"This is Aden. The Taheeneen's darling casanova, prodigy of Sentrylore seminars and a blasphemous addition to this unsightly population."

Aden put down the sandcat he was petting with the reverence of a sacred offering, and feigned deliberate surprise. None of you are unsightly, he thought, to which his nookmate returned an even wider grin.

A girl, barely the height of his chest, with brown skin and dark hair plaited behind her, wearing a dusty white garment stood nervously before him. The fidgeting fingers were not unusual—this was a common indicator of a too unfamiliar feeling they had towards their new home.

"Pleased to cross paths with you," Aden said, crouching to meet the gaze of the newcomer he was introduced to.

"You won't be feeling the same in two months," his nookmate quipped with a mischievous smile.

Aden sighed theatrically, "Elijah, have I ever told you your silence is a great gift to humanity?"

Elijah scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, almost knocking over a pair of girls passing by. They shot him glares that immediately melted into giggles when their eyes met Aden's.

The Archive was beginning to welcome more Taheeneen inside through the wooden doors, and he began to feel his chest drum faster in his chest.

"So!" Aden bent to pick up the sandcat stretching on his legs again, allowing him to ignore the girls. "What would be your good name?"

The girl hesitated, clasping her hands in front of her like she was holding an invisible shield. She couldn't have been older than twelve, but there was something sharp and curious behind her wide brown eyes. "Si-Sira," she said softly.

"That's a beautiful name," he beamed, watching a gentle smile unfold on her lips. He closed his Psychonomy text and shoved his unfinished study on top of Elijah's pile of books. "Where were you found, Sira?"

"From Mishk?"

Aden blinked in surprise. Another one! "Really? So am I!"

What are the odds, Elijah thought with mock solemnity, almost losing balance with the short tower of books. You must have paraded your way with your big blue and green eyes coming here and made every other newcomer follow you.

Aden maintained his smile and side-eyed him. At least I have a presence. Meanwhile the only thing following you is the collective regret of everyone you've ever spoken to.

Elijah elbowed him.

Sira looked between them, confused by their silent exchange.

The sandcat beneath Aden's feet hurled itself on Elijah's leg.

"Ow, not this damned thing!"

"Hey! Don't you call him a damned thing," Aden scolded, picking the furry animal up.

"That's right, he's the thing that damns."

"No, he's my official secretary, my confidante, and the sole arbiter of justice in our nook. We're all indebted to him " he chirruped at the end before he attacked the cat with kisses. "It's always nice to meet someone from home. Although you will find the sandcats here far less judgemental than the people."

Elijah chuckled, dusting off his pants.

Sira gave a tentative smile. "I've never met a sandcat before."

"Well," Aden said, rotating the brown creature to face her instead of batting lazily at his vest's strings. "This is Shai, he's a terrible judge of character, which is why he likes me so much."

Shai meowed indignantly, and Elijah snorted, "and by 'likes,' he means 'tolerates for mutton chips.'"

"Details," Aden said, waving him off. "Now, Sira, let me offer you some advice. As a fellow Mishkish, it is my solemn duty to guide you through this... let's call it a 'unique experience.'" Aden began walking, noticing a cohort of girls rising from a desk in the far corner at the same time. I need to get out of here quickly. "Rule number one: never, ever try the turnip stew on Sundays. It's a trap."

"A trap?" Sira's eyes widened.

"Exactly. It's less of a stew and more of a plot to dispose the excessive harvest of turnips from the True Community, because no one here really likes turnips more than Elijah does."

"What?" Elijah hiccupped.

Aden lowered his voice conspiratorially. "You'll have to forgive my dear friend Elijah here whose existence I have been burdened with. You see, he has this rare condition where his mind does not quite understand when to stop forming thoughts and when to work when needed."

"I heard that."

"Good, it's important you know your shortcomings."

Sira giggled, her initial nerves melting away.

"See? She gets it. Sira's really going to thrive here in this wonderful refuge," Aden encouraged, noticing her smile lingering longer than it vanished quickly before.

How many lohs does the Khaera even pay you for this work? Elijah probed.

They don't. And no, I can't buy you a mallet because I don't get paid. Aden let down his sandcat.

He watched it scamper towards another sandcat close to the fountain as Elijah returned back, If I were you, I would—

"I could listen to you all day, but I won't," Aden affirmed aloud.

Sira turned with a puzzlement. They weren't even talking.

Aden laughed softly.

"And that my dear friend Sira, is what happens after you get to know him." Elijah retorted playfully.

"Why don't we go make some more friends?" Aden suggested, extending his hand to invite the girl for an excursion around the Stonehold.

She almost reached for Aden's inviting hand but he drew it away instantly, regretting noticing the confusion on her face. Glad it wasn't disappointment, he expected it would come soon. It always did. He still had two hours till his Sentrylore seminar, and that left him enough time to excuse himself for a lively stroll with an unlikely companion, for now.

Aden gestured Elijah that he would be back and watched his nookmate make his way to the boys' communal.

Passing through the tall wooden gates, they arrived at the Middle Hall.

The Middle Hall was particularly uncrowded, as more Taheen strolled out of the communals to the stairways leading to the upper floors to their morning seminars. Besides, the heat was beginning to build, though they lived inside the shade of a carved mountain. He felt the sweat on his back slide down beneath his loose cotton tunic, and hunched his back to let the dampening fabric touch his skin. In that bending moment, he heard her, thinking.

Where have I been brought to?

Aden watched Sira curiously scanning the hall around with awestruck eyes, the same face every newfound child brought to Yetaqar made when he toured them around. Everytime a newcomer was brought to him, was an opportunity to relive that astonishing day, when he was told he was going to live in a sanctuary where no one could touch or hurt him. And what was fear roiling his soul then, turned to curiosity and awe. Every vine that crept atop the walls and the massive pillars, the little birds that glowed set free in the night to illuminate the space that looked like fiery moving stars, and the feathers. Oh, the feathers!

Sira stopped by a pillar in the middle of the hall, staring at three girls dancing, their hands in the air drawing waves as their bodies bent and curved in a synchronous rhythm. And swimming around them were glowing feathers—unusually long plumes effusing stands of light from its hairs as they floated around, obeying their instructors' movements slowly and in harmony, twisting and spinning around as they danced, leaving a fleeting trail of bright teal light. The girls looked like they were practising, but also managed to gather their friends around them as they enjoyed the work of moving art in an appreciable silence, though the bustling sounds of the Taheen and everything else were around them.

Sira took short unintentional steps toward the spectacle, like she was being pulled towards the performance of light and motion. It entranced her, just like it always did to him. It was alluring, an ability shared and known only within the Stonehold of Yetaqar, the reason why no child yearned for the Outside, but to dwell in the marvel and fascination that entwined reality with imagination in this remarkable place. He was that child once too. And he was reliving it once more.

"H-How do they do that?" Her voice was gentle, curious.

Aden leaned a little. "Do you wish to know?" He returned the same intensity of her voice, quiet and inviting.

Sira turned to him, her brown eyes wide and bright. "Yes." Her pupils moved back and forth staring back at his own eyes, her smile appearing more innocent. And then she let out a silent gasp. Her eyes were at something behind him.

Aden turned back carefully, and spotted a Firelark above his shoulder. His back rose carefully, and he brought his hand to his shoulder. The little crimson bird hopped to his fingers, tilting its crowned head at him as if it was studying his face.

"Can I hold it?" Sira whispered eagerly.

The Firelark hopped and made a turn to the girl, still standing on Aden's cupped hand.

"You have to ask the Firelark, not me," said Aden, then reached his hand closer to her.

Sira brought two hands to a cup together as she held it slightly below Aden's hand. "I won't hurt you."

The bird didn't move, until Aden inclined his palm downward. The Firelark tweeted, then hopped over to her. She held in a squeal. Her cheeks turned red, gaping at Aden and unable to believe herself. She really is from Mishk.

"I have never seen birds like this before."

"They are not birds," Aden chuckled.

"What are they?"

Aden was prepared for her elation. He sucked in a breath before he said, "They... are Sentries."

The girl's face dropped to disbelief, wonderstruck. "You're lying."

"I'm not," Aden said gleefully.

Sira brought a finger to the Firelark's delicate head and stroked its gentle red feathers, stroking its neck until it unfolded its wings and let out a pop of light. She flinched at the sudden explosion of brightness and made the Sentry fly away back to its friends soaring by the ceiling.

"I thought Sentries were a myth. I didn't believe they could be real."

It warmed his heart, reading her thoughts each time her gaze caught another feather drifting lazily in the air or a Firelark gliding above with its fiery plumage. He could practically hear her thoughts—sprouting with excitement, tinged with disbelief. She reminded him of himself not so long ago: bright-eyed, overwhelmed, and so desperate to believe this place was real. He was her. He was all of them. Every time he welcomed another newblood to Yetaqar, he found himself in their awe-struck faces.

It wasn't just routine—it was responsibility. He knew the shadows they carried from the Outside, the weight of survival etched into their souls. Only a warm, steady light could dispel those shadows, Preceptress Dara had told him, before he inevitably agreed to be a welcomist.

"So tell me, Sira," he said, easing his voice to sound more casual. "Where in Mishk were you found?"

Her attention snapped back to him, "Oh, uh, from Cham."

Aden's chest heavied. "Cham?"

Her brow furrowed at his reaction, but he masked it quickly with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Tell me how it was like when you were there last."

"Have you been to Cham?"

Aden mustered a smile. "A very long time ago."

"Well, if you know it, then you should also know nothing's changed." Her words carried her back into her memory—dark and desolate, like the land itself, forgetting about the splendours of the carved rock they were inside. Aden could feel it without prying. He'd heard enough stories, seen enough faces twisted by the horrors of Mishk to know where her mind had gone. He didn't want to follow her there. He wished to bring her out of it. Just as Preceptress Dara had said.

Gunfire echoed in his mind, unbidden. The sharp crack of shots, followed by the screams—those desperate, guttural howls that pierced the air. The sound of people witnessing bloodshed they hadn't been ready for, their cries louder than the bullets, because martyrs carry no voices. No, he wanted to forget it all. Everything. But this girl brought him back.

"Are you alright?"

Aden wiped his eyes, feigning nonchalance. "Sorry. Just carried away by thought."

"Do you miss home?"

He looked at her—truly looked—and found himself caught off guard by her earnestness. A newcomer, and yet she could read emotions like she'd lived here for years. An evidently indicative quality of a newcomer.

She neared, a soft deliberate step towards him. She reached out her arms, as if to comfort him when—

"N—no touching!" Aden flinched backward, more startled than stern. He heard the telepathic laughter of a distant onlooker in the hall. Of course, someone was watching.

She better not have hugged.

Or touched him.

Aden side-eyed at three girls on their way into the girls' communal.

Sira's arms dropped in confusion. Aden noticed her disappointment. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"It's alright," Aden dismissed easily with a glint of a smile. "I'm... not really fond of hugs," he managed, gesturing towards one of the spiral staircases climbing around the pillar to the top floors.

"I understand," she said, ascending up the stairs behind him. "One of my sisters back home didn't like to be hugged too. But I always did it before bed when she was fast asleep." She dove into her memory again, her eyes creeping up along the vines on the column reaching skyward as they walked on the first terrace above the Middle Hall. She looked down again at the wide rectangular space below where the pillars were raised to hold the overhead, deliberately forgetting the memory of her friend. Another haunted memory, perhaps. Her gaze wandered, drinking in the beauty of the place, but he could tell her thoughts weren't entirely here.

"Do they raid this place as well?" she asked, tentatively.

Aden cleared his throat, trying to mask the unease that crept into his expression. He realized why she would ask this. "No, Sira. We are not threatened by any raiders or armies here," he said, wondering how much of it was true. "Cham has a reputation for being... challenging," he replied, avoiding her eyes and leaning on the stone handrail of the corridor they were on. "Although, no man or woman is stronger than the survivor from the Land of Red Soil."

"My father used to say something similar." She rested her hands on the railing too, mirroring his posture.

Aden tilted his head. "Did he?" He wanted to ask about her family, but that would be another tricky road into the bloodstained landscape.

"He did. But, they sent me away." Sira on the other hand wasn't very good at masking her expressions. "I wasn't sure why or how they could agree to it so easily. I was scared when the veiled man brought me here. But now, I'm not scared anymore. I'm glad my parents agreed, now that I've seen this beautiful place. I wish they were here with me." She perused around the faintly lit hall again, following the path of the convoluted vines stuck on the hall with leaves that glowed softly at their pointy tips. She breathed heavily, catching sight of more Firelarks appearing and crowding above them. "Can they come here too?"

"Your parents? Well, this place is for us. Children will be here protected until our parents can make sure the war is over, so we can all go back." His heart weighed with the lie again.

Sira made a tight-lipped expression.

"But don't worry. One day, a very special person will come, and we will follow them outside when it is safe."

"How long do we have to wait?" She asked immediately, not apparently interested to know who the special person was.

"Well, as long as we have until we have to stop praying to go outside."

She studied him for a moment, as if trying to gauge the truth behind his words and turned her attention back to the hall. The sunlight from the sunspill on the ceiling fell magnificently on the floor of the Middle hall like a sloped column of gold.

Aden closed his eyes to take a deep breath of the remaining cool air. When he opened them again, she was watching him.

"I like your eyebrows."

Aden was taken aback. "My—my eyebrows?"

"I wish I had eyebrows like yours," she said, running a finger on thin strips of hair on her forehead.

Aden snorted, unable to help himself. "I've never cared much for it, but thank you, Sira," he said, realizing where the next question might lead to when her gaze was on his eyes.

He was most glad when a feather zoomed past her eyes. breaking their gazes from each other. She leaned over the rail, watching as a boy below summoned it back with a flick of his fingers.

"I want a feather like that." She said it so righteously, that Aden remembered himself wishing for one for the first time. It was a pure feeling, to hold magic in your hands. "Do you have a feather too?" she asked, her face hiding the desire to burn her gaze into Aden's eyes again.

"Sadly, not yet." Aden shrugged, looking away. "But I shall soon."

"What makes them fly without anyone holding it? Is it magic?"

Aden gave a sweet chuckle, allowing her to burn her gaze at him this time. "Something much more interesting... The mind."

Sira turned to find another one playing with a feather. She watched a pair of boys chase each other, sending their burning plumes darting at the other as they ran around the pillars in the far side of the hall. "I... I want to learn. I want a feather too."

"Say no more." Aden stretched his chest and spread his hands theatrically beyond the railing. "Sira, I welcome you... to the School of Telepathy."

___ _______________ ___

What are your thoughts on this chapter? Did anything surprise you, intrigue you, or leave you wanting more? I'd love to hear your theories, insights, and favorite moment. Drop a comment below-I read every single one!

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