"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 8: Foreign Riddle

Freya's POV

I pressed my back against the cold stone, trying to breathe slowly, trying not to make a sound. But my heart was hammering in my chest. I hated this—hated being caught in the middle of something that had nothing to do with me. But I couldn't move, couldn't tear myself away.

"Azgar, don't tell me you've grown fond of that human filth!" His father's voice was sharp, seething with disgust. I flinched at the words, knowing exactly who he was talking about—me. There was no one else. I was the only human around.

I swallowed hard, my fists tightening at my sides. I wasn't some innocent bystander in this. Azgar's father hated me—hated the very idea of my presence in this empire, hated everything I represented. I knew he saw me as nothing more than a stain on their honor. I had no illusions about that.

"You've betrayed our people, our bloodline," the chief continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "What madness has gotten into you?"

I felt a sharp, painful twist in my chest as his words cut through the air. The bitterness in his tone made my stomach turn, but what hurt even more was knowing that Azgar wasn't just being insulted here—his father was tearing into him too. He was ripping Azgar apart for whatever connection there was between us. The thought of Azgar being dragged into this mess, this disgrace, made my breath catch.

I didn't know what it was between us—whether it was just respect, or something more—but I knew enough to see how deeply Azgar cared about not disappointing his father. Even if he didn't say it, his silence spoke volumes. And that hurt more than any of the chief's words.

There was a long, tense silence. I waited, straining to hear anything from Azgar—anything at all. I wanted to hear him speak, wanted to hear him stand up to his father, but when he finally did, it wasn't the answer I expected.

He didn't speak. Not a word.

The silence in the room stretched on, suffocating, and I could feel the weight of it pressing against me through the thick wooden door. I strained my ears, listening for even the smallest sound from Azgar, but there was nothing. Not even a shift in his breathing.

The tension was unbearable. His father's voice rose again, sharp with frustration, cutting through the heavy stillness.

"Azgar! Have you grown fond of her, is that it? Have you betrayed your people for a human? Answer me!"

But still, nothing.

Azgar didn't answer. Not a single word. His silence was so complete, so absolute, it was like he had vanished entirely from the conversation. And yet I could feel the weight of his presence—his stillness, the way his silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken words.

The longer it went on, the more it became clear—Azgar wasn't just quiet, he was silent. His father's words hung in the air, unanswered, the tension between them palpable. I could hear his father's anger grow as the silence stretched out.

"You're losing yourself, Azgar," the chief hissed. "Turning your back on everything we've fought for...everything we are."

The words were harsh, venomous, but the silence from Azgar only seemed to make them worse. His father could tear him down with just a few cruel words, but Azgar couldn't fight back. Not like this. Not when he knew the cost.

I pressed my ear to the door, wishing for some kind of sound—anything—that would tell me Azgar was still there, still himself. But all I heard was the sharpness of his father's voice and the heavy weight of Azgar's silence.

Finally, the sound of footsteps echoed in the distance—heavy, distant, retreating. The conversation was over. Azgar's father had left. But there was no victory in the silence that followed.