The world hit them all at once.
A roar of splintering wood. A shock of cold air. A weightless plunge that tore Aaron's stomach into his throat. The carriage spun in a violent spiral, smashing through branches, snapping limbs like bones. Each collision slammed through his ribs, rattling his teeth.
He kept his arms locked around Neria. He didn't feel the pain in his shoulder anymore. Only her tiny frame pressed beneath him—her heartbeat a frantic flutter against his chest.
"Hold on!" he shouted, though the wind ripped the words away.
The ravine swallowed them deeper, its walls streaking past in blurred smears of gray stone and moss. Shards of the carriage scattered in the air—splintered boards, torn fabric, metal lantern pieces flashing in the dim light.
Another hit—this time a boulder. The carriage burst apart like firewood struck by an axe.
The impact tore Neria from his arms.
"No—NERIA!"
He twisted midair, fingers clawing through empty space. The world cartwheeled around him—sky, cliff, trees, rock. He glimpsed the carriage's frame flipping end over end. Saw Lira's fingers reaching for him, her mouth open in a sound lost to the wind.
Then he struck the slope—hard.
The jolt ripped the breath from his lungs. He slid, rolling through stones and broken branches, skidding down through brambles that tore at his skin. He tumbled until his head hit something solid and the world exploded into stars.
He came to rest on his side, gasping.
For a moment the world tilted wrong. Sound throbbed like a heartbeat inside his skull. Leaves spun overhead in a dizzy circle. Cold water splashed nearby—constant, steady, murmuring through the chaos.
The river.
He tried to push himself up.
Pain burned along his left arm. Blood slicked his sleeve. Pebbles bit his palms.
"Neria..."
The whisper scraped his throat raw.
He forced his eyes open fully. The ravine stretched around him—a deep stone throat choked with fallen timber and twisted wreckage. Mist drifted where the river churned, its waters frothing white against littered debris. The shattered remnants of the carriage lay scattered like a broken skeleton across the rocks.
He pushed himself onto his knees. His legs trembled. His vision swam.
"Neria!" He shouted it this time, voice cracking. "Neria!"
A small, weak groan answered him.
His breath hitched. His head snapped toward the sound.
She lay halfway pinned under the remnants of the front wheel—the one that had separated during the fall. The wheel leaned against a rock, tilted awkwardly over her chest and abdomen. Wood splinters jutted from the cracked rim. The axle stump stuck out like a broken limb.
Aaron's heart jolted so hard it almost stopped.
"Neria!"
He scrambled across the debris, slipping twice, hands burning against rough stone. When he reached her, he dropped beside her and cupped her cheek with shaking fingers.
Her eyes fluttered slowly. Her breaths were thin, rattling. Dirt streaked her face. Blood matted her hair at the temple.
"N-nn..." Her lips barely formed the shape. "A...ron..."
"I'm here," he whispered, leaning close. "I'm here, little star. I'm here."
The wheel pressed against her ribs. Beneath it—lower—her legs were twisted at wrong angles. The sight hit him like a punch to the chest. His breath faltered.
She was alive. Somehow. But she was being crushed.
Aaron swallowed the panic rising in his throat. He forced his voice steady.
"I'm going to lift this. You'll be okay."
Neria blinked up at him, confused, trembling. Her small hand twitched toward him, but she couldn't lift it fully.
"Aa... hurts..."
"I know." His throat tightened painfully. "I know, Neria. I'm going to help you. I promise."
He braced both hands against the wheel's rim and pushed.
Nothing moved.
His jaw clenched. He tried again—harder—legs planted, muscles shaking violently.
The wheel groaned but held firm, wedged into the rock.
"Come on," he growled through gritted teeth. "Come on—MOVE!"
Again. Again. His arms burned. His shoulder screamed. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Blood smeared across the wood where his palms slid.
The wheel didn't budge.
Neria whimpered beneath it, a thin, broken sound that ripped straight through him.
Aaron braced again, positioning himself differently this time.
"You're not dying here," he hissed. "You're not. Not you. I won't let you."
He shifted his stance, wedged his shoulder beneath the wheel's edge, and pushed up with everything he had—legs straining, back arching, teeth bared against the pain.
Slowly, agonizingly, the wheel lifted.
Just an inch.
Just enough.
He hooked one foot against the stone to brace and forced it higher. His entire body shook under the weight, muscles quivering, veins standing out in his neck. Sixteen years old and lifting what felt like the weight of the world.
"Neria—crawl," he gasped. "Please—go. Move."
She tried. Her fingers scraped the ground. She dragged one arm beneath her. Tears streaked her cheeks. She fought—small, weak, desperate.
He lifted higher, his arms trembling violently.
Her foot came free. Then her knee. Her hips scraped the dirt as she pulled herself inch by inch out from under the crushing weight.
"Almost—almost—just a little more—"
Aaron's arms buckled. His legs trembled like they might give out any second.
"Hurry," he choked. "Please hurry."
Her shoulder slid free.
Aaron let the wheel fall.
A thunderous crack echoed against the ravine walls as the wheel slammed back into the rock. Aaron collapsed beside her, chest heaving, arms useless and numb.
He pulled Neria into his lap, cradling her head gently.
"You're okay," he whispered, though her quiet, agonized breaths told him she wasn't. Not really. "You're okay now. I've got you. I've got you."
Her small fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his tunic. "Mama..." she whimpered. "Where... Mama?"
Aaron stiffened.
His gaze snapped up, scanning the ravine again.
Shattered boards lay everywhere—broken beams, twisted metal bands, cloth torn from cushions. The horses were nowhere to be seen. The river's roar filled the air, its spray misting the rocks.
But one shape stood out immediately.
The largest piece of wreckage sat near the riverbed, half-crushed, half-buried beneath fallen stones and the slope's debris. The remains of the carriage's main hull—flipped onto its side.
A length of gold-trimmed fabric trailed from beneath it.
His stomach dropped.
"No..."
He carefully set Neria down, resting her against a cushion fragment. She whimpered softly, reaching for him. He squeezed her hand.
"I'm right here. I'm just going to check on Mother. Don't move, okay? Stay right here."
Her blinking eyes followed him as he stood. The moment he stepped away, her hand fell back limply to her lap.
Aaron forced himself across the debris. Every step slashed pain through his legs. His ribs ached. His head swam. But he kept moving.
The carriage hull rested lopsided, propped at an angle by two half-buried stones. Enough gap beneath for the river spray to gather. Enough darkness for dread to pool.
He reached the edge.
Knelt.
And looked underneath.
Lira lay half-buried under the largest beam and a section of the carriage wall—crushed down over her torso, pinning her entirely from the waist down. Her upper body was visible, her arm flung toward the open air as though she had tried to reach for something—someone—before the wreck settled.
Her face was streaked with dirt and blood. A long cut traced down her cheek. Her dark hair spread across the wet stones like unraveling ink.
For a terrifying second, he thought she wasn't breathing.
Then her chest lifted. Barely. A tremor. A shallow, shuddering inhale.
"Mother..." His voice broke.
Her eyelids fluttered.
"A... Aaron...?"
He crawled closer, swallowing the sob that threatened to break free.
"I'm here," he whispered, touching her cheek with trembling fingertips. "I'm here, Mother."
Her lips parted, voice rasping like torn parchment. "Are... are you hurt?"
He almost laughed—a strangled, broken sound. "No. Don't worry about me. Don't—"
"Good." Her eyes shifted, searching behind him. "Neria...?"
"She's alive," he answered quickly. "She's hurt but alive. I got her free."
Lira's exhale shuddered through her whole body. Relief softened her features before pain re-hardened them.
"That's... good. That's... all that matters."
"We'll get you out," Aaron said immediately, his voice rising with desperation. "I'll move this. I'll pull you free. I just need to find the right angle. I'll—"
"No."
The word landed like a blow.
He shook his head violently. "I have to—"
"You can't," she whispered, closing her eyes briefly. "It's too heavy, Aaron. Even if you lifted it, my legs—" Her breath hitched. "They're already gone. I can't feel them."
His hands trembled violently. His vision blurred.
"No," he said, voice cracking. "Don't. Don't say that—"
"Aaron." Her hand found his. Tightened weakly. "Look at me."
He looked. Even though it felt like something inside him was splintering apart.
"You need to protect your sister," she whispered. "You need to get her away from here."
"I won't leave you."
"You must." A cough shook her. Blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth. "If the assassins follow the ravine path... if they track the fall... they'll come. They'll come to make sure we're dead."
Aaron's heart hammered painfully against his ribs. He squeezed her hand tighter, shaking his head.
"Then I'll hide us all. I'll find a way. I'm not leaving you here to—"
"Aaron, listen to me." Her voice gained strength—enough to make it a command. "You're sixteen. You're old enough to understand what needs to be done. Neria needs you. She's eight years old and broken and terrified. I can't help her anymore. Only you can."
A raindrop struck his cheek.
Except it wasn't rain.
It was his own tear.
Lira's hand rose slowly, trembling as it brushed his face. The gesture was weak but familiar—one she had made a thousand times when he was a child.
"My brave boy," she whispered. "You're stronger than you know. You've always been stronger than you believed."
A sharp crack echoed up the ravine—wood shifting beneath the collapsed beam.
Aaron flinched, glancing back at the wreck. The whole structure creaked ominously.
Lira felt it too. Her fingers tightened in his.
"Go," she murmured. "Please. Take Neria. Find help. Get to the southern road. There are villages there. People who owe me favors."
Aaron bowed his head, forehead touching her hand. His breath shook.
"I'll come back," he whispered fiercely. "I'll come back for you. I swear it."
Her fingers curled into his hair—soft, tender, breaking.
"I know you will."
Her voice faded like smoke.
Behind him, Neria cried out—a thin, frightened sound that cut through the roar of the river.
Aaron lifted his head.
Lira's eyes were still open.
Watching him.
Loving him.
Pinned beneath the crushing wreckage, beyond his ability to save.
The river roared behind them, carrying the shattered pieces of the carriage downstream.
Aaron wiped his face with a shaking hand, nodded once—broken, breathless—and pushed himself back from the wreck.
He staggered to his feet.
Stumbled toward his sister.
Neria reached for him weakly, her small face crumpled with pain and fear.
He lifted her carefully, cradling her against his chest. She was so light. Too light. He could feel every bone.
"Where's Mama?" she whispered.
"She's..." His voice caught. "She's resting. She told me to keep you safe."
"I want to see her."
"Not now, little star. Not now."
The ravine walls loomed above them like silent witnesses.
The assassins were somewhere up there.
Searching.
Listening.
Waiting.
And Aaron knew—as he stumbled toward the river's edge, carrying his broken sister, leaving his dying mother behind.