Page 1 of Under Restless Skies

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Do dreams make a sound when they shatter? Or do they fade in everlasting silence?

A persistent thread of fear crawls down my spine, its sinister voice telling me I’m about to find the answer.

No. My plan is tight. My fear is unfounded. It’s also incredibly resilient, but I can handle its irksome presence, as long as I don’t let it guide me.

Almost one year planning. Attention to every detail. I got this. I’m sure I got this.

Nobody knows I’m taking the Trial today. I don’t want my brother asking why this time will be different. Such an innocent question. Such an infuriating question.

I don’t want to see Laristella’s fearful face telling me I shouldn’t risk my life.

Mayara, your place is here, she’ll say.

Yes, working at her restaurant. How convenient.

I grab a chunk of coriander and toss it in the gallonfish stew, then inhale. The scents of herbs, seasonings, and fish steam up and hit my nose. Comforting. Filling. Perfect.

Too perfect.

I add an extra pinch of salt and some more carrots, stir, and take another sniff. Good enough.

The first time I heard that nobody made gallonfish stew like me, I was flattered. For a couple of years, I was quite proud of myself, except that at some point, the patrons started complaining when I wasn’t around. I swear, the assistant cook can’t smell anything. Or taste. Laristella herself has no idea how to properly flavor her so-called family recipe.

This restaurant is not my place. It was how I survived, how I made sure my brother survived. It’s not my destiny.

And it’s why I decided I would no longer be irreplaceable, and started messing up the stew—just a little, but enough for people not to notice when it’s me or someone else making it. That way, nobody will throw a fit when I leave.

Perhaps even Laristella won’t mind my absence. As for my brother, he’s old enough to earn his keep, and has been getting faster and faster at cutting vegetables and cleaning fish. This is not his place either, but it will do for now. His dreams can still wait.

Unlike mine. Today is my last chance.

A tremor runs through me.

Unfounded.

I got this, and this time, there’s no way I’ll fail.

It’s ridiculous that twenty is the oldest they’ll accept, and I wonder if they think we’ll wither like rosemary, but it’s not like I can argue against their rules.

Twice I have failed this Trial, the memory of those moments sitting in my gut like rotten fish. Two wasted years. But I learned from my mistakes.

And yet my heart’s a simmering pot, ready to overflow.

“Are you all right?” My brother stares at me, knife in hand, as he pauses chopping some shallots.

I look at his fingers holding the wooden handle and can’t shake the image of his small hands when he first started to help in the kitchen. Five years younger than me, Kaio was a little child when we came to Dracolius City. We were starved and soaked from the rain when Laristella gave us shelter.

At least a thunderstorm was the only thing that came from the sky that evening.

“Mayara?” My brother’s voice snaps me back from my daze.

“What?” I mutter.

“You’re taking the Trial, aren’t you?” His voice is quiet.

I could deny it or give him an excuse, but we’re alone in the kitchen, and I suppose he’ll soon find out the truth. “Yes. In a couple of hours.” I force a casual tone, not wanting him to realize how much I care.