It was a small funeral.

Surrounding his grave were a thousand others. It was the largest field we had inside our boundaries, growing bigger every year, the ground uneven from how often it had been overturned. 

Most of it held the souls of Laments.

The wooden posts stretched in every direction, some old and others freshly carved. Today, another was hammered into the ground. 

Carved into it: 

In memory of Nyx Eshar–

The brightest light in the darkest days.

I held my head low, paying my respects in the circle of Mongrels. Cyrus stood beside me, his demeanor unchanged from the shock it portrayed the day prior. When everyone lined up to offer their condolences to Ramah and Gaybe, Cy looked at them and said nothing.

In fact, he hadn’t said anything to anyone.

The walk home was just as silent. Cyrus walked between Sir Seraphiel and I, his head hung low and his feet dragging behind him. Snow began to fall, forcing a shudder from me as the flakes landed on my skin, but it was as if Cy couldn’t bother to feel cold. His soulless eyes remained fixated on the ground.

At home, he retreated to his room, as he had done since Nyx’s death. He would sit at the edge of his bed, not bothering to shut his door behind him. His elbows rested on his knees and he spent hours staring at his hands.

As if he could see blood on them. 

When I had tried to spark up a conversation, he wouldn’t even glance my way.

Once, I brought him food and he didn’t touch it. Another time, I sat beside him and waited, counting the seconds between each of his shuddering breaths, impatiently waiting for the moment he would finally speak. 

He never even noticed when I left.

Eventually, I stopped trying to speak at all. The silence felt worse when I was the one he wouldn’t respond to.

I began to spend my time with his father instead. With each passing day, I heard Kako whispering in my mind, and every day I grew more fearful of losing control again.

I decided to bring it up to Sir Seraphiel, in hopes he could bring Cyrus back to the land of the living.

“Cyrus needs time,” Sir Seraphiel said, gently. “We can’t rely on him to fix everything.”

Sir Seraphiel sat me down across from him in the common room, gently grabbing my hands. He suggested using his ability to find answers and I tensed at the thought. 

“Will it hurt?” I asked him.

He hesitated before responding, “Not physically– but you will see everything I do. I will only attempt to look into Kako’s mind for now, and for that I need to go through you.”

With Cyrus gone, this was my only option.

I nodded, pushing away my doubts as he created a mind-link, his fingers reaching for my temples. The pressure in my head was instant as Sir Seraphiel invaded my memories, but not necessarily painful. 

We were instantly transported, travelling through a vast maze as familiar scenes and voices past echoed around me. Within a few turns, the sounds and light began to fade. Sir Seraphiel was following the maze into its darkest halls, which grew larger every second.

In a few short turns, we found him, sitting quietly in a corner, his head bowed and red eyes glaring at us as if he knew what we were about to do.

As Sir Seraphiel attempted to push into Kako’s mind, I heard a loud grunt and we were pushed back into reality.

We were stonewalled.

Sir Seraphiel sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration. After a moment, he lifted his gaze again.

“Maybe, if you let me see your memories, I can observe what causes the demon to speak to you,” he said. “Would you be alright with that, Noemi?”

I fidgeted in the seat. “Which memories?” I asked.

His eyes bore into mine, almost as if saying “you know,” but he told me anyway.

“All the moments in which he presented himself.”

My throat tightened. “Do I have to?”

Sir Seraphiel shook his head. “No, Noemi. It is up to you… but it could help.”

I let out a shaky breath of acceptance and then leaned forward, presenting my head to him as if it held everything we were looking for. His fingers found their way back to my temple.

Then, he closed his eyes, and the dull pressure in my head had returned. 

I had expected his first stop to be my father’s death, but it wasn’t.

It was Nyx.

My stomach dropped at the thought of reliving it.

But, I had to.

I was back in the moment that we ran to Ramah’s home. Looking to my right, I caught the familiar sight of Kingsguards looking through the rubble of my father’s burnt house.

In an instant, I heard her scream again.

Ramah’s voice tore through, raw and hoarse, and tears pricked the corner of my eyes as I relived the moment Nyx’s body stilled in her arms. The way Cyrus had frozen. The way I mentally spun out of control.

Suddenly, a pair of red eyes entered my vision.

“Get out,” it spat.

The link snapped violently.

Sir Seraphiel gasped and flew backward as if the breath had been knocked from his lungs. He caught himself on his seat, his knuckles white and face horribly pale.

He jumped out of his seat, turning away from me. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice tight as if his throat had suddenly gone dry.

I blinked, my legs wobbling slightly as I stood. “You barely saw anything.”

“I saw enough,” he replied quickly.

His hand ran through his blonde hair, leaving it disheveled. Silence stretched between us– the only sound was his uneven breathing. He began pacing back and forth, muttering furiously, then stopped abruptly. 

“The demon inside of you doesn’t take well to being observed.”

That night, Sir Seraphiel began preparing supplies. He moved around the house with urgency, grabbing essentials and sorting through foods. When he told us to pack what we could carry, his tone left no room for argument.

Cyrus and I stood still, our arms hanging at our sides, confused by his sudden rushed demeanor. Sir Seraphiel continued piling random items into bags as we simply watched. After a few minutes, he finally turned back to us.

“Why are you standing there?” he asked, pausing his movement. “We need to hurry.”

“What are you doing?” I spoke up. My expression must have looked insane: my brows furrowed, my mouth falling open.

Sir Seraphiel turned to us, breathing out forcefully as his shoulders fell.

“There is a place we can go,” he said finally. “Not far past the boundaries of our district. No Man’s Land.”

My body tensed at the revelation.

A place outside of the Veil.

I searched him for answers, for a hint that this had always been an option. Cyrus stood rigid nearby, his jaw clenched and eyebrows lowered. He balled his hands tightly into fists.

“We must leave tonight–” Sir Seraphiel continued.

Cyrus cut in, his voice strained as he whispered his first words in days. “Why is it,” he hissed, “that you knew of a place outside of the district and never mentioned it before?”

Sir Seraphiel shut his eyes calmly for a few seconds before opening them again. He took a step closer to Cy, his hands coming up in defense. 

“It’s a dangerous place, son–”

“Look around!” Cyrus yelled, gesturing wildly at the walls around us. “You think this place is better?”

Sir Seraphiel stopped, his mouth thinned and his gaze became sharper. “Lower your voice!” He pressed. Before he continued, his shoulders tensed as he tried to speak calmly, likely attempting to prevent another outburst. “It was. For a long time it was the safer option.”

Cyrus guffawed, his laugh sharp and humorless.

“Right. It’s safer for the King to force marriages between angelic and demonic bloodlines so they birth terminal little Mongrel babies. Safer for us to be branded at seven and tortured for using our abilities.” His voice began to crack. 

“Or maybe it's safer for us to be surrounded by Kingsguards who enjoy doing far worse to Mongrel women than just torturing—”

“Enough,” Sir Seraphiel snapped.

For a moment, they stared silently, both in a stubborn battle. The air in the room became thick, ready to explode again at any moment. 

If I hadn’t known Cyrus for years, I would have thought he was about to lunge at his own father.

“You don’t understand what’s at stake now, Cyrus,” his father barked.

Cyrus looked as if he was ready to reply with something that he couldn’t take back. Before he could speak, a loud knock broke us from the tension. 

Sir Seraphiel rushed to the door, peering out the window in the same manner that Cyrus had before. 

When he opened it, I felt I had stepped back in time. 

Del.

He was a mess. His eyes were red and splotchy and his entire body was trembling with fear.

“Son, what–” Sir Seraphiel started.

“R-Ramah,” Del replied, “and- and Gaybe. T-They’ve… They’re–”

His breathing was erratic, his voice raspy, and eyes wider than I’ve seen on any face before. 

Then his legs gave out.

“I have n-nothing,” he cried. “I have nobody. They’re gone.”

“T-They’re gone.”

I almost threw up.

The next thing I knew, Cy was beside Del, wrapping his arms around him as he gave his father a pained glance.