I should be sleeping. Should be dreaming. But I’m just lying here, staring at the wooden ceiling, arms stiff at my sides, thoughts rolling in my head.
Vaurun told me to leave.
Before this time next year.
A warning. A death sentence wrapped up in a few translated words.
I don’t move. Zett isn’t back yet. He’s been gone too long. But I don’t panic.
I am used to it at this point.
Still, it’s hard to focus.
It’s harder to breathe.
I peel myself off the bed and shuffle through the dim hall. The air is stale. The morning feels like it wants me suffocated.
The kitchen is quiet when I get there. Oats again. I set it to cook. It’s bubbling, thick and sluggish, rolling over itself in slow, muggy movements.
The steam curls, rising. The tiny flecks of grain and husk break apart in the heat, their swollen bodies floating up and vanishing like they never existed. I stare at it. I keep staring.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
It’s just oats. It’s just another morning. But my brain latches on to the details like they matter.
Oats—one of the first crops humans ever farmed. The grains break down, cell walls unraveling, starch thickening the water into something that fills the gut, keeps you moving.
Humans eat it.
Navorians don’t.
Why am I thinking about this?
Why did I help a Navorian?
They’re not us. They don’t live for anything but themselves. But I did it anyway, didn’t I? I let one of them into our home. I let one of them see us. See Zett.
And he warned me.
Just me.
Which means there’s something coming. Something inevitable.
If I were smarter, I’d take the warning and go. But where? There is nowhere to go. No place to run. I have no family, no money, no backup plan. This orphanage is the only thing I’ve ever known, and we are all going to be leaving it soon when storms start.
And if Vaurun—if the Navorians—if they come here—
I grip the counter, staring so hard at the oat that my vision blurs.
Klev’s voice cuts through my thoughts. "Wow, Cherry, you actually woke up early? What, did the sun threaten you?"
I don’t react.
Klev quiets. I think he notices. He always notices. His smirk falters for half a second. "Cherry?"
But I don’t let him finish.
I turn and bolt.
Out of the kitchen. Out of the orphanage, my shoulder clipping the doorway. Out into the cold morning, the air curling in my lungs, my feet hitting the dirt so hard it stings. The sky stretches above me, and I don’t know what I’m doing.
But then I scream.
"VAURUN!"
It rips out of me, raw and ugly, louder than anything I’ve ever let out before. It cuts through the morning, through the weight pressing on my chest, through the panic rising in my gut.
I take a deep breath and continue.
"IF YOU’RE BRINGING YOUR ARMY HERE—" my voice cracks, but I don’t stop. "THEN YOU BETTER BE READY!"
The wind carries the words away, but I don’t care. I want him to hear it. I want the ocean to hear it.
"BECAUSE THIS IS OUR WORLD!"
I drop to my knees, gasping, shaking, gripping the dirt.
That felt good.
But what am I going to do?
Guess I'll have to hope Vortex wins this for me.
Then suddenly, I realize something stupid.
I’m starving.
And for some reason, I really, really, feel like eating fish.
Fish cravings after emotional breakdowns?
