The morning arrived wrapped in grey, the sea a churning mass of slate and whitecaps beyond the window.
Elara woke to the familiar warmth at her back. She lay still for a long moment, counting the rhythm of Kazimir’s breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her spine. The nightmares had come again last night—the cellar, the cold, the hands—but they had retreated faster now, driven back by the solid warmth beside her.
I'm safe, she told herself. I'm here. I'm not there anymore. The words were becoming easier to believe. Not easy—nothing about her life was easy—but easier.
Then Kazimir stirred behind her. His arm tightened, pulling her closer.
"You're awake," he murmured. His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual.
She nodded against his chest.
His lips brushed against her hair. He stayed like that for a moment longer before he asked: "How old are you today?"
Elara went still.
The question was so unexpected, so strange, that for a moment she thought she had misheard. Why would he ask that? What did it mean? Was it a test? A trick?
Not “how old are you” but “how old are you today.”As if—
Elara blinked in realization.
Was it my birthday today?
She tried to think, tried to remember. The dates blurred together in her mind—days, weeks, months merging into one long stretch of survival. She hadn't kept track, hadn't had reason to. Birthdays had stopped mattering years ago, after her mother died and her father's violence began. No more cakes. No more songs. No more gentle hands smoothing her hair. Just silence, survival, and the slow erasure of everything that made her a person.
I was seven when she died. That was... how many years ago? She counted backward, forward, sideways—trying to reconstruct the years that had blurred together. Fifteen? Sixteen? She didn't know.
Kazimir must have felt her confusion. His hand came up and cupped her face, turning her gently to look at him. His grey eyes were sharp now, fully awake, reading her expression with that focused attention that still made her breath catch.
"You don't know."
Elara shook her head. A small, ashamed motion.
"Twenty-two," he said quietly. "Today, you're twenty-two."
Her eyes widdened. How does he know? How could he possibly—
Then she remembered. The documents. The papers she had signed when she was brought here like livestock, her signature demanded on lines she couldn't read. He must have seen her birth date.
‘Twenty-two,’ Elara mouthed, testing the number. It felt foreign.
Kazimir's thumb traced her cheekbone. "What do you want?"
The question was simple, but it made her freeze. No one had asked her that in years. No one had cared what she wanted—not her father, not the men who bought and sold her, not the people in this house who saw her as a tool or a joke.
She glanced at him, helpless. The answer should have been simple—food, safety, warmth, the things she had been denied for so long. But she had those now. Or at least, she had versions of them. His version. Beyond that, she didn't know. The question opened a door in her mind, and beyond it was only darkness—the vast, terrifying darkness of possibility, of choice.
Kazimir studied her for a long moment. Then, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and slid out of bed.
"Think about it," he said. "Tell me tonight."
He crossed to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. His back was to her, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like a man preparing for battle.
"Whatever it is." His voice was quiet. "If I can give it, it's yours."
Elara watched his back as he left, his words echoing in her mind. She lay in the bed, staring at the space where he had been. Her heart was doing that strange thing again—fluttering, racing, warming in ways she didn't understand.
The day passed in its usual rhythm. Anna came with breakfast. Elara ate in the chair by the window, watching the grey sea churn against the cliffs. Kazimir appeared at intervals, checking on her before disappearing back into the business of the house.
But Elara was distracted all day.
What do I want?
The question followed her like a shadow, but she didn't know. Really didn't know. Wanting had been dangerous. Wanting had led to disappointment. Wanting had made her vulnerable. So for years, Elara had wanted nothing. Elara didn't know how to want anymore.
So she stared out the window.
The seagulls came in the afternoon.
They appeared beyond her window, two of them, riding the wind with effortless grace. Their wings caught the pale winter sunlight, white against grey clouds, as they soared and dove and spun. Free. Unbound. Able to go anywhere the wind would take them.
Elara watched them with an ache she couldn't name. They can leave whenever they want. They can go anywhere. They're not trapped. The thoughts rose unbidden, bitter and sweet.
She was happy for them—these small, wild creatures who answered to no one. Their freedom was beautiful, a reminder that such things existed.
Yet the longer she watched them wheel across the sky, the more that beauty began to ache. I can't leave. Even if the doors were open, even if no one stopped me—where would I go? I don't know anything. I don't know anyone. I don't know how to survive out there.
The realization settled into her chest like a stone. She had always thought of herself as trapped by walls, by guards, by the people who owned her. But the truth was worse. She was trapped by herself. By her own helplessness. By years of conditioning that had stripped away everything she might have become.
The two gulls wheeled away, disappearing beyond the cliff's edge, chasing a horizon she couldn't see.
Elara watched them go with a complex tangle of emotions. Sadness—their presence had been a gift, a glimpse of beauty. Happiness for them, genuine, that they could go where they wished. And beneath both, something sharper: envy. A quiet, shameful envy that they could fly away and she could not.
They don't even know how lucky they are, she thought. They've never been trapped. They've never known what it feels like to have no choices.
She blinked, surprised at the bitterness. She didn't want to be bitter. Didn't want to resent creatures who had done nothing wrong. But the feeling was there. And no matter how she tried to push it aside, it lingered—like the memory of wings she would never have.
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Dejected, her eyes dropped from the empty sky.
That was when she saw the third gull.
Smaller than the others. Younger. It sat alone on the jagged rocks below, where waves crashed with violent force. The sea was rough today—whitecaps, churning foam, the endless surge and retreat of water that cared nothing for the creatures caught in its path.
It's alone, Elara realized. The others left it behind.
Then a wave hit.
The water slammed into the rocks, exploding in a violent burst of white. The little gull vanished instantly—swallowed by foam, dragged toward the churning sea.
No!
Elara jerked upright. Her fingers clenched in the blanket as she leaned forward, heart hammering. The rocks were empty. Just boiling water sliding back into the grey surf.
It’s gone! No! No, no— This is so unfair!
The foam churned, swallowing the place where it had been standing. For a terrible second there was nothing there. Just water rushing back toward the sea.
Elara’s heart lurched into her throat. Her eyes darted frantically for the little bird.
Then something grey stumbled between the rocks. A little grey ball waddling between two rocks. It shook itself, water streaming from its feathers, and took a wobbling step higher on the rocks.
The gull was still there, Elara thought, relief flooding through her so suddenly it left her dizzy.
But it was too soon to celebrate. She could already see the next wave coming. It rose higher than the last, swelling out of the grey water like something alive. The crest thickened as it rolled toward the rocks.
No! Too big! Her mind screamed. She stood up, dropping the blanket as she leaned against the window. Her whole attention focused on the tiny bird fighting for its life.
Again and again, the waves came.
Again and again, the little gull braced itself—small feathers fluffed for warmth, tiny claws gripping the rock, body angled against the force of the sea.
Each wave threatened to wash it away. Each wave failed.
It's fighting. The thought pierced through her like a blade. It's so small. The waves are so big. It must be terrified. It must be exhausted. But it keeps fighting. It won't give up.
Elara felt something tighten in her chest as she watched the tiny gull struggle against the water. The way it pressed itself low against the rock. The way it held on when it should have been swept away. The image stirred something she had tried not to remember: She thought of the cellar. Of the cold stone floor. Of the hands that had reached for her in the dark. Of the moment she had stopped fighting because fighting only made it worse. Because there was no one coming to save her. Because giving up was easier than fighting.
I didn't fight. I couldn't fight. I didn't know how.
The thought was small at first —a seed planted in rocky soil, barely visible. But as Elara watched the gull struggle and endure, again and again, the seed began to grow.
It would have been easier to let the sea take it. Easier to stop struggling.
But it didn't.
Look at it. It's not strong either. It's small and scared and alone. And yet it's still fighting. It's still here.
The thought struck Elara like a spark: Strength had nothing to do with it. The bird was still there because it refused to surrender.
Elara felt something shift inside her.
Maybe I could learn to be like the gull.
She valued the warmth she felt when Kazimir held her and the safety of his presence. These things still mattered; they were the first good things she had known in years.
But what if he wasn't there? What if they succeeded in separating them? What if something happened to him during the coming war with Dante? What if—what if he tired of her, as her father had, as everyone eventually did?
The thoughts were unbearable. But they were also possible. And possibility demanded preparation.
I want to learn. I want to be able to protect myself. I never want to be helpless again.
Elara looked toward the cliff again.
The little gull shook itself, water streaming from its feathers, and took another step forward. It stood on the highest rock now, safe from the waves' reach. It shook itself one last time, spread its wings, and let out a cry that carried across the wind—fierce and triumphant and alive.
It won, Elara breathed, watching the bird until it flew away. It fought and won.
When she finally looked away, her face was wet. She didn't know when she had started crying. Didn't know if the tears were sadness or hope or something in between. But something in her had changed.
I want to learn. I want to fight. I want to survive—really survive, not just endure.
The little gull had shown her what was possible. Had reminded her that size and strength weren't everything. That fighting, even when the waves seemed insurmountable, could mean the difference between drowning and flying away.
If it can fight, maybe I can too.
She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat—steady, strong, alive.
That night, Elara lay in the darkness, her back against Kazimir’s chest with his arm around her waist. It was the familiar warmth, the familiar rhythm of breath, the familiar safety. But tonight, something was different.
Elara's heart pounded against her ribs. The words she needed to say pressed against her throat, demanding release as the old voice whispered warnings: Never ask for things. Never want things. Wanting is dangerous. Wanting leads to disappointment. Wanting makes you vulnerable.
She had spent her whole life listening to that voice. Tonight, she chose not to.
She turned in his arms—carefully, slowly—until she faced him. In the darkness, his features were shadowed, but she could feel his attention sharpen, could feel the way his body tensed slightly, waiting. She reached up. Her fingers found his face—tentative, trembling—and traced the line of his jaw.
His hand covered hers and squeezed gently.
‘I thought about it,’ Elara mouthed slowly. ‘What I want.’
In the darkness, she couldn't be sure he saw the words. But his thumb moved against her knuckles—an acknowledgment, a prompt to continue.
She paused, gathering courage. The images from the afternoon flickered behind her eyes—the free gulls wheeling against grey sky, the tiny bird fighting waves that should have drowned it. They had shown her something. Given her words she hadn't had before. But she didn't explain that. Couldn't explain that. The thoughts were too big, too tangled to try and shape into silent words he might not even see. So she simply said what she had realized.
‘I want to see the outside world.’
Kazimir was still—so still she wondered if he had understood, if he was angry, if she had asked for too much. Then, his hand came up and cupped her face, just as it had this morning.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Elara stared at him, waiting for the catch. Waiting for the condition. But when it didn't come, she encouraged—terrified, but encouraged.
‘I want to learn to protect myself.’ The words came faster now, tumbling over each other in their urgency to be spoken. ‘I don't want to be helpless again. I don't want to rely on someone else to save me.’
The confession left her hollowed out, exposed. She had spoken the words aloud—or as close to aloud as she could manage. Had named the fear. Had admitted the weakness. Had asked for something that felt impossibly selfish.
He'll say no. He'll be angry. He'll think I don't trust him.
But Kazimir didn’t. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. He pressed her face into his chest so she could feel his heartbeat—steady, strong. When he spoke, his voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her cheek.
"Okay." Just that single word again. But this time, it held more—a promise, an acknowledgment.
His hand stroked her hair—slow, gentle, and steady.
"I'll teach you myself," he said quietly. "Not to make you fight my battles. To make sure you never feel helpless again."
The words broke something in her—something that had been frozen for years, locked away behind walls of fear and silence. Elara's tears spilled over. She pressed her face harder into his chest and cried, the tears soaking into his skin.
He didn't tell her to stop, didn't pull away, didn't do anything except hold her and stroke her hair. When the sobs finally quieted, when she was left trembling and exhausted, his voice came again.
"The world," he said. "We'll start small. The grounds. The cliffs. The village when it's safe. But yes. You'll see it."
Elara nodded against his chest.
"And the lessons." His hand never stopped stroking her hair. "We'll start with basic defense. And when you're ready—how to fight back."
How to fight back. The words settled into her chest alongside the others. She thought back to the little gull on the rocks. The little gull that kept fighting the waves. Kept standing. Kept surviving. If it can fight, she thought, maybe I can too.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him in the darkness. She couldn't see his face, but she felt his attention and his warmth.
‘Thank you’, she mouthed. She knew the words were small, inadequate. But they were all she had.
His arms tightened around her. His lips pressed against her forehead.
"Happy birthday, Elara."
The name—her name, not “little bird” or “poccolina” or any of the other labels they tried to stick to her—settled into her chest like a key turning in a lock.
Elara. She was Elara. She was twenty-two. She was held and wanted and heard.
For the first time in years, the future didn’t feel like something waiting to crush her. For the first time in years, she felt like she could see the path ahead.
Hello, hello! I just want to say thank you for being here. Watching you react, theorize, and feel alongside these characters means more than I can put into words.
We’re pretty far along, so if you’ve been enjoying the story so far, I’d be so grateful if you considered leaving a review. It helps more readers discover the story and it lets me know what resonates with you.
Thank you for walking this journey with me!
~ Phia??
Did this chapter make you more hopeful or more anxious?
