The Weight of Silence

The cabin had no door.
Just a hanging cloth, rotted by damp.
Eryn motioned for me to come in. I crossed the threshold in silence, my mind dulled by exhaustion.

Inside: a single room. A cold hearth. A straw bed. A few weapons on the wall.
No magic. No books. No noble trinkets.

She lived here. Alone.

She set her bow near the entrance, crouched before the dead fire, and brought it back with flint and breath.

— Sit down. If you pass out, I’m not carrying you.

I sat. The ground was cold, but steadier than my thoughts.

She skewered the rabbit, set it over the flames, and sat cross-legged.

For a long time, the only sound was the meat cooking.

Then she spoke, calm and quiet.

— You’re running. You keep checking behind you. You’re afraid to sleep. You don’t talk. You don’t eat. You shake. But you don’t have a killer’s eyes.

I looked up.

— How can you tell?

— Because I’ve got the same eyes when I think about mine.

Silence fell.

She turned the meat slowly. The smoke curled upward.

— He was a noble. One of the “untouchables.” He killed my brother and laughed while doing it.
So I made him bleed too.
But he mattered. My brother didn’t.

I didn’t dare say anything.

— So yeah. I ran, like you. But they forgot me faster. I wasn’t part of any official death.

She looked at me, long and steady.

— You’re not just running. They’ve got your face. Your name. Your trail.

She tossed me a piece of meat. I caught it without thinking.

— So you need help. But also clarity.

She leaned forward.

— Tell me exactly what you saw.

⸻

I told her.

The body. The noble’s dying gaze. My attempt to save him. The soldiers. The magic still tingling in my hands. The name they shouted: Lord Alrian of Evrel.

She listened without a word. Then murmured:

— Alrian, huh… He led a magical pact in the north. A direct line to the High Council.

I frowned.

— What does that mean?

— That this wasn’t just a murder.

She stood.

— It’s a shift in balance.

⸻

Meanwhile, eastward, in a white tent beaten by rain, two figures studied a map.

The orbicrystal’s green glow lit their faces.

— He took the Dravik path. Avoided the relay stations. No village contact. Not a thief. Not a tactician. Just survival instinct, said the young woman.

The older man rolled a ring between his fingers.

— He didn’t try to explain to the soldiers. Didn’t run right away. Tried to save Alrian.

A pause.

— He didn’t know who he was.

— Or he knew, and didn’t care.

— Either way, he’s no assassin. No training. No tactics. No trace of offensive magic.

He placed the ring on the table.

— We’re not chasing him to catch him.
— We’re chasing him to silence him, she finished.

They exchanged a look.

— Are we agreed? she asked.

— Yes.
He stood and pulled up his hood.

— We find him. We hear him out.
And if he’s telling the truth…
we protect him.

⸻

Back at the cabin.

Rain was falling now.

I couldn’t sleep.
Eryn was snoring gently, one arm folded under her head, a dagger nestled at her hip.

I sat up and stepped outside.

The sky was moonless.
The world, pitch black.

I thought of Alrian. His gaze. The cold grip of his fingers as he exhaled his last.

And I thought of their voices.
Their shouts.

There!
By the gods — it’s him!

Maybe they hadn’t come to avenge a noble.
Maybe they had come to bury a witness.

And I…
I wasn’t just a fugitive anymore.

I was an inconvenient anomaly.