Left alone, Aephelia started recounting what she had lost.

Her mother had abandoned her. The orphanage—the closest thing she knew to a family—was burned until nothing remained. And just when she had found something small and warm in this cold house, when the Gromstel and its cubs had turned the old garden into a place that felt like hers, it was taken from her too.

She laid on the floor and stared into the dark.

What was the point of living?

When the tray came the next day, she left it where the guard placed it. The gruel cooled and skinned over, and the small black loaf sat beside it, hard as a stone, untouched.

She drank a little water because her throat hurt, but she did not eat.

Another day passed. Another tray. She left it alone.

Her stomach cramped and then, after a while, went quiet.

On what she thought was the twelfth day, light cut the dark in a sharp line as the door opened again.

"Visitor," the guard said, and stepped back.

A figure stood in the doorway with a lantern. The light sat close to his face. He was one of her cousins, older by a few years. A crutch rested under his arm and his left pant leg was tied neatly above the knee.

He took one slow step inside. The iron tip of the crutch touched stone. The lantern showed the small cell, the chain at her wrists, and the untouched trays stacked along the wall.

"You look pathetic," he said.

Aephelia did not respond.

"Not standing up and bowing?" he asked. "You used to be so polite."

She pushed herself up to sit. "Why are you here?"

"To see the stray who fed strays," he said, mild on the surface, something hard underneath. "And to tell you the news everyone knows except you.

"They found your filthy little friends," he continued. "Our hunters and the Patriarch himself."

Aephelia kept her eyes on the light past his shoulder.

He watched her for a reaction, but she gave him none.

His words felt threatening. "They pinned it down until it couldn't move, and the Patriarch personally cut its throat himself."

Her hands clenched, but she kept her face still.

"You should have seen the elders," he said. "They looked like merchants counting coin. I heard that its heart, hide, bone, and even blood is extremely valuable. Our teacher told us that a Gromstel's heart can induce an awakening on a person." He tilted his head. "Imagine what it will fetch."

He shifted on the crutch and let the pause linger.

"And the cubs," he added. "They also found them."

For a second, the room tilted. Aephelia set her feet square on the floor and made herself breathe.

"They're in cages under the alchemy hall," he said. "They're fed meat like livestock. They said that once they're bigger, their hearts are worth more." He looked at her face again, searching for a reaction. "You understand profit. You always liked your books."

Aephelia said nothing.

He nodded at the rotten food by the wall. "You haven't been eating." He sounded pleased. "Good. Maybe you can learn a lesson when you're hungry."

She kept her gaze down. "What lesson?"

"That you're nothing here without mana," he said. "That you don't get to keep things from the clan. And that, because you hid this, I lost my leg.

"The Patriarch protects us and the family. That is his duty. Yours was to be loyal. Instead, you fed a beast in our land and acted like there was nothing about it."

She raised her eyes to look at his.

"You could have told us," he said. "You could have brought the elders to the garden and stood beside them like a proper Infernal child. Instead, you snuck out like a servant and played with beasts." The contempt in his voice turned cold. "It's fitting you're chained down here. You and them are the same. Strays."

He watched her again, waiting for his words to strike.

However, her face remained calm, at least outwardly.

He took the lantern off the floor and lifted it to eye level, lighting her features plainly. "You want details?" he asked. "I'll give you details, so you can lie awake with them."

She didn't tell him to stop.

"After their father died, the cubs bit and clawed at us," he said. "They don't anymore, now, though. We plucked their tusks and teeth, and shaved their claws until they were powder." He gave a small shrug. "They made very silly noises as they whined from the pain. But a good whipping solved that problem."

Aephelia looked up. Her eyes were dry, but her face had gone paler, and something in it… quiet and steady until now… pinched at the edges. Her eyes were fiery, filled with hatred.

He saw it and smiled.

"Good," he said. "I see that it hurts."

He turned toward the door and called for the guard.

Her cousin paused in the frame, one hand on the door, lantern throwing his shadow long behind him. "Eat," he said. "They'll want you to at least look proper when they send you off to some branch house. Try not to embarrass us any further."

He hesitated, then added, almost as an afterthought, "You're just like them. A stray that forgot it was a stray."

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He left. The door closed. Footsteps retreated along the stone floor until she could not hear them.

Aephelia sat where she was and let the darkness and quiet envelop her again. The scent of the gruel made her stomach hungrier.

She lowered her head and thought of the abandoned garden, the lazy tilt of the big Gromstel's head, and the way the cubs had tripped over each other for fruit she had cut small so they wouldn't choke.

She thought of a soft "awoo-woo-woo" that probably never meant anything more than hello or goodbye.

The pictures in her mind came one by one, and she couldn't help but keep remembering the moments until they hurt to look at.

She lay back down and faced the dark.

She did not eat the next tray either. Or the one after that.

They found them. They killed the dad, and the rest are in cages, harvested and tortured…

* * * * *

Another day passed.

Then two.

Then three.

On what she counted as what was probably the seventeenth day, Aephelia lay on the stone and did not move. Her body felt light, and when the guard entered the room and placed the tray down, she didn't turn.

Just like before, the gruel eventually skinned over and the already hard, black bread had turned even harder.

She didn't care.

Until she heard a tiny whimper.

At first, she thought she imagined it. Then it came again.

'Nng… ii… ii…'

Aephelia turned her head toward the door. The bottom corner of the wood looked different, splintered, as if something had chewed it. Bits of pale shavings clung to the floor.

A soft scratch, then a pause. Another scratch. A muffled, breathy sound on the other side.

The corner gave a little more. Wood chipped and fell. A wedge of dim light cut through the crack, blinding her.

A small paw pressed through and felt blindly along the floor, withdrew, pressed again.

Then, a small face squeezed into the gap.

A little Gromstel wriggled inside, round and flat. It pushed with its shoulders, grunted, and fell through in a tumble. When it stood, it dragged one forepaw and held the other stiff. Its tusks were gone. Its fur was clotted with dust.

It looked up at her and whimpered.

Aephelia's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The cub limped toward her in short steps. It stopped at her knee and rested its relatively good paw on her shin, as if asking permission. Then, with effort, it pulled itself onto her lap. It was heavier than it looked. It pressed its head against her stomach, found her face by scent, and licked her cheek slowly.

She broke.

"Hhk… hh—" Breath snagged. "Hhuh… hhkk… " Tears spilled at once. "I-I'm s-sorry," she managed, voice tripping on every word. "I'm s-sorry… I—"

She curled her body around the little Gromstel and held it lightly, afraid to hurt it, afraid to let it go.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and again. "I never should've visited… I shouldn't have found the garden. If I hadn't— if I hadn't… Hhk—hhu… I killed your family. I did. I did. I'm so—"

The cub made a small sound, trying. "Awoo-woo-woo…"

It licked the corner of her eye. Licked the salt away.

'awoo.'

Again on her temple.

Again on her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into its fur. "I'm s… hhk… sorry."

It turned a slow circle the way it used to, then curled along her jaw and ear, like it wanted to cover her face. Warm breath touched her skin.

Chest rising.

Falling.

Rising…

Falling…

Eventually, the breaths slowed.

She felt the pause first on her cheek. Longer between exhale and inhale. She held it a bit looser, afraid that she was hugging it too tight. "Stay," she whispered. "Please. Stay."

"A…woo…" Barely sound. It nudged her chin.

Its chest rose.

Fell.

Rose—

.

.

.

.

The next breath was late.

Fell.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And then nothing.

"Please," Aephelia said, uselessly. "Please, please…"

No breath.

She stayed like that. Wrists aching where the chain pulled because she leaned too far. She didn't move.

Her eyes dried, but her hands kept holding the lifeless creature because she didn't know what to do.

Something in her had now changed. She made a decision that would never bend.

Live.

This renewed sense of survival sparked something in her, and she paid the price.

Hunger slammed into her. "...ghk."

She folded over the pain. Her stomach clenched and clenched.

A line from a book surfaced. 'A Gromstel's heart can force an awakening.'

She looked at the cub's face. Peaceful. She stroked between its ears with a fingertip that wouldn't stop shaking. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I'm so, so sorry."

And she was left with a choice.

Live.

"I… I will never forget all of you," she said, steady this time. "The garden. The time I spent there. The way you tripped over your own feet. Your father's silly eyes, looking two ways and still watching me."

She pressed her forehead to the cub's. "I will never forget."

Live.

"I'm sorry," she said once more.

Then she did what she had to.

It was clumsy and her hands were weak. Her fingers slipping; breath coming in sharp little pulls, "Hah… Hah…" —the taste that filled her mouth and would not leave; the fight not to look away.

She kept her eyes open. If she closed them, it would feel like running.

She was done running.

When she found the heart, it was smaller than the drawing, and a faint warmth held at the center.

"Thank you," she whispered.

She bit.

Just swallowing because her mouth was too tired to chew, when her throat tried to lock, she forced it down, remembering the happy moments in her head so she wouldn't break:

'Awoo when annoyed. Awoo when happy. The cub who always tripped first.'

She ate because living was the only path left. She ate because the clan would take everything if she stayed like this. She ate because a small life had chewed through wood and dragged itself across stone to reach her one last time.

She ate to live.

When she finished, the knife-edge hunger eased. Something thin and warm moved under her ribs and moved toward the middle of her chest. Was it mana? She couldn't tell. It was just warm… It spread slowly throughout her body.

Aephelia set the small body down with both hands, carefully.

She wiped her mouth with her wrist.

She stared at the corner of the door where splinters still lay and a small ray of light pierced through. Then, she touched the spot on her cheek where a cold nose had once rested.

"I will never forget all of you," she said. "I will live. I will remember."

She laid back on the stone.

"I… I will live." she whispered to no one.

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