Blood & Bond [Book Five of The City of Eternity Series]

5.6: Home

Valentyna

There was something hollowing about standing in what was left of this house. The silence was exuding from the walls, only interrupted by the knocking of jars and cans from the kitchen. And all I can think about is the words Alaric said so gleefully when Central had decided to take over our lives, 'Barewood may have been lost. But it has made way for Eternity. Together we can live in harmony.' Harmony, built on the ashes of all we'd ever known.

The house was a ruin, barely recognisable, its bones had been stripped of all life and warmth and all that was left was a shell; echoes of a family that once filled its rooms with life. I could almost see the mother who had carefully arranged her porcelain ballerinas on the mantle, her daughter who had tossed a jersey and hockey stick by the door without a second thought. Each one was either lost to the war or scattered in the divide of the Northern and Southern zones. Barewood's destruction had ripped apart more than the city, more than just buildings; it had torn families from each other. To Alaric, to Central, it was as if that didn't matter. We were expected to ignore it, to embrace this "new world" alongside those who had destroyed the old one.

Dust blanketed every surface like a shroud of grime, veiling what might have once been cheerful colours and cosy furniture. The couches, though worn and sagging, still retained an inviting look, and a tiny relief settled in my chest - they were intact enough for us to sleep on, should we have no other option. At least in that one small way, we wouldn't have to lie in the wreckage of everything else.

I moved slowly, letting my gaze wander, piecing together what was left. The walls had once been painted a cheerful yellow, now faded and muted but unmistakably bright under layers of grime. A wallpaper of dainty daisies, their petals barely visible, still hinted at warmth. Heavy curtains hung in a shade of honeyed gold, a hopeful remnant in an otherwise barren room. Even the cushions, dulled and battered, hinted at a past life that was somehow, inexplicably, familiar. I had a strange feeling as if I had been here once, long ago—a half-formed memory flickered in the edges of my mind but vanished just as quickly, slipping like sand between my fingers.

Alexander, ever practical, had gone to raid the kitchen cupboards. From the hallway, I watched as he reached up, grabbing cans and boxes from the shelves and squinting at their labels. He held a tin of chilli, turning it over carefully, as if trying to weigh it by sight alone. He bit the inside of his cheek, an unconscious habit he'd never outgrown, his gaze fixed, deciding if it was still edible or if it had gone bad long ago. When he finally looked up and saw me watching, he gave a small, tight smile, clearly trying to hide the exhaustion in his eyes. I returned the smile as best I could and slipped away, exploring further.

I'd wandered back into the front hall, my eyes darting to the front door as the snow flurries whipped past the glazed window. In the hall, a torn picture hung on the wall- its edges were frayed, the figures blurred, and faces ripped away either by time or during a confrontation in the Emergence. I couldn't tell. Next to it, a narrow table held a small bowl filled with keys, and a vase with yellow stripes, bold against the worn paint on the walls. The sight of it tugged at me, sparking a memory that hovered just out of reach. The shape, the colour, even the little knick on the lip—something about it felt... safe. Known. I shook my head, dismissing it, and yet, the sensation lingered, as if this house and I shared a buried history.