Six Years Later)
The grave was silent.
No hum. No wind. Just the whisper of roots shifting beneath stone.
Kaelen stood alone, fingers clenched around the edge of the scarf still tied to his belt. Yolti was a few paces behind him, arms folded, lips pressed tight.
Before them sat the marker—simple, unpolished, carved in the way things are when there's no one left to speak the name out loud.
Solara.
Yolti stepped forward slowly. "We shouldn't stay long. Patrols rotate this side soon."
Kaelen didn't answer.
His eyes stayed locked on the name, like it might flicker if he stared hard enough—like her voice might come humming out from the dirt.
"It's been six years," Yolti said, voice softer now. "You think she'd want us to keep waiting?"
"She wouldn't want us to forget," Kaelen replied.
They both fell quiet.
The scarf at Kaelen's side stirred slightly in the breeze—one of the only things left from that night. The edges were frayed now, but it still held the scent of smoke and lilac.
A humless quiet wrapped around them again. But something in it felt… tense. Like the silence wasn't empty anymore.
Yolti glanced over her shoulder.
Kaelen narrowed his eyes toward the tree line.
The kind of stillness that wasn't peace.
The kind that comes before something breaks.