Wings of Destruction and Duty

28.1 || Orion

If silence had a heartbeat then Orion swore he could feel it thrumming all around him. It sat on his shoulders, humming an empty tune while its tendrils wrapped themselves around his mind. He found himself standing back at home, hidden behind yet another closed door, while his aunts whispered to a creature with scales of iridescent blue and a sorrow that dampened each lamp in the room.

Orion sighed and ran his hands through his hair, eyes raised to gaze at the stars above. Their glimmer mocked him. So far above the world, they must have seen his every move, and if his aunts' stories had any merit, then Euna should have seen him too. Tears pricked the edges of his vision, and sniffing, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. He was sixteen and it struck him that, as much as he had wanted to hope, he was more child than man.

So where was the gentle touch of a moon goddess who watched over children with a smile? Where was her protection when Romril snatched him away?

A sudden whinny pulled him from his thoughts and towards the city gate down below. Another merchant had arrived late—his horse had been spooked by a passing cat. Blinking, Orion watched as the stout man argued with the sentinel. Their voices spiralled up the stony walls and out into the open air, only to be quickly drowned out by the sounds of rapturous joy that spilled from cracks beneath the inn's windows.

The noise echoed through Orion's mind as his thoughts quickly sank back into misery, dulling the chatter. So when the silence swept back to claim its rightful place in his head, Orion was reminded how, after another fit of anger, he had once decided to immerse his head in the treehouse's pond to block out the sounds of Niamh's ranting.

He laughed; the sound was hollow within his chest, and then he heard the sound of a door slamming shut somewhere behind him. Footsteps crunched along the rough cobble and Orion straightened up, slung his legs back over the wall, and stood to face the likely taunts of a drunken person.

Instead, he was met with Laurel, whose bright eyes glistened with concern, and when she reached out to grab his arm, he roughly brushed her hand aside.

"I needed time alone."

She paused, then shifted back into the light cast by the open windows. "I know, but even you should know that it's not a good idea for a young child to be outside all alone."

Orion scoffed, "I didn't ask for a lecture. Like I said, I wanted time alone."

Laurel faltered at the dusty window before shaking her head and offering Orion a nervous smile. "I need you to understand that while you are technically a prisoner of the Dilids, you are a child, and I will not let anything happen to a child that has been placed in my care."

"You have no idea—" His voice rose, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a few patrons inch their way away from the two of them. Orion faltered, fighting the bile in his stomach, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"You didn't have to kidnap me. Your queen didn't need to take out my eye. You could have freed me, brought me home to my aunts because I know Romril knows where I live, and they could have taken this wretched bracelet from my wrist. You could have—well, why didn't you?"

Shame swept through Orion as a strangled sob broke free from the back of his throat. He turned his back to Laurel and pushed his tears away. The silence rushed in once again and to his relief, Laurel didn't say a word. Instead, she moved to get in front of him and sat on the low stone wall overlooking the gate. She watched him wordlessly before turning away and pulling out the medallions he had seen the elves wear around their necks.

She twisted their intricate centres, mumbling a small curse beneath her breath, and held them up to the light. Despite the raging frustrations tumbling through his mind, Orion found himself begrudgingly admiring the gentle silver glow that began to race along the indents on the medallions. He watched as the light coasted across their surface to form the delicate outline of a Kei. It seemed the Dilid never failed to forget about their patron animal.