The city was too quiet, as if it held its breath alongside Lila Morgan. The usual hum of life—birds, traffic, distant laughter—had vanished, replaced by a stillness so complete it felt unnatural. Even the wind tiptoed through the broken buildings, carrying the scent of smoke and damp earth like a whispered warning. The sanctuary, or what remained of it, stood in solemn silence—charred walls crumbling inward, stained-glass windows shattered into rainbow fragments across the ground. This place had once been their refuge, a flickering flame of hope in the dark. Now it was a ruin, and every stone seemed to echo with loss.
Lila sat alone on a broken bench in the courtyard, the metal twisted and scorched, splinters of wood biting into her legs. Her hands were clenched tightly, nails digging into her palms, her gaze locked on the patch of earth where Ethan had fallen. The soil was dark, still wet from the earlier rain, but stained with something deeper—memory, grief, blood. She didn't need to see it to know it was there. The shape of his collapse haunted her. It was burned into her mind like the mark of a spell.
The air smelled of ash and rain, like mourning itself. It clung to her skin, her clothes, her hair, like a second skin she couldn't shed. Her shadow, once obedient and subtle, flickered at her feet, curling and uncurling in agitated loops. It mimicked her unrest, her sorrow. It grieved with her.
She hadn't slept in days. Not properly. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmares came—vivid, merciless. Ethan's face, frozen in that final moment. His sharp green eyes softening as he pushed her away from the incoming blast, his mouth forming words she hadn't heard, and then—the collapse. His body crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut. And every time she woke, gasping and clawing for air, she half-expected him to be there beside her, teasing her about the dark circles under her eyes, handing her some ridiculous herbal tea he claimed was "council-proof."
But there was nothing. Only silence. Only absence.
She reached into her coat and wrapped her fingers around the pendant he'd given her. A simple silver charm, etched with a protection rune. He'd smiled when he gave it to her, called it a "backup plan." It felt like a cruel joke now. The pendant was warm from her body heat, but it felt heavy, so heavy—as if it carried the weight of everything left unsaid, every moment they didn't get.
"Lila?"
The voice was soft but broke through the stillness like a bell. Maya. She stood at the edge of the courtyard, hesitant, almost unsure if she should intrude. Her usual vibrant energy was dimmed, cloaked in exhaustion. Her dark hair was tied into a messy bun, streaked with soot, and her jacket bore the grime of hours spent digging through rubble. In her hands, she held two steaming mugs, the fragile curls of steam like ghosts drifting upward.
"I made tea. Well, sort of. It's mostly hot water with some herbs I found in the kitchen. Supplies are… limited."
Lila blinked. It took effort to lift her eyes from the ground. She managed a faint smile, a small tremor of gratitude that felt like lifting a mountain. "Thanks, Maya."
She took the mug, cradling it between her cold fingers. The warmth seeped into her skin, grounding her. The tea tasted of mint and something bitter—perhaps regret, perhaps rosemary—but she drank it anyway. It was something real in a world that suddenly felt unreal.
Maya sat beside her, cross-legged on the edge of the bench. She didn't speak for a long moment, just sipped her own tea, her eyes drawn to the same patch of earth. "I keep expecting him to walk through the gate," she said at last. Her voice was raw, edged with a hollow ache. "Cracking some terrible joke. Telling us we're being too dramatic. Acting like nothing happened."
Her voice faltered. She cleared her throat, blinking hard. "He was… he was family."
Lila's throat tightened until it hurt to swallow. "He was," she whispered.
She wanted to say more. To confess how the guilt ate at her like acid—how she should've seen the council's trap, how she should've fought harder, faster. How it should've been her. But the words choked her. Her tongue felt like stone. So instead, she stared into her mug, watching the steam swirl and rise like a silent prayer.
Around them, the sanctuary lay hollow and quiet. The other survivors—those who had made it through the attack—were scattered. Some tended to wounds, others salvaged what little remained from the wreckage. But none of them laughed. None of them sang or joked or dared to hope aloud. The sanctuary had once been a haven. Now, it was a graveyard of memories.
Her shadow twitched again, sliding toward the rubble as if searching. Lila didn't know what it was looking for. Ethan? Herself?
"I keep thinking about what he said," she murmured, not even sure if Maya was still listening. "Right before… He told me I was enough. That I didn't need to prove anything. That I didn't need to become someone else to deserve saving."
Her voice cracked. She pressed her lips together, hard. "I didn't believe him. I still don't."
Maya placed her mug gently on the bench and turned toward her. "Ethan wasn't one for empty words. You know that. If he said it, he meant it. And he saw something in you, Lila. Something worth protecting. Worth fighting for. Worth…"
She paused, struggling. Her eyes shimmered. "Worth everything."
Lila shook her head, tears blurring the world into gray. "I got him killed, Maya. I got everyone killed. The council came for me. I was the target. Ethan… he…" Her voice broke completely. She buried her face in her hands, the pendant pressing painfully into her skin. Her shadow exploded outward like ink in water, its edges jagged with pain.
Maya didn't flinch. She reached out and placed a hand on Lila's shoulder. Her touch was warm, steady. Real. "You didn't do this. The council did. Darian did. They're the ones tearing everything apart. Ethan made his choice, Lila. He chose you. Because he believed in you. Don't dishonor that by drowning in guilt."
Lila's shoulders shook, but she didn't pull away. The words were like lifelines in a storm—thin, fraying, but holding. She clung to them. To Maya. To the belief that maybe she wasn't entirely alone in this hollowed-out world.
"I don't know how to keep going," she admitted. Her voice was barely there, thinner than the wind. "Everything's shattered. I feel shattered."
Maya's grip tightened. "You're not shattered. You're grieving. That's different. And you don't have to figure it out alone. I'm still here. The others are still here. We're not letting you go, Lila. We're not giving up."
Lila looked at her, really looked. And what she saw wasn't pity or fear—it was determination. Raw, wounded, but fierce. Maya, the girl who had no powers, no legacy, no prophecy, but who stood beside them anyway. Who faced the darkness with only a laptop and stubborn will. If she could fight, maybe Lila could too.
She looked down at the pendant in her hand. Its silver surface caught the weak light, and for a moment, it gleamed like a star. She closed her fingers around it, holding on to the memory of Ethan's voice, his laugh, his unwavering faith in her.
"I want to stop them," Lila said, her voice steadier now. "The council. Darian. All of it. I want to make sure no one else has to lose what we've lost."
Maya nodded, her jaw set. "Then we will. Together. But first, you need food. And sleep. You look like a ghost."
A sound slipped from Lila—half laugh, half sigh. "You sound like Ethan."
"Good. Someone's gotta keep you grounded." Maya stood and extended her hand. "Come on. There's canned soup in the kitchen. Not gourmet, but it's edible."
Lila hesitated, eyes drifting once more to the scorched earth. Her shadow lingered there, a silent sentinel. But she reached up, took Maya's hand, and stood. The grief remained. It always would. But now, something else stirred beneath it. Not hope, not yet—but the flicker of purpose. The kind that could grow into fire.
As they walked toward the ruined building, Lila's shadow followed—no longer writhing, but steady. Quiet. Ready.