Page 3 of The Last Remaining Light

The Sister departed without another word. Seralyth looked toward Elowynn as the door closed. A tired smile reached her mother’s sunken eyes, but it was real, not feigned. The corners crinkled faintly, just as they had before Astermere fell.

"There you are, little star," Seralyth said softly.

The words nearly undid Elowynn, that pressure in her chest increasing once more, but she forced it away. She crossed the room with quick steps before climbing into the chair beside her mother. For several moments neither of them spoke while rain pelted gently against the window.

"I d-dreamed about him again," Elowynn said, her voice small. She stuttered with choked emotion.

Seralyth’s expression dimmed, her eyes looking downward. "Tell me,” she calmly encouraged.

Elowynn stared down at her hands folded tightly in her lap, a shiver wracking through her a moment. "He was standing inside the observatory," she whispered. "But every window was dark. There were no stars outside anymore. And when he turned around…"

She squeezed her eyes shut as it became difficult to breathe. "It was not him anymore.”

Silence filled the chamber, and her mother closed her eyes briefly as pain crossed her face.

"Dreams are cruel things after grief," she murmured in a calm voice.

Elowynn swallowed the knot in her throat. "Do you think he suffered?"

Another breath of silence, only that light tap, tap, tap of rain against the glass. Finally, Seralyth answered, voice firm, "No."

It was a lie. Elowynn knew it immediately, but she appreciated it all the same. She couldn't bear the thought of him suffering. She wanted to believe it had been quick—that he had felt nothing when the ceiling came down. But her imagination refused to grant her that mercy.

Seralyth reached forward and brushed damp strands of pale hair away from Elowynn’s face. "You should not wander the courtyards alone during storms," she said in a motherly tone.

"The bells sound strange when it rains,” Elowynn said, ignoring the caution from her mother.

That earned the faintest ghost of a smile. "Yes,” her mother replied. “They always have."

"I do not like them,” Elowynn said.

"You will, eventually,” her mother sighed, eyes locked to her teacup.

Elowynn doubted that very much, for how could she like something that brought the entire ruin of her joy and safety?

A soft knock interrupted them. Before either could answer, the door eased open, and a young boy peeked inside. After a moment's hesitation, he slipped into the room carrying an armful of fresh firewood.

The lantern nearest the doorway flickered once as he entered before settling again. Elowynn paid it little mind; her attention was fixed instead on the boy.

He looked perhaps eleven or twelve turnings, only slightly older than she was, though there was already something strangely solemn about him. Rainwater darkened his hair nearly to the shade of ink. Damp strands curled loosely across his forehead, framing the sharp angles of his face. His skin carried the bronze hue of someone who had spent long bells beneath the sunny skies, while forest-green eyes lifted briefly to survey the room before dropping again beneath dark lashes. His clothes were practical in the way of the abbey children: dark wool layered against the cold, sturdy boots damp from the rain, and a weathered cloak that looked like it had belonged to someone before him. Though lean with youth, there was a refined sturdiness to him already. It was clear that hard work and long suns had shaped him faster than childhood would typically allow.

He froze for the briefest moment when he noticed Elowynn. The hesitation was so slight that most would have missed it entirely, but not her.

"Apologies," he said shyly. "I didn't realize Lady Selvicta had company."

"You may come in, Caelyn," Seralyth said reassuringly, that tired smile directed at him now.

Caelyn bowed his head in respect before fully entering.

Elowynn continued watching him while he crossed toward the hearth. He moved differently from the other children she had seen around the abbey. He was careful, quiet. It almost seemed as though he had spent his entire life trying not to be noticed.

"This is Caelyn," Seralyth explained. "He assists the Sisters throughout the abbey."

Caelyn finished arranging the firewood before finally straightening. Only then did he look properly at Elowynn—not at her clothing, nor the silver embroidery that marked her as northern Astrari nobility, but at her face. Most people looked at her strangely now, with their sad, pitying expressions. But he didn't give her that same look.

“You are from Astermere Hold,” he said, voice tentative.

Elowynn stiffened, blinking once.