This chapter is so long I'M SORRY! Thank you for reading. The action picks up after this I promise.
Chapter 4
Xari stepped into her room, shutting the window behind her, and left it slightly ajar. The nocturnal hum of the city outside seeped through the walls, blending with the soft rustling of the curtains stirred by a distant breeze. In her hand, the note felt heavier than it should, as though the parchment itself carried the weight of the decisions it would demand of her.
She crossed the room with purpose, lifting the edge of a loose floorboard beneath her bed. A small, leather-bound box rested inside, its surface worn smooth from years of being handled. Carefully, she folded the note and tucked it into the box, her fingers lingering on its edges before sealing it away.
Xari realized she had not slept in over a day, and her bed beckoned her to join it. She collapsed on top of the blanket and exhaled sharply, the adrenaline from the day's events slowly giving way to unease. Her father's words still echoed in her mind—"That's just the way things are." The truth of it gnawed at her, clashing with everything she believed in.
For years, she had followed his teachings without question, embracing the Imperium's doctrine as if it were her own. But today, as she stood in the market watching that child's terror-stricken face, something within her had shifted. The cracks in the foundation of her beliefs were widening, and for the first time, she was beginning to see through them.
Xari turned to her side and pulled her knees to her chest, her gaze drifting to the patch of moonlight spilling across the floor. "There has to be another way," she murmured.
Her thoughts circled back to the note—its cryptic message, the unfamiliar sigil inked at the bottom. It hinted at something more, something hidden beneath the surface of the city's polished façade. It was a clue, perhaps even a lifeline, but following it meant stepping away from everything she had ever known.
Her resolve hardened as the silence of the room pressed in around her. Whatever the note led to, she would find out. If the meaning behind the note truly held answers, she knew she had to seek them—no matter the cost.
Xari's gaze drifted to the shadows playing along her walls, her thoughts pulling her back to the vision she had experienced just nights ago. It had been strange and vivid, unlike any dream she'd had before. She could still feel the cold prickle that had raced down her spine as she stood in the void of her mind, the air thick with whispers she couldn't decipher.
And then, there was the symbol.
Her fingers twitched as she remembered the sharp, deliberate strokes her hand had made across the canvas. It was as though the image had been etched into her mind, demanding to be released. She hadn't even been conscious of her movements, the brush guiding her rather than the other way around.
What emerged was haunting: the dragon and snake entwined with jagged lines that resembled chains and flames at once. It felt old—ancient, even—as though it carried secrets too heavy for mortal understanding. Xari didn't know what to make of it, but she knew it was important.
Livia had found her in the middle of the night, still seated before the canvas with paint-streaked hands and a distant look in her eyes. Xari remembered the way her mother's expression had darkened upon seeing the painting, her lips parting as though to say something before she stopped herself. The memory left her with a bitter aftertaste. What had her mother seen in that painting? Why had she taken it away so quickly, and where was it now?
Her mind churned with questions she couldn't answer. She wanted to confront Livia, to demand an explanation, but something held her back. Was it fear? Or was it the nagging sense that the symbol itself was dangerous—like holding a flame too close to dry kindling?
Whatever it was, Xari knew she couldn't let it go. That vision had felt like more than a dream; it had felt like a warning—or perhaps a call. She had to know what the symbol meant, and why Livia had been so unsettled by it.
But for now- sleep.
Xari's body sagged into the mattress as she willed her restless thoughts to quiet. Yet, even as her eyes fluttered closed, the threads of the day's revelations wove through her mind, refusing to be ignored.
She dreamed.
In her dream, the coiled serpents burned brighter in front of her, its jagged lines glowing as though forged in molten fire. Around it, the whispers from her vision returned, louder and more insistent, though the words still slipped through her grasp like grains of sand. The air in the void felt suffocating, pressing down on her chest until she could hardly breathe.
Then, suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness, shrouded in a cloak of shadows. The figure raised a hand, pointing at the burning sigil as if beckoning her closer. Xari strained to see their face, but their features were obscured, the shadows shifting like smoke.
She tried to speak, to demand answers, but her voice was lost to the void.
The figure tilted its head, and at that moment, Xari felt the weight of something immeasurable pass through her. It was as if the figure wasn't looking at her but through her, peeling back layers she didn't know she had.
Then the dragon roared, and her vision turned red, like blood seeping down over her eyes until it was all she saw.
"KAELIRA."
Xari woke with a gasp, her heart pounding in her chest. Her room was still, the faint light of dawn creeping through the edges of her curtains. She pressed a hand to her forehead, finding it damp with sweat.
The dream felt more real than the room around her. She could still hear the whispers, feel the oppressive heat of the cloaked figure's gaze. It wasn't just a vision or a dream—it was a warning, an omen, or perhaps a call to action.
It was time to get answers.
With steady determination, Xari dressed and made her way to her mother's quarters. She didn't bother with a lantern; the corridors of the estate were familiar enough, even under the pale glow of dawn filtering through the windows. The early hour left the halls quiet, her footsteps soft against the polished stone floor. The faint scent of herbs and oils met her before she reached the door, a signature of her mother's space.
Her mother's private quarters were tucked away on the eastern wing of the estate, a place of quiet retreat adorned with the scent of herbs and oils that always lingered in the air. Xari's steps were steady, but her mind churned with doubts and unease. Livia had always been a guiding presence in her life, the voice of reason and compassion. But tonight, Xari wasn't sure if her mother would give her the answers she sought—or if she was even prepared to hear them.
When she reached the heavy oak door, Xari hesitated. The soft hum of a hymn filtered through the cracks, a melody Livia often sang when lost in thought or prayer. It was soothing, but it only deepened the knot in Xari's stomach. She raised her hand, knuckles brushing the wood, and knocked lightly.
The humming stopped. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing Livia in her evening robes. Her hair was loosely braided over one shoulder, and there was a tiredness in her eyes that made Xari falter for a heartbeat.
"Xari," Livia said softly, her voice warm despite the lateness of the hour. "Is something troubling you?"
Xari shifted on her feet. "I need to ask you about the painting. The one I made… the other night."
Livia's expression stiffened almost imperceptibly, but she stepped aside, gesturing for Xari to enter.
The room was as familiar as ever, filled with the scent of lavender and sage. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with books, vials, and bundles of dried herbs. A tapestry depicting an old Tevinter legend hung behind Livia's writing desk, its intricate details nearly lost in the dim light of a single flickering candle.
Xari took a deep breath, her gaze meeting Livia's. "What did you do with it?"
Livia's shoulders tightened as she closed the door behind her. "Why does it matter, Xari?"
"Because it does," Xari pressed, her voice steady despite the rising tension. "I need to know what happened to it, and I need to know why you looked so afraid when you saw it."
For a long moment, Livia said nothing. Her gaze flickered to the tapestry, as though searching for an answer there. Finally, she turned back to Xari, her face shadowed with something between regret and resolve.
"I burned it," Livia said quietly.
Xari's breath caught. "You… what?"
"It wasn't just a painting, Xari," Livia continued, her voice laced with both sorrow and unease. "The moment I saw it, I felt… like the air had been sucked from the room and replaced with something cold and unnatural."
Xari stared at her, disbelief etched across her face. "You burned it? That painting could've meant something. It—"
"It did mean something," Livia cut in, her voice firmer now. "And that's why I destroyed it."
Xari's frustration bubbled over. "But what was it? What did you see that made you so afraid?"
Livia hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line as if weighing the consequences of her next words. Without replying, she crossed the room to an old wooden chest tucked into a shadowed corner. The lid creaked as she opened it, her hands disappearing inside. For a moment, Xari thought her mother wouldn't answer her at all, but then Livia straightened, holding something wrapped in faded cloth.
"I didn't want to show you this," Livia said, her tone heavy with reluctance. She returned to where Xari stood, unwrapping the object with deliberate care. Beneath the layers of cloth lay a fragment of burned fabric, its edges charred and brittle.
Xari frowned, her gaze fixed on the scorched piece. "What is that?"
Livia met her eyes. "This is the tabard you were found in as a baby. Your father and I kept it all these years, hoping it might someday give us answers about your origins. But the truth is, the answers it held have only raised more questions."
She turned the fabric over, revealing the faint remnants of an emblem burned into its surface. Much of it was destroyed, the design obscured by blackened scorch marks, but the part that remained was unmistakable—a dragon and snake entwined with jagged lines, identical to the one Xari had painted.
Xari's breath hitched. "That's… that's the same symbol."
"Yes," Livia murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's the same. And when I saw it in your painting, it was as if the past had come back to haunt us. The symbol carries a weight, Xari. But I know this much—it's not something to take lightly."
Xari's fingers hovered over the fabric but didn't touch it, as though the symbol itself might burn her. Her mind reeled with the connection between the vision, the painting, and now this fragment of her past.
"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" she asked, her voice tight with emotion.
"I thought I was protecting you," Livia said, her gaze softening. "I didn't want you burdened by something you didn't understand. But now… I see that keeping it from you may have been a mistake."
Xari tore her gaze from the tabard and looked at her mother, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on her shoulders. "This symbol—it's connected to me, isn't it? To where I came from."
Livia nodded slowly. "I believe so. But what it means, or what it could lead to… that's what frightens me, Xari. Not everything that calls to us is meant to be answered."
Xari clenched her fists, her resolve hardening. "Maybe. But if this symbol is a part of who I am, then I need to find out why. I have the right to know what it means—whether it's dangerous or not."
Livia's expression was a mix of fear and sorrow, but she said nothing further. The weight of unspoken warnings hung in the air as Xari turned her gaze back to the burned tabard, her thoughts swirling with determination and uncertainty. "Here." Livia extended her arms, the burned tabard resting delicately in her hands. "If you're determined to uncover the truth, then this belongs to you. It always has."
Xari hesitated, her heart pounding as she reached out. Her fingers brushed the fabric, the charred edges crumbling slightly at her touch. Despite its fragile state, the tabard carried an undeniable weight—a sense of history and meaning that made her stomach churn.
The faint symbol, partially burned but still visible, stared back at her like an unblinking eye. Xari's fingers closed around the fabric, and a jolt of something unexplainable coursed through her. It wasn't pain, but a strange, tingling awareness that made the hair on her arms rise.
"It's yours now," Livia said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what answers you'll find, Xari, but be careful. Some truths come with a price."
Xari met her mother's gaze, searching for reassurance but finding only worry etched into her features. "Thank you," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.
Livia sighed, stepping back as if releasing the tabard had taken some unseen strength from her. "You should rest, Xari. Whatever path this leads you down, you'll need your strength."
But rest was the furthest thing from Xari's mind. As she clutched the burned tabard to her chest, she felt a strange sense of resolve settling over her. The doubts, the questions, her visions, the cryptic note from the stranger in the courtyard—they all seemed to converge on this single moment.
Her mother had given her a piece of her past, and now it was up to Xari to decide what to do with it. Whatever price the truth demanded, she knew she had to pay it.
"I will," Xari said quietly, though the words felt more like a promise to herself than a response to her mother. She turned and made her way to the door, the tabard held close. As she stepped into the dim corridor, the weight of her mother's warnings lingered like a shadow at her back.
She didn't look back.
The first rays of dawn filtered through the thin curtains of Xari's room, bathing the space in a soft golden light. She had fallen asleep with the burned tabard still in her hands, the fabric now draped across her chest like a solemn reminder of the night before.
A sharp knock at the door broke the stillness, followed by the unmistakable voice of her brother, Kaelen. "Xari, get up. Father's expecting you in the training yard."
Xari groaned, her body protesting as she forced herself upright. Sleep had done little to ease the weight on her mind, and the soreness in her muscles reminded her of the previous day's events.
"Xari!" Kaelen called again, this time louder. "Don't make me come in there."
"I'm up!" she snapped, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "Give me a minute!"
There was a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Sure you are," Kaelen said, his tone teasing. "Better hurry, or he'll make you spar with me again."
Xari rolled her eyes as the sound of his retreating footsteps faded. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool stone floor. The tabard sat in her lap, its burned edges a stark contrast to the soft morning light.
She stared at it for a moment, her fingers brushing over the faded symbol. Questions swirled in her mind, but she pushed them aside for now. There would be time to dwell on the mysteries later—after she dealt with her father.
With a sigh, Xari rose and dressed quickly, slipping into her training gear and tying her hair back into a loose braid. She tucked the tabard back into the leather box under her bed, making sure it was secure before replacing the floorboard.
As she made her way through the estate, the air was crisp with the promise of a clear morning. The smell of dew and freshly cut grass greeted her when she stepped outside, the training yard already alive with the sounds of clashing blades and barked commands.
Kaelen stood near the edge of the yard, leaning casually against a wooden post with his arms crossed. His dark hair was tousled, and his grin was as infuriating as ever. "Took you long enough," he said, pushing off the post as she approached.
Xari shot him a glare. "I didn't realize you'd been promoted to my keeper."
"Someone has to make sure you don't slack off," Kaelen replied, his grin widening.
Before she could retort, her father's voice cut through the yard like a blade. "Xari!"
Erynd stood in the center of the yard, his imposing figure framed by the rising sun. His armor gleamed, and the stern set of his jaw made it clear he was not in the mood for excuses.
"Let's see if yesterday taught you anything," he said, motioning for her to join him. "You've got a lot to prove."
Xari clenched her fists, steeling herself as she stepped forward. Whatever her father had planned, she was determined to face it head-on. Behind him was a wooden weapon stand, and Xari's usual pick of blades glistened in the morning sun. Her fingers grazed the familiar hilts of her dual blades as she lifted them from the weapon stand. Forged from blackened steel with rippling patterns along the surface, the slightly curved blades shimmered faintly, absorbing the light. Their hilts, crafted from polished wyvern bone reinforced with mithral filigree, bore intricate carvings of coiled dragons entwined with jagged chains. Soft black drakehide wrapped the grips, ensuring a secure hold, while the dragon-claw pommels cradled shards of shadow quartz that glimmered with a faint inner light. Perfectly balanced for speed and precision, the blades felt like an extension of herself—deadly, agile, and unyielding.
Erynd, a longsword dragging lightly along the cobblestones in his hand, gestured for her to take her stance. The blade in his grasp resembled the weapon of the Archon's knight, stirring memories of the market and reigniting the emotions she had tried to bury. Without a word, he opened with basic, probing strikes, forcing Xari to stay on the defensive.
"You think you understand how this world works?" Erynd's tone was measured but edged with challenge. "Show me. Block. Defend."
Xari responded instinctively, parrying his strikes, though her form wavered under his pressure. Frustration simmered as his words cut deeper than his blade. "It's not just about defending, Father," she countered, gritting her teeth. "It's about knowing when to strike back."
Erynd smirked, his strikes quickening, each one forcing her to react faster. "Strike back? You don't even know what you're fighting for. That knight was doing his duty. You don't get to decide what justice looks like."
Xari's blocks became bolder, though her movements lacked refinement. Her frustration boiled over, spilling into her strikes as she pressed him harder. "And the child?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "Was she supposed to just accept punishment because it's 'the way things are'?"
Erynd parried her blows with ease, his expression hardening. "Justice isn't about kindness, Xari. It's about maintaining order. Without it, there's chaos."
Xari's breathing quickened as she analyzed his strikes, recognizing patterns and shifting her approach. Rather than meeting him head-on, she dodged, anticipating his moves with growing confidence. Her adaptability became a silent declaration: she wouldn't just follow his path blindly.
"Maybe chaos is what's needed," she said, her tone steady despite the storm within. "The system is broken. Order only protects those at the top."
Erynd's next strike glanced her shoulder, a sharp reminder of his experience. He stepped back, lowering his blade. "You think you've seen enough of the world to know what it needs?" His voice was quieter now but no less cutting. "You don't understand the systems you speak about. Have all my years of lessons gone to waste?"
Xari lowered her blades, her chest heaving but her resolve unshaken. "Maybe I don't," she admitted, meeting his gaze. "But I know I can't keep following a path that feels so wrong."
For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by their labored breaths. Erynd studied her, his expression unreadable. "You've got heart, Xari. But heart won't save you." He gestured toward the edge of the training yard, his tone final. "Think on this. Strength isn't just in the swing of a blade. It's in knowing when to wield it."
Xari stood rooted as he walked away, the weight of his words settling over her. Despite the bruises and doubts, her determination burned brighter. She would find her own path, no matter where it led.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." The sound cut through the stillness, laced with amusement. Xari turned sharply, expecting a smug remark. Theron stood leaning against the stone wall of the training yard, casually tossing an apple into the air and catching it with practiced ease. His grin was as sharp as his tone, one brow raised in mock disapproval.
Her scathing reply caught in her throat as her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl. Maker, she was starving. Her gaze flickered to the apple in his hand, its crimson skin glinting in the sunlight like a taunt.
"You know, you fight better when you're not on the verge of collapse," Theron said, biting into the apple with a loud crunch. He chewed slowly, savoring it in a way that made her glare at him all the harder.
"Are you here to help, or just to gloat?" Xari snapped, wiping sweat from her brow as she straightened.
"Gloating, mostly," Theron admitted with a smirk, tossing the apple up again. "But if you're nice to me, I might consider sharing."
Xari took a slow, steadying breath, easing the physical tension in her body. Theron's presence, though often grating, was a constant she had learned to tolerate over the years. He had a way of pushing her buttons—always with that cocky grin and effortless arrogance—but beneath it, there was no malice. He wasn't trying to undermine her, not truly. He just liked to tease, like most older brothers. She reminded herself of that now, trying to shake off the frustration lingering from her sparring session with Erynd.
"If you would be so kind as to offer a morsel of your fruit, sir," Xari mockingly held out her hands, her voice exaggerated in a begging tone. Her words had the intended effect—Theron tossed her the apple with a grin, and they both shared a light chuckle. But as the fruit landed in her hands, Xari's grin faded. She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, the playful jest suddenly shallow in her mind.
She thought of what she had witnessed in the market the day before—the child, terrified, her small hand raised to defend herself from the knight's sword. That memory lingered, along with another: Tarin, the young street fighter who had a sharp wit and a sharper blade, surviving by his wits and strength. Without his talents, he would be nothing more than another beggar on the streets, depending on the kindness of others for his next meal.
Xari's gaze turned distant as she stared at the apple in her hands. She had passed so many like him—the hungry, the desperate—without truly seeing them, without considering what life was really like for those outside the walls of privilege. How many people had she walked past on her way to and from her father's estate, wondering where their next meal might come from? How many had simply accepted their fate, seeing the world through a lens of survival rather than possibility?
Her heart tightened, and the playful banter with Theron felt far away. She took a bite of the apple, but it tasted bitter in her mouth now.
"Relax, sister. It's not poisoned." Theron made his way to Xari, his brow furrowed as he studied the change in her mood. "Father's lecture is getting to you, huh?"
She lifted her head to meet her brother's eyes. "Do you ever wonder about what life outside is like? For other people in Minrathous, I mean- those not as fortunate as us?"
Theron raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard by the question. He paused for a moment, the casual smile fading from his face as he took in the seriousness of Xari's tone. "The world outside?" He chuckled lightly, though there was no real humor in it. "It's not all that different from here, I'd imagine. People fight for what they need, just like we do. There's always someone at the top, someone at the bottom. That's just how things work, right?"
Xari shook her head slowly, her gaze drifting back to the distant walls of the estate. "Is it? I don't know anymore." Her voice was quieter now, almost to herself. "It's easy to think of life as a fixed order, like Father does. But... there's so much more beneath the surface." She thought again of the child from the market, of Tarin, and of the many faces she passed each day, some hidden in shadow, some too close to the light.
Theron leaned against the stone wall, looking at her with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What are you getting at, Xari?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she bit into the apple again, the sweet tartness a sharp contrast to the bitter thoughts swirling inside her. She met his eyes once more. "I don't know yet. But something's wrong with the way things are."
Theron did not answer. She didn't really expect him to. Sometimes, Xari could not tell if Theron was daft, or it was a front he put up to mess with her. Or maybe even a shield, hiding layers of her brother's innermost thoughts. He had a way of deflecting, of masking his true feelings with sarcasm or lighthearted teasing, and it was a talent he used well. Xari had learned long ago not to expect him to open up, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she couldn't shake the feeling that beneath his carefree exterior, there was something deeper—a part of him that understood, even if he wouldn't admit it.
She sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she took another bite of the apple, staring at the horizon beyond the training yard. The weight of her thoughts felt heavier now, as if they were growing roots in her mind, sinking deeper with every passing day.
A thought flashed through her mind. Theron was not like Kaelen; he did not live in their father's shadow, blindly following everything he said as truth. In some ways, Theron and Xari were much alike. She knew of his secret girlfriends- yes, plural- how sometimes he would make subtle lighthearted jabs at Erynd that Kaelen wouldn't dare to. Of all people in the world, besides her friends, Kaelen was at least trustworthy. She hoped.
"If I show you something," Xari broke the silence, Theron raising an eyebrow, "do you promise not to tell a soul?"
Her brother stared at her, his posture shifting slightly as he focused on her. "You're serious, aren't you?"
Xari met his gaze evenly, not backing down. She wasn't sure why she was about to do this. Maybe it was because she knew Theron, for all his antics, had a way of keeping things to himself when it mattered. Or maybe it was because, for once, she didn't want to face the weight of her secrets alone.
"I'm serious," she replied, her voice steady but with a hint of resolve. "Not a word to anyone. Not even to Kaelen."
Theron let out a short breath, his expression unreadable for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod. "Fine. But only because I'm intrigued. I swear, not a soul."
Xari glanced around, ensuring there was no one nearby to overhear them. "Come to my room with me." Without another word, she turned and headed to the manor. She did not look back to see if Theron was following her, but she knew he was; he was too nosey.
Once they made it inside her room, she waited for Theron to enter and quickly shut the door. She kneeled next to her bed and reached for the loose floorboard.
"What's this about? Are you hiding a pet nug from Mama and Father?" Theron grinned, his hands on his hips. He watched her closely as she lifted the floorboard and pulled out the leather-bound box. Opening it, Theron watched in anticipation. Xari grabbed the note and set the box on her bed.
"Does this mean anything to you?" She presented the note to him, and he took it from her. Reading the cryptic message, he raised his brow.
Theron squinted at the note, his expression a mix of amusement and confusion. He traced the words with his fingers, the cryptic message seemingly at odds with the casual tone he had maintained up until now. Xari could tell he was trying to make sense of it, but the more he read, the more his playful facade began to crack.
"This... doesn't make much sense," Theron said, his voice lower now, a touch of seriousness creeping in. He handed the note back to her, his brow furrowed. "What is this? Is this why you've been acting so strange?"
Xari took the note back, her fingers brushing over the faded ink. She glanced at her brother, her thoughts swirling. There was no easy way to explain everything she had been feeling, or what she had seen, or how the symbol from her visions haunted her.
"In the market the other day," Xari sighed, dropping her shoulders, "well, I'm not sure how much you know about what happened. I stood up for an elf slave girl when the Archon's knight was about to chop her hand off. Tarin- you know my friend, the street orphan?- he found me after it happened. There's talk among the people of Minrathous. Rumors or uprisings, an underground faction fighting injustice… and then I received this note. From a stranger in the courtyard. Last night."
Theron's eyes narrowed as he processed her words. He crossed his arms, clearly taking her seriously now. "Yes, the whole city knows about what you did. But..." He let out a low whistle, but his expression remained unreadable. "You know that's not the way things work here, right?"
Xari ran a hand through her hair, her thoughts racing. "I do. But something about it... it felt wrong. The way she was treated. The way we just let things happen. Like we were all just standing by, waiting for the next thing to fall apart."
"And Tarin—he's involved now?" Theron asked, his tone softening, though the concern in his eyes was palpable. "You're saying there's an underground movement? In Minrathous?"
Xari nodded. "That's what Tarin said. People are starting to talk, to push back. And I—I don't know what to make of it yet. But this note… It feels like more than just some message from a stranger. It's tied to everything. I can feel it."
Theron stood silent for a moment, glancing at the note in her hand. "You really think this is the start of something bigger?"
"I don't know," Xari admitted. "But there's something about that symbol. It's like I've seen it before, like it's a key to understanding all the things I'm starting to question. About the Empire. About the way the world works."
Theron stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "Alright. Let's say you're right. Let's say there's something to all of this. What do you want to do about it? This is dangerous, Xari. The people who are starting to rise up against the Imperium... they don't have the resources to win. They'll be crushed."
"I know," she replied, her voice steady despite the weight of his words. "But I can't just stand by and do nothing. Not when I know there's a chance to change things."
Theron looked at her for a long moment, his gaze searching her face. Then, with a deep sigh, he shook his head. "You really have a death wish, don't you?"
"No," Xari said firmly, though her gaze drifted to the floor. "But… there's more."
"Well, please, let me sit down first," Theron scoffed, dropping into the chair by the window with a slight creak. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, giving her a skeptical but patient look. "Alright, I'm listening."
Xari hesitated, her fingers knotting together as she searched for the right words. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, the anxiety twisting in her chest making it hard to meet his gaze. "I've been having these visions for a while. Mama calls them night terrors, but... I know they're more than that. Some of them don't even happen when I'm asleep."
Theron's brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting her continue.
"The other night..." she faltered, swallowing against the lump rising in her throat. "The other night, I had the most intense one I've ever had. I couldn't sleep, so I got up to paint—something simple to distract myself. But then, it was like... I blinked, and I wasn't in my room anymore. I wasn't anywhere. Everything was black, completely empty, and then..." Her voice wavered, and she forced herself to look up at her brother, searching his face for any sign of disbelief. "Then there was red—blood red. It was everywhere. And I heard a voice, Theron. I felt like it was calling out to me, but it didn't say my name. It kept saying, 'Kaelira.'"
She paused, her throat tightening as the fear of the moment gripped her again. "I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. It felt like I was trapped there, and then, just as suddenly as it started, I was back in my room."
Theron's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn't interrupt.
Xari clenched her hands in her lap, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "But my canvas... when I looked at it, there was this painting of a dragon and snake. Jagged, chaotic, like they clawed their way out of my mind. I don't remember doing it, Theron. It's like something else took control of me."
Theron's brow furrowed, his patient expression faltering as he leaned back in the chair, letting her words settle. "A dragon? And a snake?" he repeated, his voice cautious, as if testing the weight of the word.
Xari nodded, her hands trembling in her lap. "It wasn't like anything I've ever painted before." She paused, her voice lowering. "Mama must have heard me get up because when I came back from the vision, she was standing behind me. She looked terrified—like she'd seen a ghost. She didn't say anything, just grabbed the canvas and told me not to tell anyone."
Theron ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he tried to process what she was telling him. "And she didn't explain anything? Not even why she took it?"
Xari shook her head. "Not at the moment, no. But last night..." She hesitated, her voice dropping. "I had another dream. It was like the vision I had, but this time I saw the serpents from the painting. They weren't just there—they were alive, moving. The voices, they called out that name again, Kaelira."
Theron leaned forward, his brows knitting together. "And when you woke up?"
"I went straight to Mama's room," Xari admitted, glancing at him cautiously. "I asked her about the painting, about the name. She said she burned the canvas, Theron."
His eyes widened in disbelief. "She burned it?"
"She said it was dangerous," Xari continued, her voice wavering slightly. "And then she gave me this."
She turned, reaching for the small box on her bed. Carefully, she opened it and pulled out the folded tabard. She held it out to him, her hands trembling slightly. "This is what they found me in when I was a baby."
Theron stared at it for a moment before taking it from her, his fingers brushing over the faded material. His eyes caught on the faint emblem, his expression darkening as he traced its outline.
"Look at the emblem," Xari urged, her voice firmer now. "It's identical to the one I painted—and the one in my dream."
Theron's jaw tightened as he held the tabard up to the light to reveal the emblem—the coiled dragon and snake entwined with jagged lines. "This... this isn't just a coincidence," he said quietly, his voice edged with something between worry and disbelief. "You're saying the dreams, the visions, that name—it's all connected to this?"
Xari nodded, swallowing hard. "I don't know what it means, but it's not just random. And if Mama burned the painting but kept this all these years... she must know more than she's telling me."
Theron exhaled sharply, setting the tabard on the table between them. He stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at his sister. "Alright. This is... a lot. But if this symbol is tied to your visions, we need to figure out where it's from—and why it's haunting you."
Theron looked at her, his little sister who somehow always seemed older than her years. For a moment, he saw past her resilience, past the determination in her eyes, and was reminded that she was still just a child—a thirteen-year-old facing things no one should have to face. It hit him how much she was carrying, and how unfair it all was.
But she wasn't breaking. She wasn't even bending.
"The note you received," Theron pointed at the paper still in her hand, "it has a dragon symbol as well. Maybe it's connected?"
Xari unfolded the note, studying the emblem with a frown. "It's not the same, though," she murmured, tracing the lines of the design with her finger. "This dragon is different. There's no snake, either. But… if there is a connection, I have to find out what it is."
Theron's expression hardened, his protective instincts kicking in. "If you're going after answers, you're not going alone. We'll figure this out together, Xari. Whatever it takes."
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with both determination and gratitude. "Alright," she said softly. "Together."
Xari shook her head, clutching the note tightly. "No, Theron. I need to do this on my own."
"What?" His voice sharpened, and he stood, towering over her. "Xari, you can't be serious. You're thirteen. Whatever this is, it's dangerous. You need help."
"I can't drag you into this," she said firmly, her gaze steady despite the tremor in her hands. "This is about me—my past, my visions. I can't ask you to risk anything for something that might not even lead anywhere."
Theron frowned, crossing his arms. "You don't have to ask. I'm offering. Whatever's going on, it's bigger than you, Xari. You shouldn't have to deal with this alone."
"That's just it," she said, her voice rising slightly. "What if it isn't bigger than me? What if this is something I'm meant to figure out—something only I can face? If you come with me, I'll just be putting you in danger too."
"And what happens if you get hurt?" he countered, his voice low but intense. "What if this leads you straight into something you can't handle? You think I'm just going to sit back and let that happen?"
Xari stepped closer, meeting his gaze with a fire he hadn't expected. "I'm not a kid who needs protecting, Theron. I've been training my whole life. You said it yourself—whatever this is, it's tied to me. Not you. I'll be careful, I promise, but I can't have you shadowing me on this. It's my responsibility."
Theron's jaw tightened, and for a moment, the only sound between them was the rustle of the tabard as Xari folded it back into the box.
"Xari…" he started, but she cut him off.
"I mean it," she said, softer this time. "This is something I need to do. You have your duties, Theron. You can't risk everything to chase shadows with me."
He stared at her, his fists clenching at his sides. "You're stubborn, you know that?"
"Must run in the family," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
The tension hung thick in the air, but eventually, Theron let out a frustrated sigh and stepped back. "Fine. But if this gets out of hand—if something doesn't feel right—you tell me. I don't care what it takes or where you are. You let me know, and I'll be there. Understood?"
Xari nodded, her expression softening. "Understood."
Theron looked at her for a long moment, as if memorizing her face, before finally turning toward the door. "Just don't do anything reckless, Xari. Please."
As he left, Xari sat back down, unfolding the note and staring at the dragon symbol again. Her heart raced as the weight of her decision settled over her, but she pushed the fear aside. She didn't know where this would lead, but one thing was certain—she had to follow the trail.
Alone.