The capital of Soryn was never silent, but since the occupation, it had learned to whisper.
Voices died down in corners, words shifting their shape before daring to enter the air.
Even the stones seemed to be listening.
Arin threaded through the crowd with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slightly hunched—not because he was afraid, but because it made the Imperial guards look right past him.
He was seventeen, thin, too tall for his age, and entirely convinced that the world owed him something. Preferably with interest.
"If you stare a second longer, they're actually going to notice you," Mira said at his side.
The girl didn't wait for an answer. She spat with precision toward the guards' polished boots—from just far enough away, of course, that no one had time to react.
Mira's hair was like a messy pile of dry flax, blonde and tangled, sticking out in every direction as if she'd just survived a whirlwind.
She was eleven years old, but her eyes held the same ancient exhaustion as the crumbling walls of Soryn.
"Besides, your face looks like a beaten dog anyway," Mira continued, grinning with a flash of teeth. "If you're going to play rebel, at least try to look like you aren't about to piss yourself."
"Silent defiance looks more like a bad case of constipation on you," Mira remarked, kicking an empty tin can so that it clattered dangerously loud against the cobblestones.
Arin shot her a warning look. "It's part of the strategy."
Mira glanced at him sideways, her blonde fringe swaying over a dirty forehead. "What kind of strategy is that?"
"The kind where I look harmless and a bit dim. Guards don't like wasting time on fools."
"Well, you've got that part down naturally," the girl snapped and grinned wide.
Arin pressed a hand to his heart and feigned a stumble. "You wounded me. On an emotional level. I thought we had something sacred."
Mira huffed, but it wasn't a child's smile. Even though she barely reached Arin's armpit, she navigated the city at a pace he struggled to match. Her stride was sure, her eyes in constant motion. She knew exactly when Arin was telling the truth and when he was just lining his fear with a cheap joke. The streets had taught Mira to read people better than any teacher ever could.
They vied between market traders. The smell of rotting cabbage and damp stone dust hovered over the stalls, and the sellers' gazes darted from the guards' armor to the customers' purses like frightened birds. An old woman, whose face looked like an apple forgotten in the oven, nodded to Arin so subtly it could have been mistaken for a nervous twitch.
Arin noticed it instantly. He leaned closer to Mira. "Did you hear that?" he whispered dramatically.
"Hear what?" Mira asked, expertly dodging a fat merchant trying to push withered root vegetables on them.
"The hum of silent respect."
Mira rolled her eyes so hard it nearly hurt. "It was a nod, you blockhead."
"Not just any nod," Arin corrected, lifting his chin. "It was a legendary nod. A whisper of the Resistance."
Mira sighed deeply, her flaxen tangle of hair swaying. "If you ever get hanged in that market square, it won't be for your thieving. It'll be because of that mouth of yours that doesn't know how to stay shut."
"Good. I want to be remembered for something magnificent," Arin grinned.
"Don't worry, you're already remembered," Mira noted dryly, kicking a stone so it clinked against Arin's boot. "As a legendary debtor. Half the block is still waiting for that money you're 'putting into circulation'."
Undeterred, Arin straightened his back even more. "Legendary Debtor. That actually sounds like a pretty good title."
A Kardeth soldier leaned on his spear at the edge of the square, helmet crooked and eyes red from sleep deprivation. He spat a yellowish glob of phlegm directly in front of Arin's boots.
"Turn that face of yours elsewhere," Mira muttered through her teeth, clutching Arin's sleeve.
"No," Arin replied, jaw tight. "I am practicing moral superiority."
"It still looks like you've crapped your pants and you're trying to blame everyone else."
They kept going until the cobblestones gave way to the crumbling asphalt of the harbor. Suddenly, Mira slowed down. Her small nose wrinkled, and she stopped so abruptly that Arin nearly tripped over her.
"Did you hear that?" Mira asked, her voice pure cold steel this time.
"What? Your stomach growling?"
"The rumors, you idiot."
Arin raised his brows and brushed hair from his eyes. "Rumors don't pay for bread, and they don't even buy bad beer."
"No," Mira said, glancing over her shoulder. "But they topple empires."
Arin stopped dead in his tracks. Something new flashed across his face—a dangerous cocktail of greed and curiosity. "Okay. Now you have my attention."
Mira pulled him deeper into the shadows, behind the rusted leg of an old crane. "An airship has arrived at the docks. No markings. Black as a raven's wing."
"Those hulks pass through here all the time. Smugglers are always negotiating."
"Not the kind the Imperials are afraid of," Mira said, her voice trembling with excitement. "I saw them, Arin. The guards didn't just look away. They ran. Fled the scene like rats from a fire."
For a moment, they just stood there. The harbor dusk seemed to thicken around them.
"We were supposed to get food," Arin said finally, though his feet were already turning toward the piers.
"And we will," Mira replied, grinning so her teeth flashed. "Let's get it from the harbor."
"You're going to get me killed," Arin sighed.
"Most likely," Mira said calmly and set off. "But I'd rather die running than of boredom in this dump."
The harbor was full of long, stretched shadows. The air smelled of burnt oil, salty sea, and something metallic that made the tip of the tongue itch. And then Arin saw it.
It wasn't a ship; it was a predator. A massive, matte-black airship floated at the pier in total silence, without a single flag or emblem. It seemed to swallow the light.
"It looks... expensive," Arin said, his voice almost vanishing.
"It looks like it'll tear us to pieces if we go any closer," Mira corrected.
Arin grinned, and this time it was a genuine, fearless expression.
"Don't do anything that'll get me hanged next to you," Mira hissed, grabbing Arin's wrist so hard her nails dug into the skin.
Arin gave her a wide, confident smirk. "Dear child, I am literally me. Stupidity is my middle name."
"HALT! YOU TWO!"
The shout rang out, accompanied by the clatter of iron boots. An Imperial patrol burst from between rusted containers like an abscess. Lantern light flashed off their helmets, and spear tips lowered to exactly the height of two street rats.
Arin didn't look at the soldiers; he turned to Mira. "Run."
"Don't state the obvious, you fucking brain-gnat!" Mira shrieked, bolting before Arin could even take his first step.
They sprinted across the piers, dodging fish crates and abandoned coils of rope. Arin laughed breathlessly, adrenaline burning in his veins like cheap liquor. "If we survive this, I promise to be quiet for a week!"
"You're lying!" Mira yelled back, her hair whipping the air.
"A month! I swear!"
The path ran out. Ahead loomed the open cargo hatch of the black airship, hanging above the pier level like a beast's maw. Behind them, the shouts of guards and the screech of metal drew closer. Arin didn't hesitate; he scooped Mira up by the waist and leaped.
They slammed onto a metal floor that vibrated faintly with the rhythm of a powerful engine.
"Do you always jump onto unknown vessels, or is this some local hobby?"
The voice came from above, somewhere amidst the steam pipes and shadows. Arin sat up, brushed flaxen strands from his eyes, and grinned upward with a smile that would have made a saint double-check their wallet. "Only on bad days. And today has been downright brilliant."
A man leaned against the railing on the upper deck. His face was a map of scars, but amusement flickered in his eyes. "I'm Kael. And you two might have just saved my evening. It was getting a bit too quiet in here."
The airship lurched. A deep, bone-shaking rumble filled the hold, and a sudden pressure pinned them to the floor as the craft rose vertically into the air. The whispering streets of Soryn and the futile shouts of the guards dropped away, shrinking into a dim memory.
Arin hauled himself up and leaned against the deck railing. He watched the city lights fade behind smoke and mist. "I have a really weird feeling in my stomach," he said quietly.
"That's adrenaline, dummy," Mira replied, wiping soot from her face.
"No," Arin said, looking at the black sky. "It's that feeling when you realize you've just ruined your life for good."
Mira stood beside him, small and resilient, and a rare, almost invisible smile touched her lips. "Or maybe you only just started it."
Arin thought about this for a moment, until his stomach growled so loud it could be heard over the engine's purr. "I hope this new life at least includes a warm meal. I could eat a boot sole."
Mira turned to look at him. For a second, she looked like she was about to fire off a mocking comment about Arin's bottomless pit of a stomach, but then something in her expression broke.
The girl let out a short, bright laugh that didn't sound a bit like street-hardened cynicism. It was a pure, sincere, and surprisingly light sound that left Arin bewildered. In that moment, as the slipstream ruffled her flaxen hair and soot was smeared on her cheeks like war paint, Mira wasn't a terrifying little thief or a precocious survivor.
She just looked like an eleven-year-old girl who was, for the first time in her life, headed somewhere other than trouble. In her eyes flashed that childlike joy that the shadows of Soryn had tried so hard to smother.
"You're impossible," Mira said, her voice softer than Arin had ever heard it.
Arin stared at her, speechless. He realized that even though they had just leaped into the unknown and possibly destroyed their futures, that laugh had made it all worth it.