The past remembers, even when we don't.
Eris jolted back to the present, the echoes of that night still a terrified shriek in his bones. He was hunched on the cold, damp tunnel floor, the storm's distant roar vibrating through the rock, each shudder a brutal reminder of the trauma that shaped their lives in Haven Below. He didn't want to remember, but the past clung to him, heavy and cold.
Life in Haven Below was a constant grind of survival, but it was also... home. Their small dwelling, a pocket carved into the earth, offered a fragile warmth against the cold, dead world above. Days were spent scavenging the wasteland and outer tunnels, their dwindling supplies a constant pressure, pushing them further into treacherous ground. Elder Ruvio, the mysterious man from the past, giving lessons in hunting, in stealth, in the cryptic nature of Celestia He was relentless, molding Eris' body and sharpening his senses.
Tonight, the air in their dwelling, usually thick with the scent of damp earth and stale dust, suddenly crackled. Eris, hunched over a sputtering lamp, felt the familiar tremor begin deep within his bones. It had been building all day, a restless energy after a particularly grueling training session with the Elder, pushing his control to its frayed edges. Now, it surged, a silent, silver scream trapped beneath his skin. Faint lines of uncontained light pulsed violently along his forearms, threatening to break through. He clenched his fists, knuckles white, a desperate, internal battle raging. He could feel the familiar, sickening lurch in his gut, the fear that this time, it wouldn't recede.
Across the small space, Kaylah paused mid-stitch, her needle hovering over a worn blanket. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, met his. There was no panic in them, only a calm that felt like an impossible anchor in the rising storm within him. She didn't speak, didn't need to. Slowly, deliberately, she set her mending aside and moved to him, a quiet presence in the flickering lamplight. She knelt, then gently, firmly, placed her cool hand over his trembling ones.
"Breathe, Eris," she murmured, her voice a low, steady current in the chaos. "Just breathe."
Her touch was like a cool stream over burning rock. The chaotic flicker of silver light under his skin began to recede, the oppressive pressure in his head easing, the frantic beat of his heart slowing. He still had to fight, to pull himself back from the brink, but her presence, her unwavering calm, made it possible. He focused on her hand, on the familiar press of her palm, on her steady gaze. Slowly, agonizingly, the brilliant lines faded, dimming to faint embers before vanishing entirely. The air in the room settled, leaving only the faint scent of lamp oil and the quiet hum of their makeshift home.
A moment later, Lisei, who had been meticulously arranging scavenged pebbles into a miniature fort, glanced up. "Is it quiet now?", she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Myrah, already bored with the patchwork fort of blankets and rusted crates, squealed and hurled herself at Eris, wrapping her arms around his neck like a sleepy little bat. "Rabbit story, Eris! A big, bouncy one!"
Eris wheezed at the sudden weight but settled back against the cracked wall, letting her perch like royalty on his shoulders. Just like every other time, the last remnants of the flare's agony melted away under Myrah's touch. A peculiar calm, unlike the focused relief Kaylah offered, washed over him, startling in its abruptness yet utterly familiar. As she pressed into him, something cool and solid tapped faintly against his arm, a trinket she never seemed to part with, though Eris barely noticed it at the time. His shoulders slumped, not in exhaustion, but in a profound, immediate ease. "All right, all right; but this rabbit's gotten into trouble tonight."
Kaylah's quiet laughter slipped between the hiss of the old heater. Lisei scooted closer, eyes huge.
"Once upon a time," Eris began solemnly, "there was a white rabbit wearing a golden crown and a blue coat with pockets full of jam."
Myrah gasped. "Jam!"
"Yes, strawberry and thunderberry. One day, the rabbit fell down a hole so deep it went through the middle of the world and popped out in a kingdom made of upside-down trees and rivers that flowed backwards."
Lisei giggled. "Did it drown?"
Eris shook his head dramatically. "Never! It paddled with its ears , and there it met a thousand dragons, all arguing about whose fire was hottest. So the rabbit pulled out a tiny spoon, challenged the dragons to a soup contest, and . . ."
Myrah squeaked, "Soup dragons!"
Eris, didn't know how to go on with the story, and added whatever comes to his head, following the siblings' absurd idea. With an odd smile, he continued, "—and the dragons boiled themselves into soup so tasty that a lonely prince smelled it from a mountain far away. He rode a snail; a very fast snail into the upside-down forest, brandishing a sword made of all the moons in the sky. He promised to rescue a princess stuck inside a mirror, but the princess turned the dragons into teapots instead."
Kaylah covered her mouth with her sleeve to hide her laughter. Myrah bounced, giddy, tugging Eris' hair. Lisei just stared, half-horrified, half-awed.
"Did the prince marry her?" Lisei asked, almost afraid to know..
Eris leaned, as if he himself was disappointed and sorry with the ending. "Well, he tried, but she's a wicked witch, not a princess, who almost turned him into a teacup. And the rabbit drank the soup and hopped home with a belly full of dragons and a crown too big for its head."
Myrah snorted a laugh so loud she startled herself. She tucked her head under Eris' chin, already drifting off in a nest of mismatched dreams.
Behind the cracked support beam, Elder Ruvio watched them from the dark. Watched Kaylah's shoulders drop their iron weight for a heartbeat. Watched the youngest settle into sleep, clutching scraps of nonsense and warmth as if they were treasure.
He almost laughed at the ridiculous tale. Dragons stewed into soup, snail-riding princes; such nonsense had no place in a world gnawed hollow by silver storms and starving teeth.;
And yet . . ., he felt it, too: a tiny ember of warmth in old bones too used to cold. A flicker of something . . . he'd buried long before Eris was born.
Dragons and rabbits, he thought. Soup and teacups. If only the world were so kind.
He shifted deeper into the dark, the faint sounds of muffled giggles trailing after him like ghosts. For tonight, foolish stories might be enough to keep the deeper shadows away.
His knuckles tightened around the iron staff, the binding rods that kept the storm in his blood from rising. He could almost hear the silver river humming inside the boy's veins.
His lips, a grim line, moved in a silent whisper, or perhaps a conversation with someone unseen. "Not yet," he rasped, the words barely a breath. "Not yet. But soon."
Further back, in a deeper, forgotten tunnel where the light from Haven never reached, another shadow stirred. This watcher was utterly still, ancient and patient. A single mark glowed faintly on its throat. It's a painted spiral of silvery ash that pulsed, almost imperceptibly, in time with Eris' heartbeat, miles away. The watcher's breath misted once, a fleeting wisp in the frigid air, then vanished back into stillness. It turned, melting into the ruin's maze; steps soundless, destination unknown.
Tomorrow, the message would reach ears that should never have known the boy's name at all.
The veins remembered. And so did the spiral.