1: never sing this

I hummed before I even realized I was doing it.

It was a habit my father warned me about, back when he was still alive. Humming in public, where anyone could hear. But the kitchen was empty, the fire was low, and the night outside was quiet enough that I forgot myself. The pot in front of me bubbled softly, steam curling up into the dark, and for a moment it felt like the whole world had shrunk down to just this: the fire, the warmth, the quiet.

*Hush now, child, beneath the moon,*

*The embers sleep, but wake too soon.*

*Beyond the veil where shadows fly,*

*A dragon waits beneath the sky.*

I didn’t know where the song came from, only that my father used to sing it to me as a child, late at night, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the walls themselves were listening.

After he died, my mother begged me to stop.

“Never sing that, where others can hear you,”she warned, again and again. “Promise me, Mira.”

“I promise,” I always said. Just to get her off my back. She never explained why. I never asked twice.

I stirred the pot over the fire, and the words slipped out again before I could stop them.

*Sleep, my love, the fire won’t burn,*

*For those who wait for hearts to turn.*

The fire crackled louder than it should have.

I froze.

For a moment, I could have sworn the flame moved, curling toward me like it was listening.

Something hard struck the side of my head.immediately.

I pressed my hand to the spot, wincing, and looked down to find what had hit me. A Cuju ball sat innocently at my feet. Before I could ask myself where it came from, I heard it laughter, badly muffled, drifting from just outside the window.

I already knew who it was. There was only one person reckless enough to throw a ball through my window and laugh about it.

I picked up the ball, stormed outside, and found exactly who I expected.

“Hey, you.” I held the ball out toward Prince Ren, who stood at the center of his usual cluster of friends, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Hey… Mira.” He grinned, and his friends burst into laughter like he’d said something brilliant.

“Don’t you think you should apologize?”

“Apologize? To who?” one of his friends said.

“You?” another added, and they all laughed harder.

I raised the ball, holding the prince’s gaze. For half a second, I caught the flicker of real fear behind his smirk. Good. I hurled it not at him, never at him, my mother had warned me too many times about crossing that line but at the wall beside his head, hard enough that all of them flinched and shut their eyes.

The prince’s smirk vanished. “You little” His voice cracked with something between fury and shock. “Guards.”

I didn’t even have time to run.

Hands closed around my arms before I could think, dragging me toward the prince’s court. I was forced into a chair, the wood biting into the backs of my knees, and that was when the fruit started rotten, soft, splattering against my dress, my hair, my face. The smell of it clung instantly, sweet and sick all at once. I kept my head down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my anger, or my tears. I counted my own breaths instead, the way my father used to tell me when I was small and furious about something I couldn’t change. In. Out. Again.

“This is boring,” one of his friends finally said, tossing his last piece at the ground near my feet instead of at me.

Ren didn’t look bored. He looked at me the way he always did like I was a puzzle he was determined to win, no matter how many times I refused to be solved. I hated that look more than the fruit. More than the laughter. I had no name yet for what it meant when a prince looked at you like that, only that it made my skin crawl in a way rotten fruit never could.

After what felt like an eternity, his guards let me go without a word, like I was something they’d simply grown tired of holding. I didn’t wait to find out why. I ran straight for the river that cut between the king’s quarters and the queen’s, and dropped to my knees at the water’s edge, scrubbing the fruit from my skin with shaking hands. The water was cold enough to sting, but I welcomed it, it was easier to focus on than anything else right now.

I didn’t cry. I promised myself a long time ago I wouldn’t give him that either.

I was about to head home when voices drifted from the path above the riverbank low, urgent, the kind of voices that didn’t want to be heard. I knew better than to be caught anywhere near the king’s quarters after dark. I ducked behind the nearest rock anyway. Some part of me has never known how to walk away from a conversation that wasn’t mine.

“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?” The king’s voice. Unmistakable.

“Rumors, Your Majesty.” Minister Han, breathless, like he’d hurried here. “People are asking questions again. About the Ember Heart.”

Silence. I pressed myself flatter against the rock.

“Where did this information come from?” the king asked.

“Reliable sources. You know how dangerous it gets if word of this spreads. I’d suggest we”

“Don’t suggest anything.” The king’s voice turned to stone. “Do you know how many lives were lost because of that thing? The people are at peace now. No one speaks of it in this kingdom. Not you. Not anyone. Ever again.”

Footsteps. The conversation was over.

I stayed frozen behind the rock long after the path went quiet, my heart hammering against my ribs. The Ember Heart. I’d heard the name once before, whispered between my parents, late at night, in a tone that always made me leave the room before they noticed I was listening.

I waited until I was sure no one remained before I finally moved, slipping away from the riverbank and back toward home like nothing had happened at all.