Stars, hide your fires by Lyra, Independence1776, , Fernstrike, , Raiyana

Chapter 5: My dark

he world that had been is no more.

The home that had been might well be ashes behind them, fleeing headlong into the unknown.

Fjelarún did not dare look back, the familiar sight of Zirak-zigil gleaming in moonlight behind her not the solace she wanted.

Gunnar was dead, surely, and many of her cousins besides, lost to the First Fire, the Dark Shadow that had slumbered beneath them for so long, awakened into cruel Flame by the Song of Time.

They will say it was our doing.

So spake the King, young though he was - too young, much too young, and yet... they had no other.

Fjelarún had no more tears; her beard streaked with ash and grief, hair shorn with trembling hands; the weight and warmth of it missed on cold nights like these.

And still she sought, cracking any passing stone in hopes that it might portend good to come, seeing the greyness of her soul echoed in the faces of her kin, hoping for guidance where none could be found - praying for aid in this hour of greatest need.

So many had died already, perished within the Halls, and yet more had joined the Seekers of the Way in their headlong flight of terror.

And somehow the pouch with 'her' shards remained strapped to her belt, an echo of everyday that seemed almost blasphemous against the light of day.

People had grabbed food, family members, even tokens of loved ones lost to long years gone, and yet Fjela's first thought when the drums began to sound in the deep, an ominous rumble of danger undefeated, had been for her shards, her mystery.

Why did I take these?

Pouring the scattered bits of metal and twisted wood into her lap - an augur's robes were made with a leather lap cover in the design after all - she sighed. Pushing one piece against another, letting the sharp edges catch the low light stars above, she played, hoping for... something.

An escape, perhaps, or an answer.

Why did I bring these?

But she knew why; she was an augur of history, a Speaker of Things, and the pieces had teased her with being on the cusp of an answer for nigh a century.

Fjelarún would not give up on uncovering the mystery of her long-dead amadel.

It would be giving up the last part of Before.

---

ister, you waken, weak, wounded.

Wolves baying for your blood, hounds bounding at your heels, nipping, scratching, biting.

Sister, you live.

Claws rend, scales split, life - blood, breath, bone - you return.

Do you hear our song?

Light, light, light the path through the dark.

Sister, hear our call, sister find us, see the Light.

Gleam, glisten, brightness. Brilliance of Light.

Sister, listen.

Do you hear our song?

Singing, loud, glad, joyful.

Sister, listen.

We are here.