orders,” Amara said, half-smiling. “That’s how queens work.”
Zaria sighed and sat at the table, laying the spear beside her. “I’m not a queen.”
“You will be,” Amara replied. “Or you’ll die like one.”
They didn’t speak for a while. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of shared memories; broken dinners, buried rebellions, nights spent hiding in wine cellars beneath a burning palace.
Eventually, Zaria broke it. “Do you know where Kaelen is?”
Amara hesitated. “He’s alive.”
Zaria didn’t move. But her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table.
“He doesn’t know you’re alive yet,” Amara continued. “But he will. Soon.”
Zaria exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders collapsing all at once.
“I don’t care about crowns,” she whispered. “I just want him back.”
Amara didn’t smile. She never did, not for things like that.
“You’ll have to walk through fire first,” she said. “Both of you.”
Zaria nodded. “We already have.”
Amara stepped toward the door. “Rest tonight. Pack light. We move before dawn.”
As the door closed behind her, Zaria stood and looked out at the rooftops.
In the distance, the seventh bell echoed again.
And somewhere — maybe in the Dust Quarter, maybe beneath a different sky — Kaelen was finally moving toward her.
- Writer
