I didn't plan to stay this long.
Crowded rooms make too much noise, and yet…
her voice cut through it like a thread I couldn't ignore.
Everyone talked about futures as if they were gifts they could choose.
But she spoke like someone who'd already been chosen.
Something in me reacted before I knew why—
not memory, not pain… something older.
When Sibefer looked at the door tonight,
it felt as if a path shifted beneath my feet—
a path I never asked for,
yet somehow already belonged to.
I don't know what she is to me yet.
But when she walked away…
it felt like the world was waiting for us
to finish a story we don't remember starting.
Night slipped past my window without a sound.
I lay awake for hours, tangled in thoughts—war, the future, my dreams, Cabe's eyes, the words I'd heard in the tavern.
Only when my mind finally wore itself out did sleep manage to drag me under.
It didn't last long.
I woke to my mother's voice, louder than usual, urgency woven through it.
"Sibefer!
Get up—it's Friday. Did you forget we have guests tonight?"
I dragged myself out of bed, eyelids heavy. In the mirror, a tired face stared back at me, thoughts still scattered. I didn't say anything. I just let my feet carry me to the kitchen.
Zinaro, brisk as always, pressed a basket into my hands.
"Aunt Sefina and Uncle Ganro are coming with their families. Everything has to be in order."
My heart wasn't with any of it. I tore off a piece of bread, chewing without appetite.
"I'm not the same anymore, Mother," I muttered. "I can't stand Jinnia and Mozad. I don't even understand how they've been around me all these years. Every chance they get, they show off. And Moria… she's just their shadow. Seeing them together makes me sick."
Zinaro frowned.
"Don't talk like that. There was a time you would've done anything for them, and now you speak this way? Maybe your judgment is wrong. They're still my family. I love them."
I didn't answer. I took the basket and stepped outside to collect the eggs.
The past still clung to me—bitter and stubborn.
And tonight, I'd have to sit with it and smile.
By dusk, the guests arrived.
Laughter, food, hidden looks, sweet words with sharp edges.
I slipped between duty and pretense like it was a costume I'd outgrown.
Watching Mozad was enough to sour my stomach—she brought back the day they'd read my diary in secret, page after page, mocking every line. Their laughter. Their stares. Their threat:
If you tell anyone, we'll tell our side.
Sometimes I wished I'd never written a single word in that book.
The next morning, the air was still cool when I woke.
Unlike most days, I knew exactly what I wanted.
I had to speak with Varien. I had to be sure my choice was right.
I'd decided to go to the city's Grand Library.
Maybe, in the middle of all this noise about war, being near books would feel like breathing again.
The library stood at the heart of Mythandri, and I preferred to walk.
Partly to see the people.
Mostly to avoid horses—a childhood fear that had never really left me.
On my way to the door, I was silently rehearsing what I'd say to the librarian when someone knocked—fast, urgent.
I went down and opened it.
Eimeh stood there, breathless and pale.
"Sibefer… you have to hurry. They're sending all the soldiers to the northwest border today. Karineh has taken southern Kohak. If you want to say goodbye to Rolas and the others… now's your chance."
I stared at her, stunned. My voice shook.
"Where… where did you hear that?"
"On the road," she panted. "I ran into Rasaz. She was coming back from the city. She said Cabe, Rolas, and Nybi were there—ready to move out to the border."
For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke.
Then I shut the door with more force than I meant to.
"So we don't even get a chance to say goodbye?" I whispered. "Everything changed this fast? I thought we had at least until next week."
I looked at Eimeh, and the decision settled in my chest like a stone.
"We're going to the city. Now."
We ran to Uncle Rema's cart and drove hard toward Mythandri.
The dirt road to the gates roared with shouts and hoofbeats. The city gate was so crowded the guards barely looked at anything but the flow of bodies, all pushing forward. Everyone wanted to see. To say farewell. Or just… to be there.
The stone-paved road to the main square groaned under the weight of the crowd.
To me, it felt like walking inside a dream.
Or a nightmare.
In the center of the square, the last unit of soldiers stood ready—armor not fully strapped, faces still too young, eyes full of fear and yet refusing to step back.
We pushed our way through the crush of people until we finally found them—Cabe's family, Rolas's, and Nybi standing with them.
Rolas saw us first and smiled.
Not from the heart, but warm enough.
"I'm glad you came," he said. "Feels good to see familiar faces on my last day here."
I stepped in and hugged him, whispering close to his ear:
"I heard Karineh's soldiers show no mercy. Take care of yourself, all right? Dreams are for after the war."
He stepped back and nodded.
"I'll be careful, but I can't promise anything," he said. "You keep doing what you're meant to do—but don't risk yourself. Knowing you're safe at home… that's something for us to hold on to."
A tear slipped from the corner of my eye, but I forced a smile.
Across the square, Cabe stood.
Silent, as always.
His armor looked half-finished, like he'd only dressed enough to leave.
Eimeh went first.
She placed her hand gently over his.
"Cabe… if I said something that night at the tavern that hurt you… I'm sorry. I barely remember the words. But if, over these years, I've done anything to make you resent me… I truly regret it."
Her eyes glimmered, catching the washed-out light.
It took a long moment before Cabe lifted his gaze.
Deep in his eyes, there was something—not anger, not pure sorrow. Something quieter. Understanding. Maybe even acceptance.
"Eimeh…" he said softly. "We've all said things. This isn't the time for that."
He breathed out once, slow.
"Just keep an eye on Sibefer. All right?"
He lowered his head, then turned to me.
"This road is ours to walk," he said. "But yours… lies somewhere else. So before it's too late, go find it."
Just before the line of soldiers started to move, his eyes held mine for a heartbeat longer.
Then he turned his back to the crowd.
The trumpet's call pierced the square—sharp and final.
The hour of farewell had come.
Cabe suddenly laughed. The sound cracked through the heavy air like glass breaking.
"Eimeh, your apology's accepted," he said. "Don't worry—on the battlefield, no one remembers who said what or when. Only the images remain… your faces, the good memories, those small moments we laughed together… the ones that stay with you to the end."
The royal guard's trumpet blared again, like an invisible curtain string being cut.
One by one, soldiers pulled themselves away from their families' arms. The crowd parted. The path cleared. The caravan began to move.
It felt like an old wound reopening in the hearts of the Myths—
a memory not yet buried beneath the ashes, called back to life.
Tears and flower petals marked the steps of soldiers who walked on with no promise of armor strong enough to hold, but hearts that did not turn back.
Old women, following a custom older than any of us, poured bowls of water onto the stones behind them and whispered:
"May you return soon… to the arms of home."
Eimeh sighed, her gaze still fixed on the dust fading in the distance.
"You see, Sibefer?" she murmured. "It feels like it was just yesterday. When the war with the Fenatores began, we said goodbye the very same way. It's like joy never gets its turn anymore."
She paused, swallowing hard.
"Now I understand why Rolas invited us all to the tavern that night. He wanted those last moments to be a good memory for each of us."
I didn't answer.
The soldiers vanished into dust and distance—
but something else stayed behind:
a question I wasn't ready to name.