Collin’s body was heavy with the setting of the sun, but his mind was still wide awake—filled with worries. "Would the fire reach Chroma? What happens to the rest of the world if...”
“Oh, darling! You need not worry yourself with such things!”
Collin squirmed out of his mother’s embrace. “How big is our world?”
“Our home is surrounded by valleys and coastline, but Crimisa itself is vaster than I could ever describe. There are still corners of our forests untouched by human footsteps, and mysteries sleeping in the depths of shadowed pools, waiting to be discovered. But far beyond our home, we are only a tiny gem in a vast crown. There are regions of the sky no eye has yet seen, and places so deep in the sea that creatures as large as islands drift silently in the dark.”
“Are there people living beyond Crimisa?” he asked.
“Oh yes, my love,” she whispered. “There are many cozy cabins nestled in woods, each with its own little garden. There are warm dinners cooking on hearths and quilts being stitched with steady hands. Starry-eyed lovers are falling into each other’s arms beneath lantern light, wedding arches are being strung with flowers. And just like in our family, there are mothers tucking their little ones into bed, and fathers showing their eager children how to read and write, guiding their fingers gently across the page.”
"Mam," said Collin’s older brother, his face a light in the glow of the candle.
She reached over Collin and tucked the blankets tighter around Connor. She stroked his hair. “What is it, my darling?”
“When is Da coming home?”
Collin brightened. “Can we wait for Da to come home?”
"Da won’t be home for a while.” Her voice was somber, but in the dim candlelight, Collin couldn’t make out Mother’s expression.
Brother’s voice was worried as he said, “But Da missed dinner.”
"Don’t worry yourself about it, Connor, sweetheart. Your father will come home when he does. Go to sleep now, both of you, and let good dreams find you." Mother blew out the candle on their bedside table. She closed the bedroom door, throwing the boys into impenetrable darkness.
Sometime in the night, Collin woke to the sound of voices drifting from the front room. His brother Connor was still snoring softly beside him, undisturbed. Except for a thin beam of moonlight slipping through the small window, the room was wrapped in darkness.
Father’s voice was shaking.
It was muffled by the closed door, but Collin could hear it clearly enough—he was crying.
“I killed a man,” his father wept. “He had two children... How will I look myself in the mirror now?”
“You had to, Jiah!” Mother’s voice rose, raw and trembling. “They would have killed you otherwise!”
“Oh, Ismene... this isn’t right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
Collin yanked the blanket up over his head, heart pounding, but it couldn’t keep the voices out—mother crying, father shouting, then both of them quieting into grief. Their words were broken, heavy, strange. He didn’t understand all of it, but he understood enough to know something terrible had happened.
A lump swelled in his throat, tight and aching. His chest felt heavy, like his heart was falling. He pulled his pillow over his head, pressing it down hard until the voices faded into muffled echoes. Eventually, sleep returned—but it did not come gently.
That night, Collin dreamed of the world breaking apart, of deep chasms splitting open beneath his feet, glowing with liquid fire; of mountains rising all around, hemming him in between rivers of flame. Sheets of ice chased him across the land, slow and silent, and then came a blaze so fierce it devoured everything—until the whole world turned to ash.
Gray clouds had rolled in at dawn, bringing with them a cold, needling rain. The sharp scent of churned-up soil and wet wool lingered in the air like a breath that wouldn’t ease.
Collin and Connor stood patiently in line. They’d been waiting all morning for their family’s weekly meal allowance. Collin tugged at the collar of his cloak, which clung damply to his neck, making his skin itch. To make matters worse, Mother had told him not to let go of Connor’s hand.
He shook the wet hair from his eyes and tried not to shiver, but the chill sank deep, and his limbs wouldn’t stay still. Around him, the village square blurred with mist. Smoke drifted up from North Town, still smoldering in the valley below, and the sharp, bitter smell of burned timber clung to the rain. A tickle rose in his throat, and he coughed.
Farther up the line, Collin caught sight of his best friend. His heart lifted. He waved, and Aries waved back just as eagerly.
But the day refused to brighten. Instead, the sky pressed lower, the rain falling harder. Villagers scurried through the square with hunched shoulders and hurried steps. No vendors called out. No one lingered. The market stalls stood shutteredand empty, and even the bravest souls seemed to have vanished into the gray.
A boy with a mop of rain-soaked chestnut hair crept into the line. No one seemed to notice his stealthy arrival. He grinned roguishly as he came to stand just behind Collin and Connor.
Collin grinned back at once, but Connor eyed the boy with quiet suspicion.
Suddenly, the boy clutched at his coat pocket. Whatever was inside gave a furious wriggle.
