Chapter 56 The Girl in Rags
Serafina
“No, no, no…”
The words tore from my throat before I could stop them.
I stared at the gaping void between the two leaning huts where our shack should have been. My eyes darted wildly across the space as if the walls might suddenly reappear—like this was some cruel trick of the light.
But there was nothing.
No crooked wooden door.
No sagging roof patched with mismatched planks.
No broken window where Lio used to sit and watch the street.
Blackened beams jutted from the ground like the bones of something long dead. The dirt beneath them was scorched, the earth cracked and gray. A thin wind stirred the remains, lifting soft clouds of soot into the air.
“Lio…” I whispered.
My ears strained desperately for something—anything.
But I heard nothing.
No shuffle of feet.
No soft hum of breath.
No heartbeat.
Only the silence.
Ash drifted through the air, settling slowly, clinging to everything like the dust of a grave long forgotten. My knees nearly buckled at the truth.
Behind me, Azerath’s voice came low and careful. “Sera…”
The sound of his voice sliced through my grief, but it brought no comfort.
I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear his explanations. His excuses.
“You said he was alive,” I said, my voice shaking.
The tears came before I could stop them. They burned hot as they spilled down my cheeks.
"Sera..."
“You lied to me,” I gritted out, sharp and furious.
My brother was gone. There wasn’t even a body to mourn. Just ashes.
Lio was gone.
“You told me he was safe, Azerath!” I snapped, whipping around to face him fully. My chest heaved as sobs clawed their way out of me. “You promised!”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react with anger or wounded pride. Didn’t breathe dragonfire or throw back some sharp retort.
He simply looked at me.
And the expression in his eyes stopped me for a moment. Not because it was cold. Because it wasn’t.
It was as if he could feel every fracture spreading through my chest.
“I can feel his breath,” he said quietly.
My heart skipped painfully. “What?”
“Your brother is not dead,” Azerath continued, his voice calm. “He is not here. But he is alive.” He placed a hand over his chest. “I feel the ember’s echo through you. Your connection to him.” His gaze locked with mine. “He breathes.”
I shook my head violently. “No.” My voice cracked. “You’re lying,” I said, stumbling backward a step. “You’re just saying what you think I want to hear.”
For the briefest moment, something raw crossed his face—pain. Quick, barely visible, but real.
“I would never lie to you about life or death.”
The wind swept through the ruined shack again, stirring the ash around our feet. My chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.
“I don’t believe you,” I said hoarsely. I took another step back. “I don’t trust you.”
The words sat heavily in the space between us. Azerath opened his mouth, but before he could speak, something grabbed my wrist.
I gasped.
A small figure stood in front of me. A young girl.
Thin as a twig, with wide blue eyes and dirty blonde hair tangled around her face. She wore nothing but a rough sack tied at the waist, the hem brushing her bony knees. Dirt smeared her cheeks, her hands, even her bare legs.
Recognition flickered through my shock. I quickly wiped the tears from my face before speaking to her.
“I know you…”
She was the girl who had tripped over her slippers more than a week ago when I had refilled the water jug.
I blinked hard, suddenly unsure if she was even real.
Unlike the Dusty Hills, a biting chill lingered in the district, creeping through the narrow streets and broken walls. Yet the girl stood before me in thin rags and worn slippers, her arms bare to the cold—and she wasn’t even shivering.
Slowly, I reached into my bag and pulled out a small cloak. Without thinking, I draped it over her shoulders.
“This will keep you warm,” I said gently.
Her eyes widened slightly in appreciation, but her attention drifted almost immediately past me to Azerath. She stared at him with open curiosity.
“Do you know what happened here?” I asked.
The girl nodded slowly.
“They burned it,” she whispered. Her voice was soft, almost swallowed by the wind. “The Collectors.”
My stomach dropped.
The Collectors.
Of course. Who else would do such a thing?
But what about Lio? What had they done to him?
I took a steadying breath and pressed. “What else do you know?”
The girl stepped closer. “The people say the boy’s sister was taken,” she said quietly. “Sent to Aetheria to serve an Imperial Mage. But she vanished on the road.”
Her eyes flicked back to Azerath. He managed a small smile, and she smiled back before she spoke again.
“Rumor says she slit the Collector’s throat—the one delivering her.” The girl’s voice lowered conspiratorially. “As her initiation into the rebels.”
My eyebrows shot up. Initiation? The rebels? What nonsense.
The girl continued.
“The people think when the Collectors learned their leader’s brother was dead, they came in the night. They burned this place. Left nothing. Including the boy who lived here. They say he was very sick and could not crawl out to save his own life." She stepped even closer until she stood right in front of me. “But I know the truth.”
My brows lifted. "What is the truth?"
“An old woman took the boy who lived here,” she said. “And the Collectors hid the truth by burning it down.”
My breath caught. Was it possible Lio was still alive?
The girl reached into her pocket and shoved something into my palm. A crumpled piece of parchment.
“For you,” she murmured.
I unfolded it slightly. “A map?”
The girl shrugged. “She said to give you that. Follow the map. It will bring you to your brother.”
Hope surged through my chest so fast it nearly knocked the breath from me.
“This is from the old woman?” I asked quickly.
The girl nodded.
Could it be the same mysterious old woman who had given me this cloak and bag?
My hands trembled as I dug into my bag. I pulled out a small sack of gold coins and pressed it into the girl’s hands.
“This will keep your belly full for the rest of the year—”
Suddenly, a loud meow cut through the night. Then, the sound of footsteps followed.
The girl turned to Azerath, her eyes pleading. "If you can, my lord, please save my brother. He is in the old factory, caged. Said to be shipped to Aetheria on the morrow."
Then, without another word, she bolted into the shadows.
“We need to save them,” I whispered, moving in the direction of the old factory.
“Not yet. The Warden’s here,” Azerath said instantly.
Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me across the narrow street.
We slipped into a small offset between two houses. Wooden barrels stacked high filled the space, the sour smell of stale ale thick in the air. A narrow opening at the far end led to another street.
We crouched behind the barrels just as footsteps echoed nearby.
Warden Elara Voss appeared at the edge of the ruined shack, several Dust hounds flanking her.
She stopped directly in front of the burned remains of my home. Her sharp eyes swept over the destruction slowly before she took a deep breath, inhaling sharply.
She frowned. “I swore I smelled perfume,” she said.
My heart nearly stopped.
“But it’s gone.” She gestured to one of the men beside her, one I knew very well. “Darrick.”
“Yes, Warden?” he replied.
“Knock on their doors. They must have seen something.”
Darrick walked toward the shack beside our hiding place. He began pounding on the door loudly. “Open up!” he yelled.
I felt something brush against my leg. I froze.
Rats.
Dozens of them.
They crawled across my boots, squeaking softly. I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming.
Finally, the door creaked open. A middle-aged man stepped out, his belly round beneath a short, wrinkled white shirt.
Stan. Or rather—
Stale.
His nickname came from his habit of mixing cheap ale with stale bread.
“Why you banging so loud, Darrick?” he grumbled. “We were asleep and I've already paid—” Then he saw her. “Oh. Warden Voss. How can I help you?”
She ignored him.
“Darrick,” she said coolly, "bang on the other door. If Stanley here was asleep, perhaps his neighbor saw something.”
Azerath nudged my arm, motioning gently for me to move toward the narrow opening behind us. Slowly. Carefully.
The rats squeaked louder as they shifted around our feet.
The Warden' head snapped toward the sound.
“What’s that?” she asked, stepping forward. “Illumina—”
Before she could finish the spell, a cat darted into the offset.
The rats exploded into motion. They bolted straight toward the Warden.
She shrieked.
The massive rodents scattered across the street, forcing her to stumble backward toward the charred ruins.
In that same instant, Azerath’s arm wrapped around my waist.
The world blurred. Wind slammed against my face. Everything moved so fast the streets became streaks of shadow.
Then, stillness.
I found myself near the old factory where the boys were being held.
Under the faint light, I unfolded the parchment. At the top, in sharp, unfamiliar handwriting, were four words.
LIO IS ALIVE.
Below it:
He sleeps where the shadows of the throne fall. Follow the ember’s flame—it will guide you.
Beneath the message lay a hand-drawn map: a forest ridge along the southern border, a crescent-shaped bend in a river, a hidden passageway—and above it all, the Imperial Palace.
At the center, beneath the palace’s shadow, a strange symbol glowed faintly on the page. An ember-like flame encircled.
I stared at it, heart pounding. Whoever left this knew where my brother was.
But I didn’t recognize the handwriting.
A stranger? A rebel? Someone who cared enough to risk everything to protect him?
I pressed the parchment against my chest.
None of that mattered right now. Lio was alive.
A voice spoke behind me. Deep. Quiet.
“I told you your brother lives.”
I turned slowly. Azerath stood a few steps away, watching me.
“And I know what that symbol is.”
My throat tightened.
“Azerath…” I swallowed hard. “I need to apologize."
“Hush,” he said, brushing his fingers across my cheek. “There’s nothing to apologize for. We will find your brother. But first, we need to save the little girl’s brother. We owe her.”
A sound tore through the air.
A horn. Loud. Sharp. Terrifying.
Azerath’s entire posture changed in an instant. The warmth vanished from his expression, replaced by something ancient and lethal.
“We need to move. Now,” he said immediately, his voice edged with danger. “Before the Emperor’s army finds us.”