Yun | The Capital City (Kirana)

The caravan wheels bumped along the rocky road. Clack-clack, clack-clack. The sound just kept going. It made it easier not to think.

But my brain wouldn’t stop anyway.

I sat near the back of the wagon with a blanket around my shoulders. Dust flew everywhere. It stuck to my arms, my face, even my teeth. I didn’t care. I didn’t cry. I told myself I wouldn’t.

Not after what happened.

Not after I helped Minah bury her baby brother.

I remembered how small his body looked in her arms.

I remembered how quiet she was, like her voice had broken somewhere inside.

I remembered digging with my hands until my nails bled, because we didn’t have a shovel, and because she couldn’t do it alone. Because I didn’t want her to have to.

Then we buried our moms too. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to mine. She was just… gone.

I remembered hitting the ground when Minah lunged at me, and how we both cried after.

I remembered the smell of smoke, and I remembered the night-wolf.

Every time I looked at my bandaged arm, I remembered its teeth, its speed, the way it knocked Minah to the ground like she was nothing.

I remembered the blood.

I remembered thinking she was going to die.

None of it felt real. But the scars on my arm were.

Most people in the caravan didn’t talk to me. A few asked if I was hungry. I just nodded. I didn’t feel like talking.

I recalled her words: “You still have a family.”

She just let me go.

I felt foolish.

Was I the only one who thought we were more than friends? I had known her for as long as I can remember. That had to mean something right?

Now it didn’t feel like I had any family— the person I was closest to had cut me off and left me to face this all alone.

I tried to remember. I’d been to my uncle’s house once when I was little, but all I could really remember was the slick floor, the smell of cake and my uncle's beard scratching my cheek when he hugged me.

Admittedly, it felt safe back then.

Now… I didn’t know what safe meant anymore. It felt like something was gone inside me. Like I was smaller than I used to be. Like something inside me had been hollowed out and I wasn’t sure how to fix it.

A part of me kept hoping that maybe Minah would come running after the caravan. That she’d change her mind. That she’d sit beside me and roll her eyes at me for crying.

But she didn’t.

And I was just sitting here. Weak. A burden.

I clenched my fists under the blanket.

I didn’t want to feel like that ever again.

I didn’t want to freeze next time. I didn’t want to just run or scream or watch the people I cared about get hurt.

Next time... I’d fight. I’d be ready. I’d protect them.

I’d get strong too. Strong enough that nothing could ever take someone from me again.

The city came into view. Kirana.

The walls were huge—gray stone with copper at the top that shined like teeth in the sun. Behind the walls were big buildings and tall towers, like a city made of sharp rocks and glass.

“Kirana,” the driver said, flicking the reins.

My hands were sweaty.

We rolled past a big gate guarded by men in blue cloaks. They didn’t look at us. The road twisted and turned like a snake. I smelled smoke and fruit and something sour. Too loud. Too many people.

My chest hurt.

“Boy,” the driver said, tapping my arm. “This is your stop.”

He pointed down a quiet lane. A fancy gate stood half-open, carved with swirls like vines. Inside, I saw a house with clean white walls and a green roof.

I climbed off the wagon. My legs were shaking.

The caravan rolled on behind me, and I just stood there for a second, holding my blanket tight. I walked through the gate slowly, trying to remember what the place smelled like, what it felt like. It had been so long.

The front steps creaked under my feet. Before I could knock, the door opened.

A man in a dark vest and neat clothes stepped out—maybe a butler, maybe just someone who worked there. He frowned when he saw me. His eyes scanned my dirt-streaked clothes, the bandages on my arm, the wild look in my eyes.

“Can I help you?” he asked, not unkindly, but unsure.

I swallowed. “My name is Yun,” I said. “My uncle lives here—Merchant Tohan. He’s my mother’s brother.”

His eyes changed the moment I said the name. He stepped back quickly, eyes wide. “Wait here.”

Before I could even nod, he had disappeared into the house.

Then footsteps. Fast ones.

A woman came rushing down the hallway, her slippers barely touching the polished floor. She had long flowing black hair, and her eyes looked like my mom’s—sharp and shining. She gasped the second she saw me.

“Yun!” she cried.

I barely had time to breathe before she threw her arms around me. She smelled like cinnamon and ink and something warm I couldn’t name.

She looked back at me, smiling now, though her eyes were wet. She cupped my cheek gently, studying my face as if trying to make sense of it all.

“Yun... what happened to you? Where is your escort? What happened to your mother—?” Her voice cracked, the questions tumbling out, each one heavier than the last.

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came. My throat felt dry, and the words were too tangled, too big.

Her eyes softened as she saw me swaying where I stood.

“Oh, Yun,” she whispered. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

I let her guide me inside. The warmth of the house wrapped around me—baking bread, polished wood, faint spice—and I realized just how cold I’d been.

“I’ll send word to your uncle,” she said, voice lower now, like we were sharing a secret. “He’ll want to see you, but that can wait until you’ve had a chance to recover. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

She gave a small nod to the servant waiting nearby, “Quickly get a healer. Make sure they take care of him.” They led me down the hall. I didn’t fight it.

The floor felt soft beneath my bare feet, like the house itself was trying to hold me up.

I felt dizzy. The next moment I collapsed.