1220-02-13
Ana "Silvercrest" Aquavelle:
WHOOSH
The door whooshed open. I lay in my bed, half-awake. The sound of running footsteps blurred together, distant but close.
I couldn't make sense of it all. I tried to keep my eyes shut, to stay in the warmth of unconsciousness.
The noise grew louder.
Their words were still distorted, floating in the air as though they were caught between worlds.
The first voice came through, sharper this time, full of playful challenge.
"I'm faster than you, I swear! No way you can catch me."
"But I'm definitely smarter, so I win every time. You can't beat that."
The other voice responded with an easy laugh, sounding almost teasing.
"You think you're faster?"
"I'm definitely faster"
"How about we play chess? That'll prove who's got the better brain."
"I hate that game."
"You know... I could totally beat you if we just raced. No need for a boring game."
"Sure, sure. We'll race one day... but only after I beat you at chess first."
"Too bad we'll never play chess"
Though they were twins, Mira and Kalina couldn't have been more different. In the way they acted, in the way they talked, and in their very presence. As I grew to see them as sisters and as my true family, their flaws and features became even more noticeable.
Mira had chestnut hair that cascaded in loose waves, with striking blue eyes similar to their mother's. Her eyes shimmered with energy, sharp and expressive, always full of life. She had a presence that could never be ignored, a fire that matched her eyes.
Kalina, in contrast, had auburn hair that fell in gentle waves, her warm blue eyes carrying a quiet depth that contrasted with her sister's. Her face was rounder, her smile softer. She almost seemed like a counterbalance to her sister, gentle where Mira was fiery, calm where Mira was a storm.
They both seemed to mature faster than I expected. Even though they're still young, they've already caught up to me in so many skills—it made me feel a mix of frustration and quiet resentment.
They both had their mother's eyes, which I found odd.
My eyes are different—deep amber. Gold, though my mother refused to call them gold.
"You have bright amber eyes," she would tell me with a small sigh.
I always wondered why she didn't like the color, why she seemed to hate it when I was younger.
She once told me something I'd never forget.
"I hope they don't find us because of those eyes."
I never fully understood what she meant by that. I never took it to heart, though. Both my father and mother had green eyes, and while eye abnormalities were common, I figured she just expected me to have the same color eyes as my father.
She'd called them amber so much that even I referred to them as amber, though I was sure that when Tal first saw me, he would have called them golden.
"What is it?" I yelled, feeling frustrated as they continued to talk around me.
"Oh, that's right," Mira laughed, almost distractedly. "We have a visitor."
Kalina said it softly, almost as if it were an afterthought, "They wanted to meet you."
"Why does that concern me?" I asked, turning over, still not interested.
"They wanted to meet you," Mira repeated, her voice teasing, though I could hear the faintest excitement in it. "I'm sure you'll be quite surprised."
"Ugh..." I groaned,"Fine, fine."
Kalina's quiet smile grew a little wider, and Mira's eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuu..." I muttered.
I jolted out of bed. I didn't bother to fix my hair or anything else.
The floor felt abnormally cold.
"You're not even going to try and look presentable?" Mira teased, her voice light and mocking as she caught up to me.
"Royalty, huh?"
"I hate it," I muttered under my breath. "I'd much rather be back in Barta. I could actually do something with my hands instead of sitting around like some perfect little pawn."
Mira burst out laughing. "You could go back to Barta if you want," she said with a wicked grin, "but it's frozen over now, isn't it?"
Kalina shot her a disapproving look.
"That's not nice," she murmured, "You shouldn't joke about things like that."
"I'm not joking," Mira said with a shrug. "She's not grateful anyway."
I almost said something back. The words stuck in my throat. What would be the point?
We passed a group of soldiers moving quietly through the halls. Their footsteps steady on the stone floor. They were from Maranona—that much was easy to tell. Their armor looked worn from use, built more for survival than show. Faded shades of blue and white clung to thick leather and dull metal, made to vanish into snow, not shine in sunlight. Almost every one of them had the same mark on the back of their hand: a red circle with a dragon pressed into its center
The mark pulsed faintly.
"Where's Father?" I asked, my voice still a little groggy from sleep.
"He's in a meeting with the king of another nation," one of the soldiers replied, his tone respectful but curt.
Mira snorted. "Don't interrupt this time, right?"
We reached the courtyard. The air is crisp. The air is cold.
I saw someone sitting among the flowers. She played with a small dragon curled around their neck.
The girl seems slightly older than my sisters. The girl's eyes are piercing red.
Mira immediately crouched down to play with the dragon. Her laughter bubbling up as she reached out to it.
Kalina followed my gaze.
"How old is he?" she asked, continuing their earlier conversation.
I mumbled, "What's the dragon's name?"
The small creature looked up at me. Iits eyes glowing faintly with curiosity. Mira's hands gently cradled it. She coaxed it to settle into her arms.
The dragon blinked.
The moment seemed to stretch.
"My father wanted me to call her Snow, but I much preferred Frost," the girl said with a smile. "She's one and a half years old."
The words hung in the air. My mind tried to catch up. I tried to make sense of the dragon in front of me.
It's small, wrapped in a thin layer of ice, wings still forming—fragile, almost unreal—but there's strength beneath it all, something raw and steady, like a storm held quiet. She's been through something—I see it in the jagged red scar that cuts across her face, deep and angry, a mark of pain and survival. And somehow, that scar makes her even more real.
Mira watched me closely. A small smile tugging at her lips. Kalina seemed to read the shift in the air.
"She's scared of dragons," Kalina said.
"Oh," the girl said softly, "he can leave."
With a powerful beat, it rose into the air, gliding effortlessly toward the open sky.
The girl turns toward me,"What's your name?"
I hesitate. For a second, I think about lying, but something in her tone disarms me.
"Amanda," I say, keeping my voice low, guarded.
She tilts her head. "Amanda?" Then, as if something clicks, her expression changes.
"My name is Amelia."
The name cuts through me like ice water.
Amelia.
A name I'd heard only a handful of times, whispered in conversations I was never meant to hear. The way it leaves her mouth—it's sharp, familiar, painful. Something deep inside me twists, something that doesn't have words yet.
But I shove it down.
"You think that name means something to me?" I snap, stepping back. "I'm not scared of dragons. I hate them."
Amelia frowns. "Hate them?"
"The fear—the fear is the fine print!" My voice rises without warning, cracking under the weight of everything. "Ice dragons have brought nothing but ruin. They destroyed my home. They killed—" I stop myself, teeth clenched. "Don't stand there and pretend that thing is harmless."
"Frost hasn't hurt anyone," Amelia says, her voice quiet but steady.
I laugh, bitter. "Are you sure? You say she's just a baby, but so were the ones that torched Barta."
She didn't respond.
"And is that guard cowering in the corner not enough protection?" I snap, pointing toward the woman tucked near the courtyard wall. Her posture is stiff. Instead of a weapon, she's holding a large, worn book pressed tightly to her chest.
"Mary's only here to make sure I'm okay," Amelia says, her voice rising. "I hate having soldiers watching me!" she yells suddenly, her anger flashing like a match struck too fast.
I swallow hard. I agree with her. I understand. But it doesn't matter—we've lived two completely different lives, and she'll never understand mine.
"You have no idea what the people of Barta experienced." My voice trembles. "You weren't there. You didn't hear the screams."
"Frost won't hurt anyone!" she shouts, taking a step forward. "She's not like the one that attacked Barta!"
"We come here to help, and you're already demanding answers without asking a single question."
"Because I don't need to ask," I snap, fury and grief boiling over. "I've seen what dragons do!"
Her jaw tightens, lips pressing into a thin line. Then she speaks, calmly but firmly.
"Then ask."
Silence stretches between us.
"Has Frost ever killed anyone?" she asks.
The question hangs in the air, a dare, a confession.
And then, without hesitation, she says:
"Yes."
The world stops. I wasn't prepared for that—for the quiet truth of it. It knocks the wind out of me.
I stare at her, eyes searching her face for mockery, for cruelty—but I find neither. Just that same calm sadness. A weight she's learned to carry.
"I'm sorry," she says softly.
I don't know how to respond.
A shadow passes between us.
The soldier—Mary—steps forward, separating us with a quiet but firm presence. She slides off her helmet, revealing a weathered face, unreadable, composed.
"There's no end to this argument," she says, voice low and level. "This alliance can help both our nations. I'm sure you'll have more time to settle your differences."
She adjusts the book in her arms—thick, bound in pale leather with strange indents across the cover.
Mira steps closer, eyeing it curiously. "Can I look at it?" she asks, already reaching.
Mary gives a brief, amused nod.
Mira flips it open. Then frowns. "Why are the pages empty?"
Kalina, still standing beside me, gives her a sharp look. "Because not everything is meant to be read with your eyes."