The path to Tiras was worn with the passage of generations, a winding stretch of dirt and stone leading through dense thickets and shadowed groves. Amariah walked with steady purpose, her cloak drawn against the wind, her thoughts sharp as the blades she carried. She had not returned to her clan in many years—not since she had abandoned the life set before her to forge her own path.
Now, she returned not as a wayward daughter, but as a leader calling her people to rise.
Tiras was the smallest of the Salem clans, yet its warriors were renowned for their skill. If they stood with her, others in the tribe might follow. But loyalty was a fragile thing, easily fractured and not easily mended.
As she neared the village, she saw familiar faces hardened by time, some glancing her way with recognition, others with suspicion. At the center of the village stood the hall of the Chief—her cousin, Abinadab. The fires burned high as warriors and elders gathered inside, murmuring over their evening meal.
Amariah stepped forward. The murmurs faded.
"You should not have come back," Abinadab said, his voice even, but his eyes sharp. "The Guardian King's reach extends even here. If they hear of your presence—"
"Then let them hear." Amariah cut him off. "Let them know that the time for silence is over. I did not come to hide, cousin. I came to remind you that we were not meant to bow."
The room held its breath. Abinadab studied her, the weight of history between them.
"You speak of rebellion. You know what happened to the last who tried."
Amariah stepped closer. "I speak of reclaiming what was taken from us. The Founders sit in their palaces, ruling over us as though we are lesser. But we are not. We are the sons and daughters of the Guardian King. We are more than their subjects. And if you have forgotten that, then you are already lost."
Abinadab narrowed his eyes, but the murmurs had begun again—low, uncertain. A spark had been struck.
Amariah pressed on. "Join me. Not as a sister to Tiras, but as a warrior who refuses to be shackled. There are others—more than you know—who are ready to stand. But we must move now, before they tighten their grip."
Silence stretched between them before Abinadab exhaled slowly. "You are as reckless as you were when you left. But... perhaps your recklessness is what we need."
A murmur of assent rippled through the gathered men and women.
Abinadab looked at her again, longer this time. "I will call the other chiefs. If what you say is true, you will have your warriors. But if you are wrong—"
"Then I will bear the consequences alone," Amariah said. "But I am not wrong."
---
At the palace, Mirey moved quietly through the halls, the weight of her new assignment pressing upon her. Dorcas had ordered her to accompany Mariah to the stream, a moment of respite for the Founder weighed down by her visions.
She found Mariah and Elira already waiting near the entrance of the palace grounds, the elder woman whispering something that made Mariah shake her head with a small, weary smile.
"You will attend her closely," Dorcas had told her. "Watch, listen, and do not speak unless spoken to."
As they walked toward the stream, the trees closing in around them, Mirey felt the tension ease from Mariah's shoulders. Here, away from the palace, the weight seemed to lift—if only slightly.
Elira, ever comfortable in Mariah's presence, eventually spoke. "Does the water remind you of before? When it was just you and your brothers?"
Mariah hesitated, her gaze on the slow-moving current. "Sometimes."
"Do you miss it?" Elira pressed gently. "Before the power, before the weight of it all? Before Queen Spadina changed everything?"
Mariah's fingers trailed over the surface of the water. "I miss... the quiet. I miss not having to be strong all the time. There was a time when it was just us—me, Dad, Mom, Maingan, Rex. We were not rulers or warriors. We were simply... family."
Elira gave her a small, understanding smile. "And if you could have that back? Would you take it?"
Mariah was silent for a long moment. "I don't know if it is something I can take. But I think... I would hold onto it, if only for a little longer."
Mirey listened, absorbing every word. The Founders were not invincible. They, too, had their burdens. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to be learned in their cracks.
She would watch. She would listen.
And she would wait.
---
In the shadows beyond the palace, a lone figure knelt before an ancient sigil, its glow casting eerie patterns across the ground.
A voice, disembodied yet commanding, whispered into the night. "Amariah moves against the Founders. This gives us an edge. Let us see how this unfolds."
The figure rose.
And vanished into the dark.