Page 13 of Unravelled

"That’s a strong name," she said, her tone light but warm. “My name is Mira, and this is Tharion.” At the mention of his name, Tharion stepped forward, lowering himself into a crouch beside her. He said nothing right away. He just offered a small canteen of water, uncapped and held out with both hands, so the boy wouldn’t feel pressured to take it.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Tharion said softly, his voice roughened by the smoke in the air.

“But you should drink something. It helps.” Samir blinked up at him, wary.

But after a moment, his fingers uncurled just enough to take the canteen.

Tharion didn’t push. He waited as the boy took a slow sip, then another.

When Samir looked up again, Tharion managed the faintest smile, not bright or forced, just steady.

Reassuring. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re okay. ”

She reached for his arm, noticing a fresh scrape running down the length of it, crusted with dirt. "May I?" Samir hesitated but gave a small nod, his grip on the doll tightening. Mira cleaned the wound, working slowly and carefully to avoid causing him pain.

"You’re very brave," she told him as she wrapped a clean bandage around his arm. "Most people I know would have been louder than thunder over me cleaning a scrape like this."

She glanced at Tharion, his gaze was warm as he looked at Samir. "She’s not wrong. I’ve seen knights twice your size whimper like pups over less." Samir looked between them, the hint of a smile ghosting across his soot-streaked face. "You're tougher than half the guard already."

His smile vanished quickly at the mention of guards.

"They came at night," Samir said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. Mira paused but didn’t interrupt, letting him speak at his own pace.

"People with torches and capes. And swords.

" His wide, brown eyes darted to the tent flap, as if expecting them to burst through it at any moment.

"They broke everything. They burned..." He swallowed hard, his small frame shuddering.

Mira’s chest tightened, but she kept her face calm and kind. "That must have been very scary."

He nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Mama told me to hide. She told me not to come out, no matter what. But I saw... I saw it from under the stairs. I saw what they did." Mira's hands stilled for a moment before resuming their work.

"Samir," she said softly, "you did everything your mama asked you to do.”

"But I didn’t help her," he choked out. "I didn’t do anything."

Mira placed a gentle hand on his uninjured arm, her voice firm but kind. "You're here, and I am sure that’s what your Mama wanted most.’

He looked at her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Will they come back?" Mira couldn’t lie to the boy. They might come back. And when they did, this town, these people, they wouldn’t be ready. They didn't have the resources or people to defend themselves.

"You’re safe right now," she whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his soot-streaked face.

Samir stared at her, his small frame trembling beneath the weight of fear too old for his years. “Will you leave?”

Mira hesitated. The truth was there, quiet, inevitable.“In the morning.” she said gently.

Samir’s lower lip quivered. His voice cracked. “I want to stay with you.”

Mira opened her mouth, but no words came. Her eyes shimmered, and she blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall in front of the boy.

Tharion spoke, his voice calm, grounded. “You won’t be alone, Samir,” he murmured. “Ena will be with you. She’s strong, and she knows how to keep people safe.”

Samir sniffled, nodding slowly, the fear still there but dulled just slightly by Tharion’s presence.

Mira leaned in closer, lowering herself to sit on the stretcher beside him. “We’ll stay,” she said. “Until you fall asleep.”

Samir looked at her, searching her face for any sign she might disappear the moment his eyes closed. She offered a small, soft smile. “Promise.”

Samir’s small shoulders relaxed just a fraction, the weight of exhaustion finally overtaking him. Mira held his trembling form and murmured a few soothing words until his breathing evened out. His grip on the threadbare doll loosened, though he still held it close.

When she rose, her legs felt heavy, as if the weight of his words had settled into her own bones. She turned away, fighting back the sting of tears, but it was no use. They slipped free, streaking silently down her face.

Tharion’s voice, low and steady, spoke from just behind her shoulder.“You did well.”

Mira shook her head once, a bitter breath catching in her throat. “It wasn’t enough.” He didn’t argue. He didn’t offer empty comfort. Instead, his hand came to rest gently on her back, between her shoulders, solid and grounding.

“It was enough for Samir.” he said quietly. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was Samir's face and fear.

For a few breaths, they stood there in silence. The world around them continued. Murmurs of the injured, the soft rustle of fabric in the wind, the distant crackle of fire.

Tharion shifted slightly, his voice low but certain beside her. “Our tent should be ready. There’ll be a meal waiting.”

Mira didn’t answer right away. Her body ached, her heart even more so. But his words, quiet, practical, grounding, eased something in her. She nodded and let him guide her towards the exit.As Mira stepped out of the tent, she stopped short. Torvyn was waiting.

He stood just beyond the firelight, arms relaxed at his sides, posture calm but purposeful. His expression was soft, but there was something resolute in it. He didn’t speak. Just looked at her. And in that look, she felt the concern and the pride from days ago.

She stepped toward him. As soon as she was close, Torvyn pulled her into a firm embrace.

She didn’t resist. She let herself lean into him, surrendering the tired weight of her grief and all the strength she’d spent holding it together.

Tharion stood nearby, his arms folded. But after a moment, he shifted his stance and quietly turned away, giving them the space they needed.

"This is what we’re fighting for, Mira," his voice in her ear.

"This is why the rebellion matters." Torvyn released her.

"There are so many more towns like this," he continued, his tone heavy.

"Places that are barely holding on." He sighed. "The raids hit them harder every day. Food is running out, trade is a distant memory, and they don’t have enough hands to rebuild. We’re not just fighting for survival. We’re fighting for the chance to rebuild, to give towns like this a future. "

Mira took a deep breath, her fingers brushing away the remnants of her tears. She nodded, a flicker of fire reigniting in her eyes.

"You’re right," she said quietly but firmly.

Torvyn offered her a faint smile. She stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the tent where Samir rested, then to the ruins of the town square, where survivors clung to what little they had left.

She turned back to Torvyn, her voice low. "Where do we start?"

He looked at her, a glint of pride in his eyes, “Meet me tonight,” he whispered. “Behind the granary, once the others have turned in.”

???

Mira followed Torvyn through the skeletal remains of the town, her breath coming fast as they weaved through the wreckage. His grip on her hand was firm, guiding her over fallen beams and shattered stone as they put as much distance between themselves and the granary as possible.

Shadows stretched long in the fading light, casting jagged shapes against broken walls where windows once framed laughter and life.

Now, those homes stood silent, their stories buried beneath soot and ash.

They ducked beneath a collapsed archway, moving low as charred beams jutted from the ground like blackened ribs.

The scent of smoke clung to the air, thick and acrid, but the fires had mostly burned out, leaving only ruin in their wake.

Once Torvyn was sure they weren’t followed, he led her to a small cottage on the outskirts of town. It had fared better than most. Its walls still stood, though the roof had been burned away, exposing the empty sky above. Smoke curled lazily from a smoldering hearth fire within.

They entered quietly. Inside, the dim light cast flickering shadows along the stone walls.

A handful of townsfolk huddled close around the hearth, their faces hollow with exhaustion and fear.

Mira’s chest tightened. These people, these survivors, were all that remained of a place that should have been thriving. Someone stepped forward. Mira froze.

"Brahn?" The name barely escaped her lips, a whisper of disbelief. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Brahn was the principal chef at the palace.

He had spent years crafting elaborate dishes, serving meals fit for royalty and nobles alike.

His hands shaping feasts that were praised and envied.

Overseeing preparations and barking orders to apprentices.

He was always in the kitchens, ensuring every meal met the court’s impossible standards. He never left the palace.

And yet… he stood near the fire, his dark eyes sweeping over the group before speaking.

“This isn’t the end of our story. Not if we refuse to let it be.” His voice grew stronger, each word deliberate. “We’re not just fighting to endure this. We’re fighting to rebuild what was taken. To forge something stronger than what they’ve tried to destroy. We fight for the future.”

Mira watched from the doorway. This wasn’t the Brahn she thought she knew, the one with boyish charm and the easy going demeanor that she saw with her brother. This Brahn was calculating, persuasive and every bit a leader.