The house seemed smaller tonight, its walls pressing in as if holding its breath. Shadows from the oil lamp flickered unevenly, casting jagged shapes on the sand-smoothed walls. Rashid stood in the center of the room, his tall frame as unyielding as the beams holding the roof above us. His silence was heavier than his words ever could be, and the longer it stretched, the harder it was to breathe.
I stood between Kael and Cynane, feeling the weight of their presence like anchors on either side of me. Kael's hands twitched at his sides, and Cynane clutched her brace so tightly her knuckles turned white. But I couldn't bring myself to look at them. My eyes were fixed on Abba.
He hadn't spoken since we walked in. Instead, he stared at the scattered remains of my rebellion—the dirt streaks on my boots, the scrapes on my arms, the ash smudged on my face. His gaze lingered, not on the signs of my defiance, but on the weight it had left behind.
Finally, his voice broke the silence. "I want to hear it," he said, his tone calm but sharp enough to cut. "From each of you."
I rose to speak but Kael beat me to it. "It wasn't their fault! It was m—."
"You think I set foot on earth this morning?" Rashid said, his tone like a crack of thunder. "The truth."
Kael shifted beside me, his usual bravado absent. "I didn't want her to go alone," he said, his voice lower than I'd ever heard it. "I thought—" He stopped, swallowing hard before continuing. "I thought maybe I could keep her safe."
Rashid's gaze didn't waver. "And you thought climbing a sacred mountain to defile what others hold dear was the way to protect her?" His words were calm, measured, but the weight of his disappointment hit harder than a raised voice ever could. "Was it worth the risk? Was it worth your life?"
Kael hesitated, his shoulders tightening. "No," he admitted, barely above a whisper.
Rashid's eyes shifted to Cynane, who stood straighter under his scrutiny. She wasn't the type to cower, even now.
"I told them it was reckless," she said, her voice steady. "I told them we shouldn't do it. But when they went..." She faltered, her gaze flicking to me before settling back on Rashid. "I couldn't let them go alone."
Rashid nodded, his face unreadable. "Loyalty is a virtue," he said, "but blind loyalty can lead you over the edge of a cliff."
Cynane flinched, her grip tightening on her brace, but she didn't look away.
Then he turned to me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with the force of a storm. "And you?" he asked. "What reason will you give me, Aya?"
"I don't need to give you a reason," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn't back down. "What I did wasn't wrong."
Rashid's jaw tightened, but his expression remained calm. "Wasn't wrong?" he repeated, his tone deceptively soft. "You climbed a sacred mountain, desecrated a symbol of our faith, and put not just yourself but your friends in danger. Tell me, Aya, what part of that was right?"
I took a step forward, the heat rising in my chest. "What's right about any of this, Abba?" I snapped. "What's right about standing still while Cyris takes everything from us? What's right about doing nothing while they drag us through the dirt?"
Kael and Cynane shifted uneasily beside me, but I didn't care. My words spilled out like a flood, unstoppable and burning. "They've taken our homes, our people, our freedom—and what do we do? We pray. We beg. We call it survival, but it's not. It's surrender."
"And what would you have us do instead?" Rashid's voice was still calm, but there was steel beneath it. "Fight? With what? Our empty hands? Our broken bodies? Our Hollow flesh, void of the power that's been stripped from us long ago? Would you sacrifice the lives of everyone here for your anger? For your pride?"
"It's not pride," I said, my voice cracking. "It's the truth."
Rashid's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes darkened. "The truth," he repeated, almost to himself. He glanced toward the shelves lining the walls, where his tools and creations sat in silent testimony to the life he'd built here. "Do you know what this community gave me when I came here, Aya? When they took me in with nothing but you in my arms?"
I blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone.
"They gave me kindness," Rashid said. "They gave me trust. And for that, I have dedicated my life to serving them. To giving back what little I can to make this life bearable. Medicines for the sick. Tools for the fields. Innovations to lighten their burdens. But I cannot give them what you want."
His voice dropped, heavy with the weight of something I couldn't name. "I cannot mend what submission has broken. I cannot grow hope in soil salted by fear. And neither can you."
The room was silent, the tension thick enough to choke. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. For the first time, I felt the enormity of what I had done—not the act itself, but the cracks it had widened between us.
"You think you're the only one who wants to fight," Rashid said, his voice softer now. "But rebellion without purpose is destruction, Aya. You don't see the cost. Not yet."
Kael shifted uncomfortably, glancing at me, but I didn't look at him. My hands curled into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms.
"You speak of obedience like it's a shield," I said, my voice cracking despite the fire in my chest. "But where was that shield when Cyris came? When they took Ena? When they burned everything she worked for and left her—left us—with nothing but ashes?"
Rashid's gaze didn't waver, though his shoulders seemed heavier under the weight of my words. "Ena gave her life as all of us have given—piece by piece—for Ashora's survival."
"Survival?" I snapped, stepping forward, my fists trembling at my sides. "Is that what you call this? Burying our dead while they take more? Waiting for gods who never answer? Ena is gone, Abba! And so are the others! How many more will we lose before you see this isn't survival? It's surrender!"
His jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm, measured. "You think I don't feel their loss, Aya? You think I don't see the emptiness they leave behind? Ena stitched your clothes when you tore them, told you stories to chase away the dark. She was as much my family as she was yours."
"Then why do you let them keep taking?" I demanded, my voice breaking as tears burned at the corners of my eyes. "Why do you bow to a system that only breaks us? Why do you—"
"Enough, Aya." His voice cut through mine, quiet but unyielding, like a blade sliding into its sheath. He sighed, the weight of it heavy enough to fill the room. "You are my daughter," he said quietly. "And I admire your strength. But if you continue down this path, it will not be Cyris that destroys you. It will be yourself."
His words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating, like the smoke that clung to Ashora after the last attack. He stood there, strong and sure, waiting for me to respond like I was supposed to crumble under the weight of what he said. Like I was supposed to suddenly see his side of things.
What does he know?
I clenched my fists, the heat in my chest burning hotter. "So that's it? Just keep your head low and hope they leave us alone? Pretend like that's worked for the last century?"
"Aya—"
"No!" The word tore out of me before I could stop it. "I don't care how much you've done for this place, Abba! If all you're going to do is tell us to keep crawling, then maybe you're no better than the them."
The words stung as I said them, even though I didn't believe all of it—not really. But it was too late to take it back. His face barely changed, but the slight shift in his eyes was enough to make my stomach twist. I knew I'd gone too far. I knew it.
"What do you think standing alone accomplishes, Aya?" His voice stayed even, but there was something sharper in it now, something that made me feel smaller than I wanted to admit. "Do you think rebellion ends with a broken statue? You don't even understand what you're fighting against."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because part of me knew he was right—about not understanding everything. But that didn't mean he was right about this. How could he be? How could any of them be?
I stepped back, my breath catching as the weight of the conversation wrapped around me like a rope. "You think you're helping," I said, quieter now, but no less angry. "But you're just letting them keep us in chains."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he'd snap back. But instead, he simply shook his head, his eyes heavy with something I couldn't place. Pity? Disappointment? Maybe both.
"You don't know what it means to carry a people, Aya. Not yet."
The air felt thick, my thoughts too loud in my head. Before I could say anything else, I turned and stormed toward the door. My chest ached with everything I wanted to scream but couldn't. I flung the door open, the cool night air hitting me like a slap, and ran.
I didn't know where I was going—at least, that's what I told myself. But my legs carried me as if they had a mind of their own, retracing a path I'd taken before. A path I wasn't supposed to take. The elders' warnings echoed in my mind, cautionary tales muttered in lowered voices about the danger of wandering too close to the cliffs. To her.
My chest heaved with each breath, and for a moment, I slowed, clutching the ache in my ribs. The stars above seemed impossibly distant, pinpricks of light too far away to matter. I swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. Not because I was sad. I wasn't. I couldn't be.
It was anger. Frustration. The boiling weight of something I couldn't name, pushing me forward even as the night pressed against me.
Her words—fragmented and strange, like pieces of a puzzle I couldn't fit together—drifted back to me. She had always spoken as if she knew something the rest of us didn't, her voice a mix of madness and clarity. No one listened to her. No one believed her.
But I did.
Maybe that's why I was heading there. Maybe it was because her whispers, tangled in warnings and riddles, felt closer to the truth than anything the elders had ever said. Or maybe it was because I didn't know what else to do.
The shadows deepened as I approached the cliffs, the faint outline of her dwelling just visible against the pale moonlight. I hesitated for a moment, my feet skidding to a stop on the uneven ground. My heart pounded in my chest, louder than it had been during the chase, louder than the Zurahs' pursuit.
There was no turning back now. Not tonight.