They were about to rode out of the village, the morning mist clung to the earth, curling around the hooves of their horses. The world was quiet, save for the distant chirping of waking birds and the occasional creak of leather saddles.
Myhra stole one last glance over her shoulder. In the distance, the red-stone castle stood tall, its silhouette carved against the morning light. Beneath its long shadows lay her home—familiar, unchanging.
She kept her face carefully devoid of emotion, but the strings of her heart were pulled cruelly taut.
Her departure was a quiet affair, broken only by Minu's sudden sobs. Myhra had halted her horse, dismounted without hesitation, and gathered the girl into her arms. She held her close, whispering reassurances until Minu had extracted the same promises as always—promises Myhra wished she could keep.
Chhaya had packed a feast for her journey, a silent gesture of care. Grandmother, however, had not spoken a single word to her. Instead, she had turned to Oda and Carli, speaking only of the dangers that lay ahead, the risks of traveling with a vampire child.
It was not an unexpected farewell, yet it left an ache all the same. She had wanted to stay longer—just a few more days—but even that was an indulgence she could not afford.
Myhra turned forward, gripping the reins tighter. She needs to find about it as well, perhaps visiting the old royals.
Behind her, Carli was settling Yittann in the saddle which had come loose so they had to pause. Grandmother had forced Yittann to rode with Carli and not with Myhra, after the healing process he's still too weak to sit upright on his own. Wrapped in a heavy cloak to shield him from the sunlight, his pale face was barely visible beneath the hood. He hadn't spoken much since waking.
"Still with us?" Carli asked, glancing down at him.
Yittann blinked sluggishly, his voice hoarse. "Where… are we going?"
"To the Silver Council," Myhra answered gently without looking back. "They might have answers about you—about what happened to you in that castle."
Silence. Then, in a barely audible whisper, Yittann murmured, "I don't want to go."
Myhra's grip on the reins tightened. "You will be safer there than anywhere else."
The boy hesitated, his expression clouded with doubt. He cast a searching glance at Myhra, as if testing the sincerity of her words. Without waiting for further hesitation, she extended a small glass bottle toward him. He took it with careful fingers, his movements slow, uncertain.
"Drink this when you feel too weak to remain upright," she advised. He gave a solemn nod in response.
The road before them had been chosen long before this moment. Myhra rode at the front, her posture unyielding. Carli followed in the center, while Oda brought up the rear, his soft whistling an almost irreverent contrast to the gravity of their mission. Together, they carried a half-starved vampire into the heart of a council infamous for its distrust of the cursed.
Myhra had learned at a young age that the world was unkind to those who did not belong. Separated from her family before she could fully comprehend the meaning of loss, she had long since abandoned the notion of safety—the stability of home was a distant, unfamiliar thing. And yet, here she was, offering it to another, hoping it would mean something.
Atop a distant hill, Minu and Chhaya stood in solemn silence, watching as the three riders disappeared into the morning mist, their figures swallowed by the shifting light. They were proud of Myhra, but more than that, they felt the ache of her absence. She had only just returned, if only for a fleeting moment—and now, once again, they did not know when they would see her next.
Minu sat on the stairs, shoulders shaking, silent sobs escaping into the still air. The old woman stepped out, her sharp gaze falling upon the small, crumpled figure before her. She frowned at the sight of the child in such disarray.
"What is there to cry for? Get up," she said, her voice firm, edged with neither gentleness nor cruelty—only the weight of a world that did not wait for tears.
Minu sniffled, hastily wiping her face with the back of her sleeve, yet she remained rooted in place. Her voice trembled with quiet disappointment.
"She was supposed to stay for at least a week. I wanted to practice sword fighting with her."
It was always a quiet devastation to watch Myhra leave. Minu hid her turmoil beneath the guise of disappointment over missed opportunities.
Grandmother's wise, time-worn eyes saw through the facade, yet she did not expose it. Regret lingered in her heart—regret for the harsh words she had spoken to Myhra, when all she had truly wanted was to shower the child with the love she had long held in wait. But fate seldom bent to human wishes.
The old woman sighed, stepping down from the doorway. Her cane struck the stone with a quiet thunk, thunk, steady as the passage of time itself. She settled beside Minu on the steps, letting the silence stretch between them.
"You think she wanted to leave?" Grandmother finally asked, her voice softer now, no longer carrying the edge of reprimand.
Minu kept her gaze fixed on the courtyard, her fingers tugging absentmindedly at a loose thread on her sleeve. "She always leaves," she muttered.
"Yes," Grandmother agreed. "And she always comes back."
Minu's lips trembled, but she pressed them together. "For how long, though? Every time it feels shorter."
The old woman closed her eyes for a moment, as if the weight of the world sat heavy on her shoulders. "The world pulls at those who carry its burdens. Myhra walks a path that few can follow."
Minu was silent for a long time. Though her ambitions rode higher and far greater than her sister, she still wished things were simple for them. "One day, I will walk beside her, "
Grandmother chuckled. "I thought you wanted to race ahead of her. Are you certain you can lower your standards."
Minu huffed, crossing her arms. "I do! But first, I have to catch up. Can't race ahead if I'm still eating her dust."
Grandmother exhaled, allowing the ghost of a smile to touch her lips. "So, you do have some sense in that head of yours."
Grandmother nodded, quietly pleased that the girl remained grounded in reality. She alone understood the vast gulf that set Myhra apart—not just from Minu, but from warriors far stronger and more experienced. If her child ever chose to wield her full strength, even the most seasoned fighters would be left in the dust.
But Myhra was different. She had always been different. Power, to her, was never a tool for mere destruction—it required purpose, something greater than the impulse to harm. Perhaps that was why her soul carried magic within it, why it resonated with something beyond mortal reckoning.
Minu shot her a glare. "I have plenty of sense, thank you very much. It's just... selective."
Grandmother snorted. "Ah, I see wisdom visits you like a stray cat—whenever it pleases."
Minu gasped, clutching her chest in offense. "I'll have you know, my wisdom is very well-trained. It comes when called."
Grandmother raised an eyebrow. "Then call it now. Let's have a duel."
Minu sniffed her nose, opened her mouth—then promptly closed it, scowling. "Well, it's napping."
Grandmother chuckled, the sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind. "Better let it rest, then. You'll need it when you try to best Myhra."
Minu crossed her arms. "I will beat her one day, you know."
Grandmother hummed, unconvinced. "And when that day comes, I'll knit the sky a new moon to celebrate."
Minu groaned. "You really don't believe in me, do you?"
Grandmother patted her head with a smirk. "I believe in you plenty, child. I just also believe in reality."
Minu huffed but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. She may have been a long way from standing at Myhra's side, but that didn't mean she'd stop trying.
One day, she'd be more than just the little sister watching from the sidelines. One day, she'd stand as an equal.
"Keep that fire in you, child. Just make sure you don't burn yourself with it."
Minu swatted her hand away but laughed. "Fine, fine. But if I trip Myhra in our next sparring match, you would be praising me to the sky high from them on."
Grandmother snorted. "Not just that, if you manage to trip her, I'll personally bake you a feast."
Minu looked surprised. "Are you bribing me to get better at fighting?"
Grandmother smirked. "I'm merely encouraging your progress."
Minu grinned. "Well then, prepare the kitchen, old woman—because I'll be faster than Myhra and hungrier than ever!"
With that, she spun on her heel and marched toward the training yard, her steps lighter, her heart steadier.
Grandmother watched her go, shaking her head with a quiet chuckle. Every girl in her bloodline is born to shake the world one day, she thought. Heaven help anyone who stands in their way.