Hyura woke with a sudden jolt. For a few seconds, he didn’t know where he was; then the rock-hewn room slowly reshaped itself before his eyes—the familiar dimness, the low ceiling, the heavy silence of the tunnels. His heart still pounded too hard against his ribs.

  “Wake up.”

  The word echoed in his mind like a muffled toll, as if someone had whispered—or shouted—it far too close to his ear.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead!”

  Vaenia’s voice pierced the gloom like a glowing ember in the dark. When he turned, he saw her leaning against the doorway, watching him with an amused, carefree smile, as though the world carried no weight on her shoulders that morning.

  “We’re going to be late for the Guardians’ Trial.”

  “I know, I know,” Hyura muttered through a yawn, pushing himself upright and trying to shake off the unease still tightening in his chest.

  The memory of the night before lingered, unwelcome. A voice whispering too close. He pushed the thought aside. Better not to mention it.

  Would Vaenia believe him… or assume it was just nerves before the Trial?

  From the kitchen came the clink of plates and the hiss of oil in a pan. Elara, Vaenia’s mother, was preparing breakfast. Her presence filled the small space with the same steadiness with which she had once wielded a sword.

  She had been one of the finest—so people said—until her injuries forced her to abandon the life of combat. That was when she met Thoiran.

  In appearance, he was her opposite: tall, broad, with enormous hands and a stern expression he never bothered softening. His black hair, now streaked with gray, was cut as short as ever.

  Yet at the forge he moved with near-delicate precision—an artist of steel hidden beneath a rough exterior.

  Hyura stepped into the kitchen. It was small but warm. At its center stood a stone table Thoiran had carved directly from the floor—no legs, as if it had grown from the rock itself.

  The room was cluttered with cooking tools and failed culinary experiments. Elara had traded weapons for recipes—she wasn’t particularly skilled at it—but no one in that house dared say so.

  Thoiran sat on a stool, his massive white wings brushing the ground. As Hyura approached, something caught his attention for the first time: Vaenia’s wings seemed slightly smaller than usual for someone of her height.

  The thought passed quickly. Uneasy. He dismissed it.

  “Sit down, lad!” Thoiran boomed in his deep voice, grinning. “You’ll need strength for what’s waiting for you today.”

  “Darling, don’t pressure him,” Elara intervened as she served the food. “You know he doesn’t like talking about it.”

  “It’s fine, Elara,” Hyura said lightly. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

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  Thoiran slapped him on the back hard enough to nearly knock him into the table.

  “Nonsense! You’re built like an oak. I was trembling like jelly when I took the Trials… and I did remarkably well.”

  “If by ‘remarkably well’ you mean you were expelled for knocking your opponent unconscious after the fight had already ended…” Elara added with a sideways smile.

  Thoiran snorted.

  “He deserved it. I can’t stand bullies.”

  He winked at Hyura.

  The young man hesitated.

  “Sir… last night I had a—”

  He stopped. Shook his head slowly.

  “Actually, I wanted to ask if there’s anything more you haven’t told me about my family. Or about the day you found me.”

  Silence settled over the table, heavy and deliberate. Elara spoke first.

  “We only know what you know,” she said gently. “You were in a forbidden section of the tunnels, where even the most experienced miners don’t dare go. There was a loud crash. They thought it was a gas explosion.”

  She paused.

  “They found you sitting there, surrounded by blood. You didn’t have a single scratch. That blood wasn’t yours.”

  She glanced at Thoiran, hesitating only a heartbeat.

  “We searched for your parents. Missing. Dead. There was nothing that fit.”

  Hyura nodded and reached for an apple at the center of the table.

  He didn’t realize how tightly he was squeezing it until the skin cracked under his fingers.

  Something twisted in his chest. He never understood why that story always left such a bitter, almost violent aftertaste.

  Either they were hiding something… or that truly was all they knew.

  “Lad!” Thoiran exclaimed, ruffling his black hair and shaking him so hard he nearly lost his balance. “Today you stay focused. We trained for this. I trust you.”

  Hyura smiled faintly, touched by nostalgia. He remembered nights when Thoiran returned exhausted and still trained with them; others when Elara took his place.

  He owed them more than he could ever say.

  Vaenia appeared, already dressed, tightening the brown belt over the green tunic she usually wore.

  “Come on, Hyura! Or you’ll be late.”

  “I haven’t even finished breakfast!”

  He ate quickly and changed without looking at himself for long. When he stepped out of the small bathroom, he paused.

  Vaenia was waiting, calm and confident against the wall. She had always seemed that way. But that morning something tightened in his chest—an unease he didn’t want to name.

  “What are you staring at?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “No… I was just thinking. Aren’t your wings a little small for your size?”

  Vaenia blinked, startled. She didn’t blush at the compliment—only at the surprise.

  “I’ve never thought about it,” she said at last, folding them slightly. “They don’t stop me from flying. I suppose that’s what matters.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me… they’re beautiful.”

  Hyura looked away immediately, aware he had said too much.

  “Since when do you pay so much attention to my wings?” she teased lightly.

  But she didn’t spread them fully.

  Instead, she folded them a little tighter—as if, for the first time, she felt observed.

  After saying goodbye to her parents—and enduring Thoiran’s final bone-crushing embrace—they stepped into the main tunnel. Elara promised to be in the stands at the Coliseum. Thoiran could not join them.

  “Sorry about my father,” Vaenia murmured.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for,” Hyura replied, rubbing his shoulder. “He’s one of the strongest people I know.”

  She smiled faintly, and they continued walking.

  Other youths emerged from cave-houses, all dressed for the same destination. Some laughed. Others walked in silence. As they advanced, the scent of metal and damp stone faded, and light began filtering through the rock.

  Near the surface, the tunnel widened and the air shifted. The city seemed to breathe differently there.

  At the end of the path, an enormous stone gate carved with ancient scenes stood half-open. Golden light spilled from beyond it—still, expectant.

  Hyura stepped forward.

  The pressure tightened in his chest again.

  Some boys looked at him and began whispering.

  He turned his head. One of them pointed openly, laughing.

  Hyura clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

  Then he felt Vaenia’s hand slip into his.

  She said nothing. Nor did she look at him with pity.

  His fingers loosened.

  Together, they crossed the threshold and stepped out into the open air of Lybendol.