The night was still, broken only by the low crackle of the campfire, the soft rustling of the leaves, and the occasional shifting of hooves. The silence was empty. Horses exhaled, quiet as the droning insects, their breath fogging the cool night air.

  “We’ll take leave before sunrise,” Joran said, leaning closer to the fire. He ran a hand through his long brown hair, tying it back in hopes the warmth would find his face.

  The others said nothing. The quiet settled thick as the smoke that swam above the flames.

  His daughter, Elise, tugged on his cloak from below him.

  “Father,” Elise said, her voice just above a whisper, “how much farther is the underground city?”

  “Not much further,” Joran replied. “We should be arriving at The Shade tomorrow, near dusk.”

  Around the fire sat the rest of their small group.

  Yohric sat across from Joran, his hood drawn low over his balding, sore-stamped head. The priest hadn’t said much since they left Thios Reach—the capital, and his home for fifty-five years.

  Beside him sat Henry, broad-shouldered and lost in thought. Joran had known him for years, but Henry always carried a quiet tension that never seemed to fade. A father’s responsibility, he supposed.

  His daughter, Serene, sat next to him, legs drawn to her chest, golden hair falling like a curtain across her distant gaze. She was nearing sixteen, and often full of chatter, but had been quiet since they left the city.

  Elise tilted her head, letting her tangled chestnut hair fall to one shoulder. She peered into the void where the stars made their eternal home. “What’s it like down there?”

  “I’m not sure. It was only finished a mere three years ago, so I imagine the streets are clean and the homes well-built. The air might be heavier, the walls tighter, but there’s plenty of room for new families to start a life.” Joran said.

  “Do you think it’s as big as the Thios Reach?” she asked.

  Joran hesitated, glancing at Yohric. “It’s no kingdom… but it’s still a home.”

  “And a cage,” Henry added, glaring into the flames as if they dared him to say it. He wrapped his arm around Serene and pulled her close, offering comfort to her—and himself.

  No one replied. The heaviness of Henry’s words pressed down on them.

  Joran had fought against the Court’s decision to exile the afflicted people from the city, but the prejudice had proved stronger than reason. Though one of the glorified eight of the ‘Court of All’, the council which ran the country, even Joran’s voice was drowned out by their disdain.

  He knew Henry hadn’t spoken to worry Yohric. He was thinking of his own family and how their path was beginning to narrow.

  Sooner or later, it could lead them down into the underground city as well.

  Very few knew the truth about Henry’s family. Henry’s wife, Thera, was Burned by the Bright One, an affliction from one of the four gods that governed their world.

  Ushil, god of the sun, had cursed those who suffered from his affliction to walk only during ‘Ushil’s watch,’ or daylight, lest their skin be burned away by the moonlight.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Joran was unsure which curse Henry’s son had, though.

  For over a decade, his family had taken every precaution to hide their afflictions from curious eyes. If they were discovered, they would face exile from the city. But Joran had warned Henry that the Court of All was pushing to legalize the execution of afflicted citizens within city walls.

  Only Joran and one other member pushed back, but the law is expected to be amended within the year.

  “I’ve heard rumors,” Elise stated, “that the afflicted live like animals down there, stealing and fighting, pissing in the streets.”

  Joran’s face hardened as he turned to Yohric and Henry.

  “Just because a rumor meets your ears, doesn’t mean it carries truth,” he said, eyebrows furrowed. “Remember, Elise, people are suffering down there, just as there are people in the Capital who are suffering all the same.”

  Yohric raised his head with a kind smile and nodded toward Joran.

  “Elise, my dear. As you know, I suffer from an affliction. Cursed by the Dead One, I endure bouts of weakness. My body doesn’t heal well, I fall sick often, and I stay that way longer than I should.”

  His voice was gentle and calm. “I can assure you, none of the afflicted I know behaves in such indecent ways. I will admit, however, that some people do act like ‘animals’. But that truth belongs to Thios Reach and all cities alike.”

  “... I didn’t mean you, Yohric,” Elise began, her voice small with shame.

  “Just because the gods rejected them doesn’t mean they’re bad people,” Serene said, her tone stern, but not cruel.

  Joran glanced at her, surprised at her mature response.

  He knew Serene understood all too well how ordinary people viewed those with afflictions. Victims of rumors and ignorance, labeled as monsters wearing human skin. In truth, many afflicted lived in secret among them, hiding their curses, hoping to pass as sheep amongst the wolves.

  Elise sat with her head down. “I’m sorry, Yohric,” she said, a catch in her throat.

  “It’s nothing to be sorry about, child. Thirteen years of age blesses you both purity and curiosity. I trust you meant no offense,” Yohric offered, quelling the tension that had been building. “I’d best be off to bed. Nia’s Watch will end soon enough, and Ushil will rise before we know it.”

  “I think we should all follow your lead,” Joran said, stretching his arms overhead. “I’ll take first watch for a few hours, you lot get some rest.”

  “I’ll take the next one, and Yohric’s,” Henry said, unstrapping his sword and dagger from his waist.

  “No, Henry,” Yohric began. “I’ll be jus—”

  “No, Yohric. You’ll enjoy your last night under the stars. Once you’re in the underground city, you’ll look back on moments like these. Sure, you can leave The Shade whenever you fancy, but you might not have trusted friends to watch over you in your slumber.”

  His conviction left no room for debate. Yohric nodded in thankful submission.

  Everyone took to their travel beds except Joran, who sat, hypnotized by the glow of the embers. He could hear the priest mumbling prayers before sleep claimed him, along with Serene, who prayed more audibly.

  Serene recited in a soft voice:

  “Goodnight, Blind One. Goodnight, Dead One.

  Thank you, Nia, for the moon.

  And goodnight, Bright One.

  I’ll surely wake,

  and I’ll see you soon.”

  Joran mouthed the words as she spoke. It was his favorite prayer before sleep, not as well-known as the other recitations, but it was the first his late mother had taught him as a child.

  Hours passed as the moon kept Joran company. A yawn caught him off guard as he added another log to the fire. He walked over, nudging Henry awake.

  “Henry,” he whispered. “I let you sleep a little longer, but it’s time to switch.”

  “Ughhm,” Henry groaned, half-conscious.

  “Come now. The watch is calling you, and I hear my bed calling me,” Joran said, helping him sit upright.

  “No matter how strong or brave the man,” Henry mumbled, rubbing his eyes, “we all fall victim to the same three things: women, ale, and our beds.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell your wife you consider yourself to be her victim,” Joran chuckled, lowering himself into his travel bed, pulling the warmth of his blanket up to his chin. “She can’t be that scary.”

  “And that’s how I know you’ve never seen her mad.” Henry’s voice lingered like the last crackle of firewood.

  “Goodnight, friend. I’ll wake you when light draws near.”