The next morning, I woke to the dull ache in my chest and the echoes of fear left by my grandmother. A nightmare? No, there was a throb that pulsed in time with the soft hum I could feel inside me.
It was faint, almost soothing, but undeniably there, like a second heartbeat. Was the throb my heartbeat? Yes of course, the body does not hum. They were undeniably in tune either way. My hand instinctively went to the spot, brushing against the fabric of my shirt. Beneath it, the skin felt warm and sensitive, as though something foreign had taken root. I sat up, the world spinning briefly before it steadied. The memories of the evening before were scattered—grandmother’s sharp eyes, her steady voice, the flash of the crystal, and then… nothing. A weight pressed against my mind, as though the memory itself was physically heavy, but I knew better than to question it too deeply. Not yet. I needed to know what day it was first, for sure.
“Elan.” My father’s voice was softer than usual, a rare tenderness beneath its gruffness. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, but not in the stern way I’d grown accustomed to. His eyes lingered on me, scanning as if to assess my recovery through the night.
“Morning,” I muttered, rubbing at my chest again. The hum was distracting, like a whisper I couldn’t quite hear.
“You look alive enough,” he said, there was a flicker of relief in his voice. “Get yourself together and head to your grandmother’s hut. She’s waiting for you.”
“For what?” I asked, though I thought knew.
He just jerked his chin toward the door. “Go on, Don’t keep her waiting.”
I got out of bed gingerly, my chest still sore but curious. I was more sturdy than I thought I would be. I Put on an overcoat, wrapped in my sleeping clothes to keep the warmth from my bed.
Outside the air was sharp with the chill of morning, I tucked my hands under my armpits and hurried over. The snow whispered beneath my bare feet as I made my way across to her hut. Cold that bites is safe, cold that numbs should never be left unchecked. It was a short dash. The little structure was the same as it had always been—weathered wood, a curl of smoke from the chimney, and an air of quiet authority that matched its occupant.
I pushed open the door, the scent of something warm and savoury greeting me immediately. She was already at the table, a bowl of steaming porridge in front of her, half eaten and another waiting for me, brimming. Her eyes flicked up when I entered, sharp and knowing.
“Sit,” she said simply, her voice leaving no room for argument.
I obeyed, lowering myself onto the stool across from her. The bowl was plain, the porridge simple, but the warmth of it was comforting as I took a mouthful. She watched me eat for a moment before speaking.
“How do you feel?” she asked, her tone neutral.
“Sore,” I admitted, between bites. “And… strange. There’s this… hum.” I tapped my chest lightly, hesitant. “What did you do to me?”
Her lips curled into a faint smile, not unkind but far from reassuring. “I gave you what you needed to survive.”
“Survive what?” I asked, my voice sharp. The memory of her stabbing me with the crystal surfaced briefly, a flash of light and pain that made my stomach twist.
“All of it,” she said simply, leaning back in her chair. “The academy. The mountain. The fools you’ll meet and the wonders they’ll promise. You’ll understand in time.”
I frowned, frustration bubbling up. “Why not just tell me now?”
“Because you’re ready for your history, not your lesson in power” she replied, her tone as steady as the hum in my chest. “Don’t squander what I’m about to tell you, listen like you do your teachers.”
I hesitated, my spoon hovering over the bowl. Her words held weight and they settled heavy in the space between us. Finally, I nodded, the fight leaving me. “Alright. I’m listening.”
She nodded in approval, and finished her own bowl. How she ate so fast was a mystery “Good. You’ll need to listen well, The story I started yesterday—about your great-grandfather, the mountain, the crystals—it’s not just a story. It’s your inheritance. Your Legacy, she said this last word with a sour face. And if you’re to make it to Shea in one piece, you’ll need to know every word of it.”
I swallowed, the hum in my chest growing faintly stronger as she spoke. Whatever she had done to me, it was more than I could comprehend. But in her eyes, I saw no malice—only a fierce determination that mirrored the quiet strength I had always admired in my father.
“Eat up,” she said, gesturing to my bowl. “I’ll begin again soon.”
I put my head down, the porridge warm and thick as I ate in silence. Outside, the snow fell softly, but inside, the air was weighty with things unsaid and unfinished and as I sat there, I noticed that air, never had seemed to have weight of any kind before now, were my eyes playing tricks with the light? I shook my head lightly as I realised that this was no longer just a tale from the past. It was also a path, winding and uncertain, a path not dissimilar from my own suddenly and I was already on it. Grandma held the key to my future, and apparently she knew it.
Eyes all a twinkle as she looked back at me.
“Do you know my name Elan?” My grandmother asked me, breaking the silence.
“No”
“It’s Elana, my father named me, and your father named you in honour of us both. It’s good for you to know, I went under another name at the academy, a name that is not good to know.”
She took a breath and began as I continued to eat.
“Do you remember well, where I left off from?”
I nodded.
———
“It was three months later, after the accident….
The morning sun was pale, struggling to break through the mist that clung to the mountainside. The streets of the village buzzed faintly—more than I could bear, but less than just after the collapse. I kept my head down as I made my way through the market square.
“Good morning, Elana,” Lenna’s voice caught me mid-step, gentle but persistent. “Here—some bread for you.”
I hesitated, not meeting her eyes. “I’m fine, really.” I said.
I wasn’t, I had been out trapping, unsuccessfully.
“You’re not,” she said, pressing it into my hands. “Take it.”The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
I murmured a quiet “thank you” before moving on, clutching the bread without tasting it. Lenna wasn’t wrong, but I hated the weight of her pity. The ache in my chest—both from loss and the crystal embedded in my chest—was all-consuming. People looked at me differently now, like I was fragile, broken.
Near the smithy, Orin called out to me, hammer paused mid-swing. “Thought you’d want to know—they’ve still got soldiers poking around the Mines. Doesn’t sit right.” He trailed off.
I stiffened but nodded, pretending not to care. “Thanks for telling me.” I said
He grunted. “Don’t get mixed up with them. Promise me that much.” He eyed me over his inspective pause, unsatisfied with his work.
I didn’t promise anything. The soldiers were already in my thoughts, their presence heavy in the days following the collapse. Their questions. Their silence. The crest on their cloaks. What had always been the people passing by, were now the people interfering in my Mine, my village. My home.
I went home and slipped into the workshop that was part of our entryway, to escape the village’s stares and voices. Gunni had become less friendly and she was always a gossip. My father’s tools were still scattered across the workbench, untouched since that day. I ran my hand over the worn wood, my breath catching gently. It felt as though he could walk in at any moment, dust-covered and tired, grumbling about the miners’ complaints.
But he wouldn’t. I reminded myself, there were no such days, I was never waiting for him, I used to return with him. Him and my brother both. And they didn’t grumble, did they?
I had some extra energy today, so I spent the morning and day sorting through my father’s things, trying to make sense of it all. What to keep, what to carry, what to give away and bury. The pickaxe he had carried for years. A bundle of worn maps, their edges smudged with ink. His pipe, the one he took with him hunting and trapping, a tobacco tin and finally, his leather pouch.
The crystal was the first thing I found, small and rough, its surface painted blue, but I knew it was a crystal, it hummed to me as my fingers touched it. Fingernails still black from the accident, I had them clenched into fists most of the time so as to hide them. Still. I hadn’t even realised he had jewellery, a gift from my mother? a quiet piece of himself he never shared. The blue paint was a nice colour, it must have been a very cheap crystal.
When I held it, the warmth felt familiar, almost soothing. Something of my fathers and mother both I decided. I liked it, I did not like that It reminded me of the one, now fused with my own body, though his was smaller, more ordinary.
I set the crystal aside, reaching deeper into the pouch. My fingers brushed against something solid, cold. I pulled it free and stared.
A crest.
It was heavier than I expected, its intricate symbols etched deep into the metal. As I turned it over in my hands, the memory had struck me, still fresh, the soldiers. Their cloaks had borne the same spiralling design.
The door creaked behind me, and I spun around, clutching the crest. Gunni’s eldest stood in the doorway, Shawn, his expression cautious.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“Where else would I be?” I replied, sharply.
He stepped inside, his boots scuffing the floor. “People are talking, Elana, You’ve been… distant.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, are you going to start at the Mines again?” he asked, his tone softening. Then his eyes flicked to the crest in my hands. “What’s that?”
I hesitated, turning it over again before holding it up. “It belonged to my father. I think, I’ve seen it before—on the soldiers who came after the collapse.”
Shawns brow furrowed. “Soldiers crest… Why would your father have something like that?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I want to find out, I want to find out if I have any other family.” It pained me how little I knew.
Shawn paced the room, “You’re telling me your father had something connected to them? And you think that why…?”
I flinched. “I don’t know. Maybe, it is their crest after all”
He turned to face me, his voice harder “Elana, this isn’t just about you. If the soldiers find out you’re digging into this, it could put the whole village at risk. You need to let it go.”
“No,” The words burst out of me before I could stop them. My chest heaved, the warmth of the crystal pulsing faintly against my ribs. “You don’t understand, Shawn. He was hiding something. If I don’t figure it out, I’ll never—” My voice broke, and I turned away. “There will be no risk to the village, nothing out of the ordinary has happened, so what if my father had a crest.”
Shawn sighed, his hand running through his hair. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.”
He muttered something under his breath, then crossed the room and grabbed his pouch of coins and placed them in the corner. “If you’re going to be difficult, at least don’t starve.”
I stared at him, surprised. “You’re helping me?”
“I’m not helping you. I’m making sure you don’t die halfway up a mountain.” He sighed again “the first soldier garrison is a days trip, here and back, the rest is just… start Mining with us again soon ok?”
He let himself out quietly. He was surprisingly, as unlike Gunni as could be. And his mother was less inclined to a match than ever before, a polar opposite to the woman I remembered mere months ago. Just as much of a gossip, but made ugly in a new light. Shawn was good, he had been an unwanted presence to start, just making sure I was alright and a gradual friend over time. He shared some stories of Jothan, I hadn’t known they were close.
The village seemed smaller as I moved through it later that day, gathering supplies. My half formed plan, Lenna pressed another larger loaf of bread into my hands, her face unreadable. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’re going.”
I shook my head. “It’s better if you don’t know.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Well, wherever it is, you’ll need this.” She handed me a small jar of dried herbs, crushed and ready for oil. “For cuts and bruises. Don’t waste it.”
The sun dipped low on the horizon by the time I reached home again, weighed down by travel items, far more than a days worth.
I spent the next few days pacing the village, unable to fully leave. Mentally or physically. The pull of what had happened kept me anchored. But I knew that nothing here would give me the answers I needed. The crystal in my chest pulsed, a constant reminder. It wasn’t just about my father anymore. It was about the future—my future.
One afternoon, a soldier appeared near the square. His cloak was trimmed, shorter maybe meant a lesser rank? I didn’t know at the time, but it had that same spiralling crest, the one that had haunted my thoughts ever since I found it in my father’s pouch.
His eyes lingered on me for a moment too long, as if he could sense my intent before he looked away and continued on his patrol.
I couldn’t help myself. I walked toward him, heart pounding in my chest. “Excuse me,” I called, my voice steady and polite despite the nerves twisting in my stomach. “How do I get into the academy? I heard they take in new students sometimes.”
The soldier glanced at me with a half-smirk, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening. “You?” He chuckled. “They don’t take just anyone, you know.”
“I’m serious,” I pressed, holding my ground.
His amusement faded as he looked me over, then he shook his head. “The academy’s for those who belong, not for people like you.” He didn’t bother elaborating further, turning away and walking off without a second glance.
I stood frozen for a moment, the sting of his dismissal sharper than I’d expected. I wasn’t sure if it was his words or the weight of the crystal pulsing against my ribs, but something inside me snapped.
I had to go. I couldn’t let him—them—decide my worth, or anything else about me. If my father had been a soldier before he had been a Miner, it fit, there were never any roots here and no one knew my family from any earlier than my own. Grandparents were nowhere to be found or heard of and I never questioned it, but I did question how everyone knew the previous owners of my home. And everyone knew their generations, not mine. I didn’t belong.
The sun rose the next morning, casting the mountains shadow across the village as I packed the last of my supplies. My chest tightened with each step toward the edge of the village, but I forced my feet to keep moving. Fat’r was a soldier I was sure of it, maybe someone of low rank and of no importance, discharged, who new, but I would join and find out.
Lenna’s loaf of bread was tucked in my pack, along with Shawn’s pouch of coins, the jar of dried herbs and other essentials like my father’s traps. I hadn’t told anyone where I was headed—only that I needed to leave. Shawn had idea enough to buy me some time and space. The time for answers was now, and I couldn’t keep waiting. I left him the deed to the house for safe keeping, he told me he would air it out, I said he was welcome to use it in my absence, he had understood quickly enough this wasn’t a day trip and I was glad he left me to it.
I passed the smithy, where Orin still hammered away at his forge, and paused for a brief moment. He looked up but didn’t say anything, just gave me a nod that felt like a farewell.
At the village edge, I stood for a moment, watching the soft light of dawn stretch across the horizon. The path ahead was long, but I could already feel it calling to me.
With the crest in my pocket and my father’s crystal around my neck, I took a deep breath and stepped onto the road that would lead me to the academy.
I didn’t know what I’d find when I reached it—or if they would even let me in—but I knew that I had to try. I couldn’t stay here anymore.
I didn’t know where this journey would take me, but it was a first step.