Ashes of the Sky

The iron door screams as it opens. I've heard that sound every morning for five years. Metal dragging against stone. Rust grinding against rust. The sound of another day I didn't ask for.

Usually, the guard shoves stale bread through the bars and keeps walking. Today, he unlocks them. I hold my breath.

Chains teach you patience. Hope is a dangerous thing in a place like this.

"Well?" the guard barks. "You planning to rot in there forever, traitor's daughter?" He sneers.

There it is. Doesn't matter how many years pass, they never forget what I am.

I push myself off the stone floor slowly, joints stiff from another night pressed against the damp wall. I don't rush. I don't stumble. Weakness gets noticed here, and noticed things don't last long.

I step into the thin strip of torchlight spilling through the open cell.

The guard looks... disappointed. They always are. After hearing stories about the Thalorien traitors, people expect something terrifying. A monster. A girl with madness in her eyes.

Instead, I'm small. Barely taller than his shoulder, hair braided back out of my face, a thin scar slicing through my eyebrow and down the side of my face. The only dangerous thing about me is my mouth.

"Did the kingdom run out of criminals," I ask, voice dry, "or are we celebrating something special today?"

He scowls. "You've been released."

I blink once. Then I laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it is absolutely ridiculous.

"Let me guess," I say. "You finally realized I wasn't the one who committed the crime."

He shoves a folded bundle into my arms hard enough that I have to catch it.

"You're twenty today," he says. "Which means you're old enough to serve the kingdom."

I look down at the fabric.

Black, crisp leather. I recognize it instantly. Academy cadet.

For a second, everything goes quiet and the room spines.

Five years in chains for my parents' crimes. Five years of whispers—traitors, monsters, dragon killers.

And now, the same people who locked me in a cage, want to hand me a bonded.

I huff a quiet laugh and look back up at him.

"That's funny."

His grip tightens around my arm as he drags me into the corridor. "What is?"

I don't resist. Not yet. I just smile—slow and sharp.

"You locked me up because my parents were traitors."

I glance back once, at the open cell. At the place that tried to make me smaller. Then I look ahead, toward the narrow slice of gray sky waiting beyond the gates.

"And now you're handing me a chance to bond."

My smile widens.

"That seems like a terrible idea."

He doesn't respond— he doesn't even spare me a glance.

The corridor is colder than my cell. I didn't think that was possible.

The guard doesn't loosen his grip on my arm as he drags me forward. His fingers dig in hard enough to bruise, but I don't react. Not when that's exactly what he wants.

Boots echo against stone as we move deeper into the prison. Torches flicker along the walls, casting long shadows that twist and stretch like they're trying to crawl away.

Cells line both sides. And they're all watching. Word travels fast in places like this.

"Thalorien," someone mutters.

The name slithers down the corridor like something alive. I keep my eyes forward. I don’t look.

That was lesson one.

Still, I feel them.

Some faces press close to the bars, eyes wide with something almost like pity. Like they think I won't make it out there any more than I did in here.

Others look relieved. Like a storm is finally passing. Like I was the worst thing in this place—and now I'm someone else's problem.

A man in one of the lower cells lets out a low laugh as we pass.

"Didn't think they'd let you out alive," he says, voice rough from disuse.

I don't answer.

Another steps forward, fingers curling around the bars as his gaze drags slowly over me.

Hungry, but not for food.

I stop walking.

The guard yanks my arm. "Keep moving."

I don't listen. I rarely do. That’s what gets me in trouble often, especially in here. My insufferable lack of listening skills.

Instead, I turn my head just enough to look at the man in the cell. Really look at him.

He smiles. I smile back. Slow. Sharp.

"Try it," I say quietly.

The smile drops off his face. Most creeps are easy to back down, others are not. Most losing any morality being locked in here with no concept of time.

The guard shoves me hard between the shoulder blades, and this time I let myself stumble forward a step.

"Not so brave without a cage between us, are you?" he mutters.

I glance back at him over my shoulder. "You've had five years to find out."

His grip tightens. We stop in a wider chamber. Cleaner than the rest.

There's a table. A basin of water. And two more guards waiting.

I don't like that.

"Strip," one of them says.

I raise an eyebrow. "You’re supposed to buy me dinner first."

The back of a hand cracks across my face before I even finish the sentence. My head snaps to the side. For a second, everything rings. I taste blood.

Slowly, I straighten, rolling my jaw once. Then I look back at him. And smile.

"That all you've got?" I ask, voice rough but steady.

His expression darkens, but the first guard steps in before he can swing again.

"Enough. She's not worth it."

Not worth it? I almost laugh.

They shove the basin toward me. "Clean yourself up. You're not stepping foot in the academy looking like that."

I glance down at the water. It's not clean. Not really. But it's better than what I've had.

So I dunk my hands in, scrub at the worst of the grime, wipe the blood from my lip. It doesn't do much. Still leaves me looking like exactly what I am.

A prisoner.

They toss the uniform at me again.

"Put it on."

I hesitate just long enough to annoy them. Then I peel off the prison shirt.

Cold air hits my skin. Scars exposed. Old and new. Some thin. Some not.

I don't rush. Let them look. Let them see exactly what five years bought me.

One of the guards shifts uncomfortably. Good. I hope my scars and bruises makes it hard for them to sleep at night. But alas, it won’t. Because I’m sure in my 5 years here, some of these scars were given by them. Though I don’t remember who gave what anymore. I stopped counting after the thirty second scar.

I pull the black uniform on piece by piece. It fits too well. Like it was made for me.

Like they planned this. Like this was always going to happen.

I tighten the straps, roll my shoulders once, testing the movement. Lighter than chains, but heavier than it should be.

"Done?" the guard asks.

I glance up.

"Miss me already?"

He doesn't answer. Just grabs my arm again and drags me toward the final set of doors. Toward the exit.

Toward the sky I haven't seen in five years. Toward whatever comes next.

I don't look back this time. I don't need to.

There's nothing in that place worth remembering.

And if there is— I'll burn it out of myself before it follows me out.