EXILE (PT.4) AND SO IT BEGINS
2013 Words
She didn't let them see her cry. She didn't give them that satisfaction. She smoothly sheared her blades back into their scabbards, turned on the heel of her flat, and walked away.
And just like that, she had no home.
No one followed her as she marched down the main path of the village. That was the very first thing she noticed. It wasn't the cruel, venomous whispers trailing behind her. It wasn't the fearful looks from the windows. It was the fact that absolutely no one tried to stop her. No one reached out a hand to say goodbye.
Azaliyah walked through the streets as if she still belonged there, keeping her back perfectly straight and her steps steady. Her expression was entirely unreadable, a mask of pure porcelain.
But inside her head, it was louder than the cataclysmic collapse of the forest.
That’s it? her mind screamed. That’s really all it takes?
A lifetime of existence. An entire legacy. Gone. Just like that.
She passed people she had known since she was a child. Faces that had once softened with kindness when they saw her playing in the square. Voices that had once warmly called her name. Now? Nothing. No one spoke. No one reached out a hand. No one even pretended to hesitate.
Her hands curled slowly into fists at her sides, her long nails biting into her palms.
Have they entirely forgotten? the question burned hotter the longer it sat in her chest, turning into a fierce, protective anger. Do they not remember who my parents were? What they sacrificed for this peace?
The agonizing thought almost made her stop in her tracks. Almost.
But she refused to give them the pleasure of seeing her break. She kept walking. Because she knew with terrifying certainty that if she stopped, she might turn around. And if she turned around, she would not leave this village quietly. She would burn it to the ground.
And right now, quiet was the only shred of dignity she had left.
Camron followed behind her. He didn't walk too close, but he didn't lag far behind either. He was just a steady, rhythmic presence, his hooves clopping softly against the stone. He watched her, his dark eyes tracking the rigid line of her shoulders, but for once, he didn't interrupt her silence with a sarcastic comment.
The village thinned out rapidly as they moved toward the extreme edge of the boundary. The homes grew smaller, quieter, more spaced apart. They were the less important houses. The ones less seen by the central authority.
That was where her small hut stood. Of course it was.
Azaliyah stopped in front of the worn wooden door. For a second—just a single, fragile second—her unbreakable expression cracked. It wasn't visible enough for anyone else to see, but she felt it deep in her chest, a sharp, tearing pain.
Then, it was gone. She locked it away.
She pushed the door open. It creaked louder than it ever had before, the sound echoing through the empty, small room.
Everything inside was exactly as she had left it that morning. Simple. Organized. Untouched. It looked like her life had been abruptly paused, patiently waiting for her to return and resume her routine.
She didn't look around much. She didn't let herself get attached to the furniture or the blankets. Instead, she walked straight to the very back of the hut, her flats sliding silently over the floorboards.
There was a small, dusty wooden box tucked beneath a low shelf. She crouched down, her knees pressing against the floor, and carefully opened the lid.
Inside lay the only thing in this entire realm that actually mattered to her.
The amulet.
It was made of a heavy, ancient gold, worn completely smooth at the edges from years of her fingers tracing its contours. It wasn't flashy, and it wasn't outwardly pulsing with great magical power, but it was irreplaceable because of what it held inside.
She lifted it out of the box with trembling, careful fingers. She popped the small latch, revealing a tiny, perfectly preserved image embedded in the metal.
Her mother. Her father.
They were standing side by side in the photograph, looking strong, respected, and completely untouchable. They were everything she was supposed to be. Everything the village used to love.
Her throat tightened until it felt like she couldn't breathe.
“They used to listen to you,” she muttered softly to the image, her voice cracking in the empty room. “They used to actually care.”
Her fingers curled tightly around the cold gold of the amulet, pressing it against her palm. “And now… they act like I don’t even exist.”
Silence settled over the room.
Behind her, she heard a soft shift in weight, the rustle of a leather vest.
“You going to take anything else?” Camron asked. His voice was much quieter now, the hard, mocking edge entirely gone, replaced by something almost gentle.
She did not turn around to face him. She couldn't. “No.”
A heavy beat passed.
“Nothing else here is mine.”
It wasn't fully true—the clothes, the books, the blankets were hers—but it felt profoundly true in her soul. And that was what mattered.
She stood up, her movements fluid, and slipped the heavy gold chain of the amulet around her neck. She let the metal rest flat against her chest, right over her heart, like a shield to steady her shaking core.
Then, finally, she turned around.
She looked at him properly for the first time since they had crossed the threshold. She didn't look at him as a catastrophic problem, or an annoying situation she had been dragged into. She looked at him as a person.
“I didn’t even catch your name,” she said, her voice stabilizing.
He blinked once, his dark eyes widening slightly as though he hadn't expected her to care. Then, he straightened his broad shoulders, his antlers nearly brushing the low ceiling of her hut.
“Camron.”
She nodded once, cementing the name in her mind.
“Azaliyah.”
A pause stretched between them.
“Figured,” he said softly.
Her brows lifted, a tiny spark of her usual fire returning. “Oh, you did?”
He gave a small, casual shrug. “You look like someone with a name people expect big things from.”
She didn't answer right away. Because the statement was entirely too accurate, hitting a nerve she didn't want to expose.
Instead, she turned away from him and walked toward the door. “Come on.”
“Where exactly are we going?” he asked, his hooves turning to follow her.
She stepped outside into the cold night air and didn't stop walking. “I don’t know.”
It was honest. Blunt. Terrifyingly real.
He followed her out, pulling her door shut behind them one last time. “That’s incredibly comforting, Tinker bell.”
“Get used to disappointment, antler head.”
They walked past the final, decaying edge of the village boundary. No one tried to stop them. No one called out her name. That part, she felt deep in her bones. But she didn't let a single trace of it show on her face.
Instead, she kept her eyes locked on the dark, unknown horizon ahead, her flats moving steadily over the path.
“Where will you go?” Camron asked after a long moment of walking in tandem.
Her laugh was quiet. Dry. Completely devoid of joy.
“Nowhere,” she said. “Everywhere.”
A heavy pause settled over them as the lights of the village faded into the distance behind them.
“I have a power I can’t control,” she added, her voice growing sharper, more raw and honest than she had ever allowed it to be with anyone else. “No training. No guidance. No one in that entire wretched place was willing to teach me.” Her eyes flicked toward his profile briefly. “Apparently, I’m just the problem.”
He did not answer immediately. He kept his eyes on the dark road ahead.
Then, slowly, “I get that.”
She glanced at him again, her interest piqued despite herself. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” A heavy beat passed before he admitted his own truth. “I don’t fully control my shifts. Not anymore.”
She slowed her pace slightly, her flats brushing against the wild grass of the plains. “Not anymore?”
His jaw tightened, his profile turning stone-hard in the moonlight. “It used to be a lot easier. Before everything broke.”
That was all he said. But for Azaliyah, it was more than enough.
She let out a small, tired breath. “So what,” she said, her tone returning to that familiar, protective layer of dry sarcasm, “you just wander into random, unsuspecting realms hoping they don’t completely fall apart while you’re standing there?”
“Basically.”
She let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking her head.
“That’s completely insane.”
“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”
Another long pause stretched between them. The stars above this new realm were distant and cold, offering no answers.
“What happens when they do fall apart?” she asked quietly.
His expression didn't change, but something dark and heavy shifted in the depths of his eyes. “They blame me,” he said simply.
She scoffed lightly, a bitter sound. “Of course they do.”
“They don’t know what I am,” he added, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I show up, things go wrong, the local magic starts dying…”
“And they connect the dots,” she finished for him.
“Even if they’re completely wrong.”
She nodded slightly, her fingers unconsciously brushing against the gold amulet resting on her chest. “Sounds incredibly familiar.”
Silence stretched between them again. It wasn't an uncomfortable or awkward silence anymore. It was just heavy. Solid. A mutual understanding between two broken things.
Then, she exhaled a long breath into the night air. “So going back to wherever you came from…”
“Not an option.”
She nodded once, accepting it. “Yeah.”
Another step. Another.
Then, she glanced at him sideways, a tiny, ironic tilt to her lips. “So I guess this is actually happening.”
He looked down at her. “What is?”
She shrugged her shoulders slightly, her violet wings giving a small, casual flutter. “This.” She made a small, vague gesture with her hand between the two of them. “You. Me. No plan. No home. No destination.”
A beat passed.
“Great,” she added dryly.
Camron let out a quiet, rough breath that might have actually been a laugh. “Yeah.”
Another pause.
“Well,” she said, adjusting the heavy chain of the amulet against her collarbone, “guess I’m stuck with you, antler head.”
He looked back toward the open, dark road ahead, his steps matching hers perfectly.
“Yeah,” he said softly.
A second passed.
“Same.”
There were no smiles. There was no magical agreement, and certainly no trust. Not yet.
Just two people with absolutely nowhere else to go in any realm.
Walking forward anyway.
- Writer
