Chapter 8 — Secrets and Sparks
The echo of their laughter still haunted the hall when Zamira walked out into the evening air.
Her fists were clenched so tightly that the marks of her nails cut half-moons into her palms.
She could still hear Kael's voice — smug, cruel — whispering those same poisoned words that had followed her since the death camp.
Shadowblood. Slave. Cursed thing.
The students in the courtyard gave her wide space. Rumors traveled fast in Qasr al-Jinan. And after the cafeteria incident, she was a storm everyone wanted to watch from a distance.
Sirius followed her without a word. His boots made barely a sound against the cobblestone. He didn't ask if she was okay — he simply walked beside her, his quiet presence steadying the rage that pulsed under her skin.
They stopped by the training fountain, where water danced in streams of light. The sky had turned violet, fading into dusk. Zamira leaned forward, splashing her hands in the cold water to calm herself, but the reflection staring back at her made her flinch — her eyes, still faintly glowing gold.
She cursed under her breath.
"You almost lost it," Sirius said softly behind her.
She turned to face him. "You think I don't know that?"
"No." His tone wasn't sharp, only calm — too calm. "I think you're blaming yourself for not breaking him faster."
Zamira exhaled, jaw tight. "You heard what he said."
"I did."
"And you didn't say anything."
He stepped closer. "I didn't need to. The way you looked at him said enough."
"That doesn't help me," she snapped. "They'll just keep saying it again."
"Then stop giving them the satisfaction of seeing you bleed."
The words hit like cold water. Zamira blinked, startled by the bluntness. "You sound like Valerius."
"Valerius wants obedience," Sirius said. "I want you to remember who you are."
She turned away, folding her arms. "You don't know who I am."
"I know what I see," he said simply. "Someone who's survived worse than Kael's mouth."
Zamira's throat tightened. "You think that's all it takes? Survive?"
His eyes were unreadable, reflecting the rippling light of the fountain. "Sometimes survival is the hardest thing you can do."
There was silence for a while. The courtyard wind brushed against the leaves. A bell chimed somewhere far off, signaling curfew.
Zamira said finally, "He was talking about them. My friends from the rebellion. Melina. He didn't even know their names, and he—" She stopped herself, the memory too raw. "He made them sound like monsters."
"They always do," Sirius murmured.
Something in his tone made her look up. His expression hadn't changed, but his eyes—calm, gray, and distant—carried something old and brittle beneath the surface.
"You've heard it too," she said quietly. "That tone. The way they make you less."
He didn't deny it. "Words are just cages, Zamira. The trick is learning to walk out before they close."
"Is that what you do?" she asked. "Walk out?"
He hesitated, gaze drifting toward the horizon where the twin moons were rising. "Once. When I was younger."
She frowned. "You sound like you're fifty."
He almost smiled. "Sometimes I feel it."
The brief flicker of amusement faded as he added, "When I was a child, my family had a tower. It was supposed to be a place for study, quiet. But quiet can turn cruel when it's forced."
Zamira tilted her head, sensing the shift. "You lived there?"
"For a while." He looked down at his hands. "The walls were thick. You stop knowing if it's day or night. You stop speaking because there's no one to listen."
Her chest tightened. "Sirius…"
He waved it off gently. "It was a long time ago."
"But—"
"Don't." His voice was soft, but final. "Some stories aren't meant for light."
Zamira wanted to ask more, to break through that wall he carried around him like armor. But she recognized that look — the same one she'd worn herself too many times. The look of someone who'd been locked away until silence became safety.
So instead, she asked quietly, "How did you get out?"
He glanced up at her, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something sharp in his eyes — something alive. "I didn't," he said. "Someone found me."
"Valerius?"
He nodded once.
Zamira leaned against the fountain. "You trust him?"
"I trust that he knows what I am," Sirius replied. "And he doesn't look away."
That silence hung between them for a while — heavy, but not uncomfortable. The stars had come out fully now, casting silver light across the courtyard. Zamira stared up at them, her voice a whisper. "Sometimes I wonder if I should've just stayed in the camp. It was simpler there. Pain was… predictable."
Sirius turned toward her, his expression unreadable. "Don't ever say that again."
She blinked, startled. His voice was calm, but there was steel under it.
"You didn't survive that place just to bow to their pity," he said. "You're not their toy, or their warning, or their ghost. You're here, and that means something."
Her eyes glowed faintly again, gold glimmering under the moonlight. "You sound like you care."
He looked away, lips curving faintly. "Don't get used to it."
That made her smile — a real one, small but genuine. "You're terrible at pretending you don't."
He didn't answer. Instead, he walked toward the garden's edge, where faint sparks of fireflies floated between the flowers. "Do you know what your eyes do when you're angry?"
"They glow," she muttered.
"They burn," he corrected. "Gold. Like the last light before nightfall. You should see it from here."
Zamira turned her gaze away. "That sounds terrifying."
"It's beautiful," he said simply.
The words hung between them like smoke — fragile, dangerous, real.
Before she could reply, a soft chime rang again — the last bell before curfew. Sirius stepped back, his tone returning to its usual calm. "You should get some rest. Valerius has us sparring in the morning."
"Right," she said quietly. "Training."
He paused before leaving. "Zamira."
She looked up. "Yes?"
"If Kael or anyone else tries something again," he said, his voice low but edged, "don't waste your anger. They want you to lose control. Make them afraid of your silence instead."
Zamira studied him for a long moment. "That sounds like something you learned in that tower."
Sirius didn't smile, but his eyes softened. "Maybe."
And then he left — quiet as a shadow disappearing between the arches.
Zamira stood there alone for a long while, watching the stars reflect in the water. Her reflection stared back — dark hair, pale skin, eyes that shimmered with both fury and fire.
Walk out before the cage closes.
She whispered it to herself like a prayer.
Then she turned, heading back toward the dormitory, where the torches of Qasr al-Jinan burned against the night — warm, golden, and alive.
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