The Matriarch's Daughter

Chapter Twenty-Five: Numbness

"Are... are you ready to go?"

Rory's voice sliced through Thepa's thoughts, soft as the breeze drifting over the South Wildehaven Sea. For the past hour, they'd sat in companionable silence, gazing at the endless expanse of water. Any moment now, Goodshadow would arrive to escort Thepa to the ship bound for Goldale, where she would begin her new life as captain of the Goldale Guard.

"I don't know," Thepa murmured, her voice barely audible. "It's a big change. I'm not even sure they'll accept me. And it won't be the same without you. I've trained my whole life for this, but now that it's here, I feel... unprepared. You make leadership look so effortless."

Rory closed her eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips as the setting sun cast a red glow that complemented her auburn hair. The wind tugged at loose strands escaping her haphazard braid, and Thepa watched them flutter. For a moment, Rory buried her green eyes in her crossed arms, then looked up with a toothless grin.

"Well, I guess I learned from the best. Either that, or I magically grew up. Since we both know that didn't happen, let's blame you." Rory teased.

Thepa laughed, savoring the rare lightness between them. It had been ages since Rory had been this playful. "Finally, an explanation! Now that I know the problem, I can fix it. And trust me, we need to fix it. At this rate, Claudia's going to be the funny one. As much as I love her, we'd both die of boredom before she lands a decent joke. No offense to Claudia, of course."

Rory's grin widened, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, Thepa," she said, shaking her head as she rose from the grass and started down the path toward the orphanage. Thepa lingered, her gaze snagged on the horizon where the sky burned crimson. Ahead, a strange house loomed among the familiar cluster of halfling homes nestled beneath the Younglings of the Trees. Unlike their leaf-and-thatch roofs, this one gleamed with a tin crown, its weathered red door stark against the twilight. Stranger still, twelve faceless Younglings of the Mountains flanked its walls, each clutching an unlit candle.

"You used that joke last time," Rory called over her shoulder, her voice cutting through the cooling air.

Thepa's steps faltered, a knot tightening in her chest. "Last time?" she murmured, hurrying to catch up.

Rory slowed, her smile sharp in the fading light. "Not exactly last time," she said, turning to face Thepa, her hair blazing in the sun's final rays. "Last time implies more than once. I mean two completions ago. You know... when we actually had this conversation."

Thepa's breath caught. Before she could press further, the red door creaked open, and a satyr stepped out, her regal posture commanding attention. Her brownish-gray hair caught the fading light, a delicate tiara tipped with glinting diamonds perched atop her head, its facets scattering erratically. Her blue eyes locked with Thepa's, stirring a half-forgotten ache in her chest. The satyr approached, hands outstretched, her presence both magnetic and haunting. But as her hooves clacked along the stone path, Sister Zelphina emerged from the doorway behind her, a dagger gleaming in her hand.

"I'm sorry, Rory, I'm not sure—"

"Oh, Thepa," Rory sighed, cutting through her confusion. "Poor, blind Thepa. Maybe if you'd opened your eyes sooner, I might still be alive."

Thepa's heart pounded as she struggled to make sense of the chaos unfolding. She willed herself to move, to scream a warning to the regal satyr, but her body betrayed her, frozen by fear. All she could do was watch in horror as Zelphina advanced on the satyr, the twelve faceless Younglings standing sentinel, their hollow gazes offering no mercy.

With a swift, effortless twist, Zelphina gripped the satyr by the horns and snapped her neck. The sickening crack echoed in Thepa's ears, followed by the dull thud of the satyr's body collapsing, her tiara tumbling into the dirt. Zelphina scooped it up with a chilling smile, placing the crown on her own head as if claiming a twisted birthright.