In a divided kingdom where magic is feared and those who wield it are hunted, Ariana, the daughter of a powerful councilman, lives a life of privilege and duty. But her world unravels when she encounters Kiran, a fugitive with the power to command...
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It started with silence.
Not the quiet kind of silence, like the woods at dusk when the world is settling in. No, this was the heavy kind, thick and oppressive, the kind that makes your skin prickle because it’s so unnatural.
Ariana stood by the window in her quarters, her back to me, shoulders stiff. Moonlight streamed through the panes, illuminating her in soft silver. She looked like a statue—still, unmoving, untouchable. Her commanding black cloak hung on the back of her chair, the weight of her title discarded for the night.
But I could see it still clinging to her, in the set of her jaw, in the taut line of her spine.
She didn’t turn when I entered. I wasn’t sure if she even knew I was there. Of course, she probably did. She always knew.
“I heard you pacing,” I said, breaking the silence. “Figured you’d run a hole into the floor if I didn’t stop you.”
Ariana stiffened, her hands gripping the windowsill. For a moment, she didn’t respond, and I wondered if I’d overstepped. But then, her voice came, quiet and raw.
“I can’t do this, Kiran.”
Those words hit me like a slap. I’d never heard her sound like this before—so fragile, so... human.
“What do you mean?” I stepped closer, hesitant.
She turned to face me, and for the first time, I saw it. The cracks in her armor. Her golden-blonde hair was loose, strands falling into her face, and her usually sharp eyes were red-rimmed. But it wasn’t the exhaustion or the disheveled look that struck me—it was the tears glistening on her cheeks.
Ariana Solan, the War Commander of Solace, the girl who never let anyone see her falter, was crying.
“I’m failing,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “At everything. At being the War Commander, at protecting Solace, at... being someone people can believe in. I’m failing, Kiran.”
I froze.
What was I supposed to do? Comforting people wasn’t exactly my strength. The tribe had always called me blunt, awkward even. Words had never come easy to me, and in moments like this, I realized just how ill-equipped I was.
“You’re not failing,” I said quickly, but it sounded flat, even to me.
Ariana let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not blind. My father—he knows. He knows something’s wrong with me, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else does too. The weight of it—it’s too much. I can’t... I can’t keep pretending I’m strong enough.”
My heart clenched.
I’d seen Ariana face her father’s wrath without flinching. I’d seen her command soldiers twice her size, stand tall under pressure that would crush most people. To see her like this—crumbling—it broke something in me.
“I don’t think you’re failing,” I said, softer this time. “You’ve done things no one else would dare to do. You’ve protected people, even when it cost you everything. That doesn’t sound like failure to me.”
She shook her head, tears streaming freely now. “You don’t understand, Kiran. You’ve never had to carry this kind of burden.”
I winced. She was right. My life had been filled with struggles, sure—hiding my magic, protecting the tribe—but it wasn’t the same. I didn’t have the weight of an entire kingdom pressing down on me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, because what else could I say?
Ariana sank into the chair by the window, her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean that. It’s not your fault. I’m just—” She broke off, her voice hitching.
Panic bubbled up in me. I couldn’t just stand there while she fell apart. I had to do something, anything.
So, naturally, I said the stupidest thing imaginable.
“Well, at least you’re not ugly when you cry.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, and the moment they did, I wanted to smack myself.
Ariana looked up at me, stunned. For a heartbeat, the room was silent, her tear-streaked face frozen in shock.
And then she laughed.
It was small at first, just a soft chuckle, but it grew into something fuller, something real. She laughed so hard she had to clutch her sides, her head thrown back as if I’d just told the most hilarious joke in the world.
I stared at her, half relieved, half horrified.
“Well,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Glad to see my humiliation is so entertaining for you.”
Ariana shook her head, still laughing, though tears were still streaming down her face. “You’re impossible,” she said between breaths.
“And you’re welcome,” I shot back, trying to hide the warmth creeping into my cheeks.
She sobered slightly, her laughter fading into a soft smile. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady now. “I needed that.”
I shifted awkwardly. “Yeah, well. Don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”
Her smile widened, and for a moment, the weight she carried seemed a little lighter. The storm in her eyes had calmed, if only slightly.
“You’re not a failure, Ariana,” I said again, firmer this time. “You’re human. And that’s okay.”
She nodded, her gaze meeting mine. “And you’re not as bad at comforting people as you think.”
I snorted. “Don’t get used to it.”
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the heavy kind, but this time it wasn’t suffocating. It was the kind of silence that felt safe, like a blanket wrapping around you.
I didn’t know if I’d actually helped Ariana, but for now, it felt like enough.
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting to the window. The moonlight bathed her in silver again, and this time, she didn’t look like a statue. She looked... alive.
And I realized something then.
Ariana didn’t need me to fix her or take away her burdens. She just needed someone to be there, to remind her that she wasn’t alone.
