Minah | Emberwake

My control over oud had improved—though I still struggled with moving targets. As for blade work, I was making progress. Sae had shown me how to channel oud through my knives. It made them feel less like tools and more like extensions of my own hands.

I was wrapping up as the sun started to set, Kima called for me. I followed her into the cabin, where Sae and the man from the caravan were seated, drinking together.

Kima had set out plate after plate stacked high with grilled meat, vegetables, and a colorful array of dipping sauces.

“Minah, eat up!” Sae hollered, her cheeks flushed from drink. Kima glanced over at me, then grabbed a pile of skewers and began digging in without hesitation.

I paused, confused. We usually ate modestly—quiet meals with just enough to get by.

Kima, noticing my hesitation, gave me a flat look. “Minah, today’s the first day of Emberwake.”

That’s right. I’d forgotten. Time had flown by.

As I reached for a piece of food, a wave of memory crashed over me—my mother’s hands preparing meals, my father’s laughter after a long day in the fields, my baby brother’s tiny fingers grabbing at my sleeves. The warmth of those moments twisted suddenly into guilt.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, backing away. “There’s something I need to take care of.”

Their faces blurred with concern and confusion as I stepped outside. I couldn’t let them see me like this. Not Sae. Not Kima. Not now.

Why was I still here—alive, breathing—when they were gone?

I walked past the boundary stones, then broke into a run.

Everything I had tried to bury surged back up like floodwater, and I was drowning in it.

The trees blurred past, dark and indifferent, their branches scratching at my sleeves. My boots sank into damp soil, my breath uneven in the cold air. I kept running until my legs gave out beneath me and I collapsed near the edge of the river, chest heaving, arms trembling.

There, alone under the bruised sky, I screamed. Not loud. Not angry. Just broken. A cracked, breathless sob that barely made it past my throat. My body folded over itself as I clutched at the ground. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, hunched over the moss and mud, tears soaking into the earth. I wanted to disappear into it.

I knelt there for a long time, listening to the water whisper its slow, endless song. My twinblades clinked softly as I drew them from my sides. They felt heavier than usual. Too heavy.

I picked up one of the blades. Turned it in my hands. The moonlight caught on the edge—clean, beautiful, and so sharp it almost didn’t look real.

A single breath shuddered out of me.

What am I still doing here? Why me?

I thought of my mom. My dad. Of my baby brother’s small, silent body. Of fire and teeth and blood in the dirt.

They're gone forever, and it's my fault he's dead. No matter what I do, nothing will ever fix it. I'm alone.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, to no one. To everyone.

One quick pull across my skin, and perhaps I could see them again.

Then, just as my grip tightened—

“I am sorry I couldn’t do more for you.”

I didn’t recognize the voice, but I recognized this mana. I dropped the knife and kept my head down, terrified.

“You have continued to press forward—why would you falter now?”

The voice was gentle. I slowly turned around.

She stood in the moonlight—glimmering like silver water. Her long hair drifted low, almost brushing the river.

I stared. My legs shook.

“Please,” she said, offering no threat. “Stand.”

Even afraid, I slowly did as I was told.

“You have stood on the edge of death and didn’t look away. You buried the ones you loved and still kept walking. You held rage in your heart, but did not let it rot you.”

I finally asked—or rather stated what was on my mind. “You’re the Moon Bear.”

She gave a gentle nod. “Your people have called me by many names. Once, I was worshipped under the name Selka.”

At the sound of that name, again I dropped to my knees. Selka—the goddess-protector. My mind went blank.

“Please, child,” she said softly. “It has been a long time since those in the temple revered me as such. Now, I simply watch over these lands.”

Still kneeling, I slowly looked up. She went on.

“The children of man are losing ground in their conflict with the hordes to the north. That much is certain. The cycle repeats itself.”

She paused.

“I have no desire to meddle in their acts of folly. But you, my child... I have taken an interest in you. Your heart is not like the others.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. Every question, every ache, was caught somewhere behind my ribs.

Selka stepped closer. Her bare feet didn’t disturb the earth. She moved silent and soft. “You carry your sorrow like a second skin. I’ve witnessed so many let it swallow them whole.”

She bent forward and whispered in my ear.

“Is it not strange that you returned to the same place you first chose to fight?” Even quieter: “I have seen your will. It will not break so easily.”

I replied in pain, the words barely leaving my mouth.

“When I remember… It hurts… It hurts soo much,” my voice shaking.

Cool to the touch, she lifted my chin with her hand. With her free hand, she wiped the tears that threatened to run down my cheek. Then she wrapped her arms around me. I felt a warmth in my chest, and my tears slowly dried up.

"Child, take this gift," she whispered, her voice like wind through leaves. "Not as a burden, but as a promise. Let it remind you that you are not alone in the dark."

Slowly, she began to fade into the moonlight, and in the silence I felt a weight lifted.

I stayed there a while longer, cradling the quiet. My skin still tingled where she cradled my cheek. Slowly the warmth began to fade, and the night crept back in—its chill, its sounds, its shadows. The world hadn’t changed. But something in me had.

It was late. At this hour, the larger creatures began to stir. Still, I was resolved to press on—I had to get back. I didn’t fully understand what had happened, but something inside me had shifted. For the first time in a long while, it felt like I could truly move forward.

As I made my way through the forest, Sae appeared beside me.

“Minah, we were worried. Are you okay?”

My legs started to go. The last of my strength drained all at once, and I staggered. Sae caught me before I hit the ground, her arms strong and steady.

“Easy,” she said quietly, lowering me to sit against a tree trunk. My breath came in shivers, my hands trembling without reason. I clutched at my chest—the warmth there hadn’t faded. It pulsed like a second heartbeat.

She studied me, then placed a hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up. Come on.”

Everything after that blurred. I remember the sway of her gait as she half-carried me back to the cabin. The hiss of the door opening. The familiar scent of smoke and earth.

Then the cot. A blanket. A cool cloth pressed against my face.

“You just need rest,” Sae murmured. But I saw the lines in her face, the tension around her mouth. She didn’t believe that either.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling beams. The fire crackled nearby. My body was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep—not with the pressure still pulsing in my chest, not with the sense that something was different.

Eventually, I must’ve dozed.

A knock. A soft thud.

I stirred as light filtered through the shutters. Footsteps padded across the floor, and then—

CRACK!

The sharp clatter of a wooden tray hitting the ground snapped me to attention.

Kima stood frozen near the fireplace, the tray at her feet. Her eyes were locked on me—wide, stunned.

“What?” I mumbled, trying to understand what had caught her attention.

She pointed.

“Your eye,” she whispered.

At the sound of all the commotion, Sae rushed into the living room—and made a face I never thought I’d see on her. I raised a hand to my face. Something was wrong. My vision was… different. Warped.

Sae’s voice cut through the haze. “Kima, go find a mirror—there should be one in my room.”

Without another word, Kima tore her eyes from me and darted off.

Sae turned to me, her expression tense. “It’s as I suspected. She chose you.”

She knew. I needed to tell her.

“I spoke with her,” I said slowly, the words strange in my mouth. “Goddess Selka… is the Moon Bear.”

Sae went still. Silent.

Kima returned, holding out a small mirror. I took it with hesitant hands—and saw.

Where my right eye had been, a silver light shimmered in its place—shifting and alive, like moonlight trapped in glass. The scar left by the night-wolf stretched across my cheek, stark against my skin. I handed the mirror back to Kima. I didn’t want to see more.

Sae spoke, her voice firmer now—meant for both of us. “Minah, you’ll need to hide that eye. If word gets out, we’ll draw the wrong kind of attention. Your safety depends on it.”

I nodded. My chest was tight. The look on her face—Sae, always steady—made something in me twist.

Her caution made me nervous.

I pulled the cloth from around my neck and folded it over my face, hiding the eye. The fabric was rough against my skin, but it felt better than being seen.

Kima still hadn’t moved. Her expression was caught between awe and worry.

“You… really saw her?” she asked.

I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure how.

I looked at her and nodded.

The room fell quiet again, the fire crackling like it was trying to speak in our place.

Sae stepped back toward the door. “We’ll need to adjust your training,” she said. “Starting tomorrow.”

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking—just a little.

I wasn’t sure what this eye had made me.

There was no going back.