The Little Star

Chapter 2

The rain did not care that Aevir was cold. It fell in relentless, icy needles that pierced through her thin, soaked dress, stealing the warmth from her skin until her limbs felt heavy and stiff, like the branches of the fallen trees around her.

She lay at the bottom of the ravine for a long time, her small body curled into a tight ball. Every breath was a shaky, ragged sob that she tried to swallow. She was trembling so violently that her teeth clicked together, a tiny, rhythmic sound lost in the roar of the storm.

When she finally tried to move, a sharp, hot pain flared in her shoulder and knees. She had been thrown hard, her soft skin no match for the jagged rocks and biting thorns of the slope. Deep red scratches marred her pale legs, and a dark bruise was already blooming like a cruel flower on her arm.

"Mama..." she whispered, but the word was thin and weak.

She tried to climb, but she didn't know how. Her small hands, which usually reached up to be held, now clawed desperately at the slick mud. She would push with her tiny feet, her lacy socks sliding uselessly against the silt, only to tumble back down a few inches, her face pressing into the wet earth. She was a creature of carpeted hallways and soft beds, the wild, uncaring mountain was a giant she didn't know how to fight.

Eventually, she stopped trying to stand. She began to crawl, dragging her bruised body upward inch by inch, her fingers digging into the moss until her fingernails were caked with black dirt. She didn't cry out anymore. She just focused on the silver ring tucked inside her shirt, the cold metal was the only thing that felt like "home."

High above the ravine, Silas the lumberjack adjusted the heavy axe on his shoulder. He was a man of the woods, a giant with calloused hands and a beard dusted with sawdust. He had ventured out after the storm broke, drawn by a strange, thick pillar of black smoke rising from the direction of the "Forbidden Villa."

He stood at the edge of the ruin, his heart sinking as he saw the charred remains of the garden. He knew the stories of the couple who lived here.

"Gods above," Silas muttered, his voice deep and rough. "What have they done?"

He turned to leave, not wanting to be caught by whatever monsters had done this, when a sound caught his ear. It wasn't the wind, and it wasn't the rain. It was a soft, wet thump, the sound of something small failing to find its footing.

Silas walked to the edge of the ravine and peered down.

His breath hitched. There, struggling in the mud, was a tiny girl. She looked like a broken doll cast aside in the dirt. Her white dress was a rag of grey slime, and she was shaking so hard he could see the tremors from ten feet away. She was trying to climb a slope that was far too steep for her small, wounded legs.

Aevir reached for a root, but her frozen fingers slipped. She began to slide backward, her eyes wide with a quiet, hollow terror.

Before she could fall, a massive, warm hand reached down. It was covered in scars and smelled of pine resin and old wood.

Aevir froze. She looked up, her vision blurred by rain and exhaustion. Above her stood a man who looked like the mountains themselves, huge, looming, and terrifying.

Silas let out a long, heavy sigh that smelled like a warm hearth. He knelt in the mud, his great shadow shielding her from the wind.

"Easy now, little spark," he rumbled, his voice softening as he saw the blood on her knees and the way she clutched her chest.

"You're a long way from a warm bed, aren't you?"

Aevir didn't move. She just stared at him, her tiny hand hidden under her shirt, gripping the ring. She didn't know if he was a friend, but as he reached out to gently scoop her into the crook of his massive arm, she felt something she hadn't felt since the gates blew open.

Warmth.

Silas tucked her inside his heavy, wool-lined coat, shielding her from the rain. "Let's get you out of the cold," he whispered.

As the lumberjack turned and began the long walk toward his cabin, Aevir let her heavy head rest against his chest. He didn't smell like mama or papa, but for now, the smell of pine and woodsmoke was enough to keep the dark away.

The walk to the cabin was a blur.

By the time they reached the small timber clearing, the shivering had stopped, replaced by a terrifying, radiating heat.

Silas laid her on a bed of soft furs near the hearth. As the fire roared to life, the orange light revealed the true extent of her journey. Her skin was flushed a deep, feverish crimson, and her breath came in short, jagged gasps.

Inside the haze of a high fever, she was back at the villa. In her nightmare, the sunflowers weren't yellow, they were dripping with black ink. She saw her mother, Rengevir, standing at the gate, but every time Aevir reached out, her mother turned into smoke.

"Mama! Mama, the flowers are breaking!" Aevir thrashed against the furs, her tiny hands clawing at the air.

"Shh, easy now," Silas whispered, pressing the cool cloth to her forehead. It hissed against her skin like water on a hot stone.

The nightmare shifted. Now she was in her father’s arms, but Arjon’s cedar scent was being choked out by the smell of iron and gunpowder. She felt the moment of the throw again, the weightlessness, the terrifying drop, and the sound of her father’s scream being cut short.

"Papa!" she wailed, a high, thin sound that broke Silas’s heart. "Papa, don't let go! I'll be good, I'll be good!"

Her small body jerked as the fever spiked. She began to mutter words that made no sense to a simple lumberjack words like Clan, Alpha, and Omega mingled with the names of her parents. In her delirium, she gripped the silver ring through her soaked shirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white. To her, it was the only anchor keeping her from drifting away into the dark.

Silas stayed by her side all night, feeding the fire and whispering low, rumbling songs he usually used to calm the forest animals. He watched as the toddler’s tiny face contorted in pain, her mind replaying the trauma of a world far too cruel.

"You’re a fighter, aren't you?" Silas breathed, watching the steam rise from the damp cloth on her brow.

Towards dawn, the violent thrashing subsided into a low, exhausted whimper. The fever hadn't broken, but it had settled into a heavy, glowing ember. Aevir lay still, her chest rising and falling in shallow waves.

When the sun finally peeked through the pines, the little girl opened her glassy eyes for a split second, looked at his scarred hands, and whispered a single, heartbreaking word, "Home?"

Silas reached out, his thumb brushing a dried tear from her cheek. "Not yet, little spark. But you're safe for now."