In Nawra, silence emanated within Noam's cabin.
Kaya tended to Zayne's wounds. His body felt light, sprawling across the bed as he finally stopped groaning in pain.
She rubbed her eyes and opened the door.
"Where are you heading?" Noam asked curiously.
She darted her eyes across the room, looking left and right. "I just need to clear my head."
Noam nodded and shifted his focus back to the sleeping Zayne.
Kaya didn't look back as she quietly shut the door. Hearing Noam lock it behind her, she went down the steps.
It had been a couple of hours since dawn, and the afternoon was commencing, but not one droplet of the red lake remained, as it had been wiped away into a distant memory.
They cleaned it, but I can still smell the blood from the road. Maybe they don't notice it anymore because they're accustomed to it.
The scent of copper encompassed the air, and she felt a taste of iron envelop her tastebuds.
Kaya took deep breaths, bathing in the golden sunlight. However, nobody was outside. Like hermits, they didn't make a single sound.
She strolled through the town of ghosts as her mind began to calm. The more she forgot about all that had happened, the more peace shrouded her being.
Her smile slowly came back, but when she noticed it, it fell into a frown attached to weights. When she hung her head, the weight eased, but she looked rather gloomy.
I also remember being told by my mother that I should always keep my head low to not face what's in front of me. But should I listen to them?
Kaya sighed, then felt something rustle in her pocket. Grabbing it, she found the broken cord attached to a microphone. The broken wires hung out of it.
They cannot listen anymore, but I cannot throw this away. This isn't something I'm allowed to forget.
She lifted her head, gripping the broken wire tightly. Her head felt heavy, as if it would detach, but she kept walking leisurely.
Each porch was desolate, empty, and dull. Different voices wept behind them, curling up in their mattresses as they gave out failed prayers that they eventually gave up on.
Kaya avoided looking at the wooden homes, as they pulsed like heartbeats with their own unique patterns. They were separated, encompassed by patches of remaining grass, facing away from the lakes behind the homes.
Rivers of crimson stood still in a desolate field, along with the many brooms that lay on the road with stained bristles.
Despite this, an odd silence deafened the town. It sent a piercing chill down Kaya's spine. Her eyes blended amber in response, just for a moment.
She couldn't hear any thoughts, as the doors to their hearts were sealed shut behind wooden homes. But she heard something else . . .
From one house, she heard a clamor of happiness shake its infrastructure. An exaggerated happiness.
From another, a quiet trembling, as if the house would hide under a blanket if it could. An exaggerated fear.
Next to it, an outcry of loss, and it sounded like the house would break into a broken heart if it continued. An exaggerated grief.
Each home was disingenuous within its performance, and disingenuous with itself.
Her heart sank after passing each house, and she blocked out the false joy, trembling fear, and crying grief as her eyes returned to a dark-brown color.
Finally, she saw another home that stood out from afar. It looked as dull as the others, but for some reason it appeared cozier, like it had a soul. Yet there was no sound. For a second, her eyes glinted amber, but they retained nothing from it.
Taking one glance forward, Kaya saw an older woman with white hair walk to the porch. The woman's elegant stride was unconventional, but it emitted intrigue within Kaya.
The woman sat in a rocking chair as it creaked after each second.
She's awfully calm for the only person outside besides me. Should I approach her?
The air was quiet, then a low tune hummed in the distance.
"The brighter the lights, the more realms will fight. Such realms with blight, they never go right. But no matter our sight, we endure this plight."
Along with it, the woman hummed a harmonious melody that emanated the harps of fabled angels. It brought a sense of euphoria unlike anything this tribe had to offer.
Regardless, Kaya bobbed her head to the beautiful song, but she kept going, moving past her home. She tightly gripped the wire as she stomped further, resisting the urge to look.
Hanging her head, she counted each step she took, feeling her muscles tense after every four steps past the house.
Maybe Mother was right at times. Looking forward can make you face things you cannot ignore, and once it's there, it can't be disregarded.
Suddenly, a soothing voice spoke from behind.
"You there . . . you aren't from this place, are you, darling?"
Kaya froze, and her body slowly turned as she saw where the voice came from.
In the old rocking chair sat a gorgeous young woman, wearing a blindfold and a bright blouse. Her soft pale face contrasted with pink lips encompassed by a white mane.
Kaya cautiously stepped forward, examining the empty town.
But she's wearing a blindfold, so how would she know that? Would it be a good idea to talk to her?
Pondering, she asked softly, "How would you know I'm not from here?"
Rocking gently, the woman smiled. "Nobody ever takes a walk out here at this hour. They all hide in their little homes, waiting for the next red flood to clean and repeat it all over again. And given your voice, that only confirmed my claim."
Leaning forward in her wooden chair, she continued, "I like to spread my hymns in the air at this time of day, yet only you have been here to hear them. For that reason, I'd love to speak to you. I have so many words to say, ideas to unveil, yet none listen, since they label me a frail woman."
Kaya tilted her head. "I wonder, how long have you been waiting for somebody to hear you?"
"Ever since my husband and children went on vacation, they never returned. They said they would come back in the brightest days, so I sang in the brightest hours, hoping I would hear those steps again," the woman calmly uttered.
Whether my eyes are brown or amber, I can already tell she won't lie to me.
Kaya approached the home, and her feet creaked on the steps as she stood in front of her. The woman's collarbones poked through her skin, and her hands rested atop one another.
Looking around, Kaya found a regular chair and sat on the opposite side of the porch.
She stared at the frail yet dainty lady, but the blindfold distracted from her features.
Kaya sat still. "You will hear them again, I assure you . . . I'm sorry, but may you please tell me your name?" she asked.
"My children called me Mother, but you can call me Seraphina, or Sera for short, since that's what people like to call me around here. I've simply adopted it, Kaya," the delicate woman answered.
. . .
Kaya blinked profusely and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. She tapped her foot rapidly, as if the floor would tell her how to respond.
Sera lightly laughed. "Relax. The locals spoke of your name from the courthouse incident, and I happen to eavesdrop at times. From what I've heard, you and your people humbled that accursed council, didn't you?"
A grimace stapled itself onto Kaya's expression as she hesitated before giving a languid nod. "Uh huh." Immediately, she wiped it away as she faced the frail woman again.
Sera reclined further in the seat, almost too far, to the point where Kaya nearly stood up in fear of her falling over. Yet the woman remained balanced in her chair without a care in the world.
She stayed silent for a moment as she pondered. Leisurely, she slouched in her rocking seat. "I get the feeling that you don't want to talk about it."
Kaya shook her head. "It's not that, it's just that—"
"You were afraid you and your peers were going to lose their lives. And that fear led you here," Sera interrupted with a sharp whisper.
Kaya exhaled. "I was afraid that it would all be my fault," she murmured.
She scanned her surroundings and collected her thoughts. "My mother raised me along with my siblings, as nobody else was there to take care of us. My siblings began to resent me because Mother gave me the most attention. I became the center of attention for a lot of things throughout my life, and to this day I wonder if it was my fault."
A strong gust of wind traveled through the town, blocking out all distant whimpers and cries, leaving only the rustle of nearby leaves behind.
Sera's white hair disheveled across her face, and she slicked it back as she let out a quiet laugh.
She took a second before saying, "I was afraid things would be my fault too."
As if the blindfold were transparent, she looked out from the porch and eventually stared at Kaya by following the sound of her voice.
"I wasn't born blind. Rather, my eyes were hyper-sensitive to light. I wear the blindfold as a means to shield them whilst getting my sunlight. At night, however, I see better than most. They deemed me manic for frolicking at night, but they'd never understand that it was the only time I could properly see," she said.
"People always feel a need to have some duty to take care of me. Even when being transported to this island, many would give their food up to me simply because they thought I was weak or lame."
She scoffed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you thought I was an elderly lady who spoke of nonsense. But nobody else ever took the time to take a second look at me."
Kaya listened to her passionate words. "But why are you telling me this?"
"Because you took the time to speak to me when everybody else saw me as some sort of ghoul. If I hadn't sung, you might've walked right past me, as I'm a hollow shell with white hair," Sera commented.
Kaya leaned forward. "That's not true. The fact is that I took the right path on the road to speak to you here."
Sera tapped her soft fingertips on the wooden arms of the chair. "That may be true, but I can tell that I wasn't what you were looking for."
Kaya raised an eyebrow. "And what was I looking for?"
"You were looking for something that would tell you the truth, no matter how unpleasing," Sera said, twirling her white strands.
Staring at her hands, Kaya asked, "Are you not telling me the truth?"
"I am, but you've walked so far down the road that you cannot discern which is which anymore," the woman muttered.
"I believe you wouldn't lie to me," Kaya said.
For an instant, Kaya's eyes blended amber, but found Sera's thoughts matched her exact words.
"I wouldn't, but the fact is that I haven't told you everything, and all that I have told you has been in the prettiest light. But I'm sure you are okay with some things being left untold."
The distant noises of false emotions began to crowd around the home, seeping through the porch's wooden bars. It entered their eardrums, but Kaya took a deep breath and blocked it out. However, Sera enjoyed it like a harmonious melody.
"You don't have to tell me anymore," Kaya consoled her.
"I have an uncomfortable truth to tell . . . it may not be one you want to hear, but it's so you can grasp just how ugly the truth can be," Sera spoke flatly. "I was almost upset with myself for telling you a fairy tale, but now I see that there's no point to it anymore."
Kaya's ears flared as she prepared to hear the next words exit from the pale woman's lips.
She gulped. "The family I spoke of . . . they aren't on vacation, rather, something even I cannot comprehend."
Adding, "They never came here. I remember the last time I had seen them, my hair was full of color. And now, I am left a husk, forced to live a peaceful life here."
Sera looked down at her lap. "You might be a bit young to answer this question, but I still want someone to hear it. What is a mother without a family?"