There is trepidation—and, against my will, admiration.
Because deep down, I share pieces of her conviction. I once believed in life the way she does. In roots and rivers. In preservation over extraction. Heaven taught me otherwise. Expanding my understanding. It showed me what cannot be undone, no matter how fiercely one wishes it so.
“And if that path conflicts with mine?” I ask.
Her eyes harden.
She rises in a single fluid motion and pulls the papers from my hands.
“Then I’ll go through you if I have to,” she says. “Or you can spend whatever time this world has left in this cell and be bound to the same fate.” She turns away and walks out of the cell, leaving me with the echo of her footsteps and the unmistakable certainty that she means every word.
Chapter Thirty
The Value of A Life
Eridessa
I slam the cellar door shut behind me and step into the sunlight.
The day stands in direct opposition to my mood. There’s less ash today, and it has always been so in this part of the valley. It’s more of a fine dusting suspended in the air than an active fall. The forest holds its own quiet melody: wind moving through leaves, distant birdsongs, and the subtle hum of insects hidden in bark and brush.
Light filters through the trees in soft, fractured beams and casts itself over the front of the house.
From the open window, Lila’s voice drifts outward, clear and sweet. She’s singing again, and the scent of her infamous blueberry muffins lingers on the breeze, a comforting smell I’ve become accustomed to.
But I turn away from the house and head for the trees, not wanting to sully her mood with my own.
My conversation with Orán stirred up some deep-seated emotions, and I won’t let them bleed into her day.
So I walk.
At first, my steps are rushed, more stomping than an actual jaunt through the woods, boots snapping twigs and dead leaves underfoot as I let distance build between myself and the house. My thoughts churn in uneven loops—everything I said, everything I shouldn’t have, the way feeling slipped past discipline in that cell. I replay the conversation in fragments, cataloging mistakes like old habits. I gave too much away. And I hate that part of myself—the part that still wants companionship and to be understood.
His certainty surprised me with his answers.
They weren’t what I expected, but maybe I should have.
I was shaped by doctrine. He was shaped by Heaven. We both believe in our respective truths, yet somewhere between his faith and mine, something vital feels lost.
The deeper I go, the quieter it becomes, and the forest slowly calms my racing thoughts.
I pause beside a moss-covered log where a line of ants heft a leaf twice their size, their tiny bodies moving in a tireless procession. Nearby, a beetle clicks as it travels across bark, its shell catching light like polished onyx. Small lives. Persistent little things.
I crouch and watch the ants with the leaf vanish into the hole.
Further in, I spot a cluster of mushrooms pushing up through damp soil, pale caps unfurling like miniature umbrellas. I trail my fingers lightly against the edge of one, feeling its cool resilience. Growth, even here. Even in a world being slowly unmade.
I find one of my familiar trees and climb without thinking, muscles remembering the movement. The bark presses against my palms. My boots find old grooves where I’ve climbed before. I settle into a crook of branches halfway up and lean back against the trunk, letting its solid presence anchor me.
From here, I can see a small clearing.
Birds flit between branches, their wings beating rapidly against the air to keep them aloft. Beautiful and varying shades of brown and gold. One lands close enough that I can see its chest flutter, and the tail end of the worm it captured before it slips down its throat.
Sometime later, something larger moves through the brush. I wait as it approaches and stay as still as possible so as not to spook it. Eventually, a doe steps into the clearing, cautious and graceful, her ears flicking at every sound. A fawn follows close, still clumsy in the use of its legs, pressing against the mother’s side for reassurance.
The mother lowers her head to graze.
The fawn mimics her.
