Cold seeps into bones long before the wind does—a saying everyone in town knew.
Aithne felt it first in her fingers—numb, stiff, curled like dead twigs around the scrap of bread she'd traded for three buttons and a rusted knife—a lucky find in the streets. Her breath fogged in front of her in an instant. She couldn't afford to slow down. Not here. Not now.
The streets weren't empty—never truly. But no one spoke above a whisper. No one met eyes. As eerie a sight as it was, it was normal on this particular day.
They say when the Drowning Moon rises, even gods turn their backs.
She didn't give a damn about gods—usually. But today was different.
All Aithne cared about was making it to dawn without someone taking what little she had—or worse, noticing her too much. The best she could do was munch on this bland, frozen bread to make do.
She had learned, noticed girls don't last long here. Noticed girls get chosen—or taken—and neither ends well. It had been quite the problem back when her silver hair reflected everything beautifully. Now, with ragged hair and a frail body—she'd learned to hide, to dull it with dirt, to tangle it into something unremarkable. The last problem with her appearance was her ocean blue eyes... whatever ocean was. Her mother had spoken of it once—a vast endless water that mirrored the blue sky. Aithne only knew grey skies and muddy puddles.
Perhaps this year she'd be chosen and be given a chance to live a noble life of a Holder—the day of the chosen. Each year, people of varying ages are marked by the divine ones. It was not a good thing really — She had barely seen anyone come back alive but those who did though... Well, they jumped from street kids to royalties overnight or at least she thought that happened, she couldn't know anyway only tales of a few survivors spreading across the valleys. For her, it was more of a chance than a death sentence. What did she have to lose anyway?
The thought made her freezing mind linger, out of distraction on the teachings of the priest.
Fate wishes to set you free.
Name craves for fulfillment.
Story sought for nothing.
Miracle longs for the unknown.
Mist yearns for the lost.
Desire… well, that old man had probably forgotten to mention Desire. Stupid geezer.
But none had ever chosen Aithne — yet.
Not once in fifteen years had a mark burned across her skin in beautiful different colors of ink
Tonight was no different from any other night of survival—until it wasn't.
Aithne's hands trembled—both from cold and hunger. She was used to it by now but that didn't mean she liked the feeling nonetheless. Sitting under the roof of an orphan house of the church, she quietly listened to the slowly dripping rain.
Then came a silence.
Not just quiet—
Silence as though sound itself had been swallowed whole. Momentarily she thought she had died from cold, she couldnt even hear her own heartbeat
Winds itself seemed frozen by the cold
Aithne's pulse thundered fast enough to burst
And then a presence behind me
It did not write upon her arm
No glowing particles shining brightly around me
No word echoed in her mind in supposed divine voice whispering her chosen name like it was supposed to if i were chosen
Instead…
A voice—not mine—took shape between two heartbeats.
"Little thief."
Dead air snapped back into motion instantly as the gentle words repeat itself in her mind. The wind howled again down alleys distant sobs echoed where, moments ago—but those two words stayed frozen behind her teeth, even strangely light seems to glow from a few kids behind her.
She froze
Thief?
Me?
Of course—they always think we're stealing just by breathing too close to holy ground
But this wasn't accusation
It was amusement
Recognition
No god speaks gently
Especially not during Drowning Moon
"It must be them! The lost... Ones that take you away if you answer their call!"
Shakily—she turned around holding her breath
Half empty house with only few other kids who are presumably asleep
No footprints
Still...
Something had spoken
And whatever it was... hadn't come looking for treasure
It had come looking for her
Against everything inside her screaming against it—her tiny feets moved in hurry
She was escaping, but from who? to where? She couldnt tell but there was one thing in her mind—survive and if there was one thing she knew about survival it was to run.
Aimless of where she's going, she had instinctly gone to one place she have always ran to—graveyard. Specifically her mother's tombstone.
Halfway there—single word echoed behind her or... in her head, she couldnt care enough to differentiate
"Promise..."
Then finally it happened.
The glowing particles she had heard of—a writing on her hand which she couldnt read since she had never been taught how to. Lastly her name was called. Not Aithne the last gift from her father but one that marked her fate.
"Promise of the grey mist."
Voice so ethereal it made her momentarily forgot she had been running, but what it
had said could not be mistaken nor erased.
"Promise of the grey mist" she mumbled under her breath.
Clarity came striking back, shortly after composing herself from the ethereal voice her mind went blank—she knew what it means for her name to be called.
She braced for impact as black circles started forming words around her in a language she didnt know—not that she knew any.
Then she fell into the black circles losing all her senses, slowly drifting into slumber.