Amorphous: A Trace in Ashes

  ROXAIL ASTHER

The night air was cold, but the chill that filled Roxail's veins was colder still.

He sat at his desk, the flickering candle casting trembling light across the worn paper. His eyes traced the faded ink — his name at the top, that single word echoing in his mind.

"Roxail!"

The letter unfolded its sorrow and its terror, each line tightening the invisible noose around his chest:

Roxail!

If you are reading this… then I have failed. They are coming for us… they already took the Whites.

My son… listen carefully. You must stay close to Darmire. Do not let anything come between you. They will try. They will turn you against each other.

I wanted to protect you… both of you… but I was not strong enough. Forgive me for leaving you alone in this.

Whatever happens… no matter what you hear… please, Roxail — do not [smudged]… do not [illegible].

You must find the truth. You must. Show it to the Astarians. Let them see what has been hidden.

Be careful… be wise… become the [smudged: righteous one] you were meant to be.

We did not die of sickness… we were murdered… by [erased].

[tear stain] You must uncover who. Before it is too late.

Beware of [faded]… they will come for you too.

Protect your brother… from Gre[blurred]. Stay by his side

Goodbye, Roxail. Take care.

 Page: 23

The room felt small. The walls seemed to draw closer, the shadows thickening, as if the letter's secrets stirred the night itself.

Roxail lowered his head into his hands. His fingers curled into his hair, his palms pressing against his temples, trying to steady the storm inside him.

Why…?

How could she have known?

How long had this letter waited, hidden in that forgotten place?

He could see it now — his mother, Lariette, the warmth in her eyes dimmed by fear, writing in haste, hiding the truth where only he might find it.

Four years, Roxail thought, his breath shallow. Four years the Roszen greenhouse stood abandoned. Four years it waited, just as she intended.

His heart pounded, cold and heavy.

Was this why that place was left to rot? So no one would disturb it — so I alone would find her words?

The weight of it crushed him — the loneliness of the message, the finality of it.

But before the numbness could take him, something pulled him back.

A knock at his door.Soft. Careful. Too careful for this hour.

Roxail lifted his head slowly. His eyes, dark and sharp, fixed on the door. One hand moved to fold the letter, tucking it beneath his coat, where its secrets would stay hidden.

The knock came again.

"My lord…?"

A voice. Familiar. But changed by the night — or by what he now knew.

Roxail stood, his breath steadying, though his mind raced.

Who comes now? And what do they seek at this hour?