Pain. A cruel, all-consuming agony coursed through my being, shackling me within my own flesh. My limbs lay lifeless at my sides, unyielding as stone. The mere thought of movement sent waves of torment surging through my veins. Although I longed to voice my anguish, the words lay buried within me. My eyelids, as heavy as the weight of the burden my existence carried, refused to part. Thirst gnawed at my throat—a maddening, insatiable need. Did God finally run out of patience? Ahh, it hurts.

  Then, through the suffocating haze of my torment, I heard a voice–soft, lilting, distant. Its presence alone wove through my agony like a thread of light piercing an abyss. The iron grip of pain loosened.

  My eyes fluttered open, and there she stood.

  My mother.

  Pale of complexion, slender of form, her beauty was undeniable—pristine yet distant. Her long hair, white as fallen frost, cascading over her shoulders and her piercing, suffocating eyes were the undeniable mark of the Edel. Those Emerald eyes of hers had never held love for me. Not once. And yet, pity lingered there now, fleeting but tangible, as though she warred within herself over whether to remain or flee.

  "Zilar, my child, do you have the strength to rise?" she inquired, her voice a delicate whisper. It didn’t sound like the voice I heard while in pain.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  "Yes, Mother. I can move. I can speak." My voice was hoarse, alien even to my own ears. "What day is it?"

  She hesitated. "The thirteenth day of the new year. You were in slumber for five days. It grieves me to see you this way." For the briefest moment, I saw the glisten of tears at the edges of her emerald gaze, but before they could fall, she turned away. "Rest more, my child," she murmured, and then she was gone.

  Five days. Had I truly lost so much time? I sat upright. I could move more with ease now. I changed from my nightclothes and made my way towards the uphills, to a spot known to none but myself. It was my solace. I first came upon it when I fled from a priest who, upon seeing me, fell to his knees whispering prayers, as though I were in need of salvation. From this secluded perch, I could overlook the vast city, a place that had never once felt like home. I watched as the people of Edel moved in harmony—gathering for their morning prayers, tending to those in need, singing hymns that wove through the air like divine whispers. Children played in the streets, their laughter unburdened by the weight of existence. “It’s the same as always, I see.” I whispered to myself. The breeze was my comfort. The wind’s embrace always made me forget everything and feel one with it.

  Tears welled in my eyes, burning like molten gold. My hands clenched into fists, teeth biting my lips, nails piercing into my palms. How much longer should I observe everything around me to fit in? How much longer must I breathe in their compassion and suffocate beneath the weight of their pity?

  If the Edel would never claim me as one of their own, then perhaps, just perhaps, the Boshaft would if I proved my strength. Maybe I will no longer feel lonely.