The silence that walked the palace hallways over the days that followed thundered louder than any sound.
Fariah had settled into her chamber in the eastern wing. Eirran had assigned her the rooms adjacent to his deliberately, to keep her under his eye.
Still…
She ventured out a little, spoke even less. The air in the eastern wing began to carry a faint smell of wax and incense.
At night, empty corridors chimed with her prayers. It was the sound of wind wheezing through the narrow pipes – a kind of non-music that made servants scatter away, tiny hairs on their arms and at the backs of their necks standing up.
In the mornings, she would break fast in the Great Hall, barely speaking a word to her son, who reciprocated with the same act of cold indifference.
Only once did she comment, offhanded, almost approvingly, “I notice your mongrel doesn’t dine here.”
Eirran granted her a brief, sharp gaze, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand, the fragile crystal seconds from breaking.
“Eilleah prefers taking meals in the southern wing.”
Fariah didn’t respond, but the muscle in her cheek twitched in something that might have been satisfaction – or hope.
Later that day, Lily came down knocking at the doors of Eirran’s study. He knew by the fast rhythm of the approaching footsteps that it was her; for she would often come running.
Eirran slowly set down his quill, feeling the thin film of wet ink cling to his fingers as he finished signing one of the countless Council orders. The black shimmered wet upon the parchment.
“Come in.”
The door creaked just enough for Lily to slip through. Her frame was a shadow against the dying light, her dress crumpled and stained from hours of play with Evan in the courtyard.
“Can we go flying tonight?”
The question struck like a knife between his ribs.
It had been six days since Fariah’s arrival, and he’d kept her deliberately grounded. He’d seen what it did to her – the way her fingers tapped restlessly on the table’s edge when Ilari children practiced maneuvers in the sky above the palace, the way her shoulders tensed whenever wings rustled behind her, as if every cell in her body screamed to join them. It was a need he had awakened within her – and now had to deal with the consequences.
Eirran rose; his chair scraped against the stone, the sound echoing through the silence of the study.
“Not today, Lily.”
Her face didn’t change, still wearing that perfect mask he knew she had borrowed from him, but her hands, those small, deft hands that had mastered the perfect grip in flight, clenched into fists.
“Why? Because of her, isn’t it?”
He walked to the window where the last rays of sunlight gilded Astochia’s vast terraces and bridges, each stone glowing like a pearl.
“Lily… I’ve told you what she’s like. I know how to fight, but I also know how to pick my battles. And I know better than to provoke the dragon. If she finds out…”
“That you still use divine wings to carry a mudborn?”
The words flew out, full of bite.
Eirran turned so quickly that the tip of his right wing brushed the inkwell, leaving black streaks across the pale feathers. He flinched – a sharp, involuntary twitch that was brief yet so familiar it made Lily gasp.
He didn’t have the patience to think about it now.
He closed the space between them in three strides, crouching until their eyes met at the same level, his wings walling them up.
“No, it’s not because of that. And I never want to hear you refer to yourself by that word again. You are not mudborn, you are…”
He trailed off. He couldn’t speak the truth yet, not even to her.
“What? What am I?”
Her voice was delicate as a breeze.
“My daughter. That is all that matters.” He said it softly, grasping her upper arms, holding her gently but firmly. “Listen to me. When we fly, it’s not just us up there anymore. Every Ilar in Astochia is watching. Every priest whispers of sacrilege. And now…” His voice lowered, roughened. “Now it’s her.”
Lily’s fingers toyed nervously with the edge of her tunic, the fabric worn thin there from constant fidgeting.
“So I have to be invisible again?”
The question fell like a blow.
“No.” He took her hands, turning them palms up. The calluses from her hard life in Ulm had softened, but new ones had formed – rough patches from clutching his shoulders mid-flight, from shifting her weight and joining the wind. “We don’t hide. We pick our battles.”
Her fingers tightened around his, the warmth of her palms seeping into his.
“But flying is ours.” The raw longing in her voice almost broke him.
“Yes,” he nodded. “It still is. But if we want to keep it, we must be smart. Tennat, remember?”
That coaxed out a small smile. She nodded, even though it didn’t ease the longing in her eyes.
And neither of them knew how close to the truth he was.
Fariah might have kept to herself, but her eyes and ears roamed the palace halls, the city streets, and docks. She was the kind of woman who knew how to reward the loyalty of those who kept their eyes down.
And so it wasn’t a surprise that she knew exactly where to find Lily in the hour it took Eirran to attend the Minor Council.
Lily was sitting under her favorite lemon tree, alone, with a book larger than her arms spread open across her lap, her thin finger tracing the lines as she struggled with pronunciation of old Ilarian idioms.
The corner of her eye caught the shadow as it fell across the stone and earth. She didn’t twitch at first – until she remembered. Father was at the Council.
Her eyes, round as plates, shot up.
The smile that met her had fangs.
“Come with me.”
Lily grasped the book to keep her hands from trembling.
“Father said…”
“You will come with me.”
Not a shout, but her harmonies split open in a dissonance that made the world spin.
“I won’t go anywhere without Father.”
Fariah’s mouth twitched, then stilled. “Have you ever visited the Path of Glory?” Her voice was calm again.
Lily frowned. “That’s that place with the statues, on top of the western cliff, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Has my son ever taken you there?”
Lily shook her head. Eirran had never mentioned it, and she hadn’t asked.
The woman who in another life could have called herself her grandmother clicked her tongue. “Disappointing. To claim to give you education, yet hold you away from the greatest monument in Astochia.” She sighed. “Although perhaps he thought it wouldn’t interest you. It is a place built in honor of the greatest of our kind.”
Lily blinked, but kept her mouth shut.
“I won’t bite you.” Fariah crackled a laugh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already.” She shrugged. “I thought you’d be a scared little mouse. No better than the rest of your kind.”
“I’m not afraid.” Lily muttered, closing the book. The echo rang across the stone.
A gleam shone in Fariah’s eye. “Very well, then. Follow me.”
The path to the western cliff had never been meant for human feet. Every stone, every blade of grass, every fallen leaf, every painful step uphill testified that this place was made for those who looked upon the world from above. Lily felt that truth in the marrow of her bones as she climbed the winding goat path, her small shoes scraping constantly against the sharp stones.
Above her, Fariah V’Asanii glided through the air with effortless grace, her storm-gray wings catching the afternoon light like mercury covered by a veil.
Finally, as Lily’s throat scraped dry and her breath grew labored, they reached the sacred place. The Path of Glory was more colossal than it had seemed from below – a colonnade of statues standing like a celestial guard upon a flat plane of white stone. Here, the ancestors of House V’Asanii were immortalized in the finest marble and pure gold, each figure thrice the height of a mortal, their wings forever spread in divine vigilance, their stone faces carved with that same mixture of mercy and severity that marked all depictions of the gods.
The air here was crisp, carrying the faint scents of salt and stone, its bite causing Lily to pull her cloak tighter.
Fariah descended gracefully before the final statue in the row, her white gown fluttering lightly in the wind. Without a word, she raised a slender finger and pointed to the figure – her silent command clearer than speech.
Lily slowly lifted her gaze, her throat tightening with unease. And then she saw it – and froze in shock.
The statue was Eirran.
But not the father she knew. Not the warm man who had patiently taught her tennat, who had flown with her against all laws and reason, who always stifled his voice so his harmonies wouldn’t overtly disturb her.
This Eirran was carved from the finest marble, his wings so vast they overshadowed all others in the line. His face bore an expression of sacred wrath – not anger, not rage, but that cold, divine resolve that knows no doubt. One hand gripped a sword, its edge carved so precisely it seemed it might flare to life at any moment; the other was raised in a gesture that might have ewually been blessing or judgment. At the statue’s base, smaller marble figures writhed in defeat and agony.
“Your father,” Fariah said, her voice colder than the stone beneath their feet, “was a Seraph. Among the highest orders of Antarrila.” Each word fell like an axe. “Right hand of Ellevath himself. The light that had purged the darkness at Tal’Hessia.”
Lily felt her throat tighten, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from that terrifying likeness.
“You profane him,” Fariah hissed, her words like knives of ice. “By dragging the divine blood of our house down into the stench of earth. Just like your mother.” Every word was a blade.
But Lily was ready for her hatred, and she bit her lip, refusing to give her the satisfaction of her tears.
Step by step, Fariah advanced until her silhouette clouded the sky. “He was divine before she who bore you made him fall. A god among mortals. His name was both fear and glory. And now?” Her lip curled in a sneer more cruel than any curse. “Now he begs for scraps of acceptance for his walking disgrace.”
Lily’s fists clenched tighter, her nails biting the skin.
“He loves me,” she said, each word a battle against the tears burning behind her eyes.
“Love?” Fariah’s laugh shattered like broken crystal. “What is love to the one who should have been above all mortal weakness?” She swept her hand toward the statue. “This is what he was. This is his true nature – quenched by his obsession with mud.”
Her foot brushed the hem of Lily’s dress, a gesture dripping with contempt.
“But there is more,” Fariah continued relentlessly. “The heresy he commits by taking you to the sky is taking its toll on his body.” Her chin lifted, eyes blazing. “A sin always demands to be paid in blood.”
Lily’s gaze shot up.
Fariah’s eyebrows drew together in what looked like concern.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed he’s been sparing his left side. How he rolls his shoulders to ease the strain.”
Lily said nothing, but her bottom lip trembled just once. “That’s not true. He would have told me.”
Fariah cackled humorlessly. “No, he wouldn’t. He is too proud for that. But I must, so that you know the full cost of your entertainment.” She spat the last word like poison. “If you don’t believe me, ask him directly.”
Lily’s vision blurred with tears she refused to shed, but she couldn’t look away from the statue.
Was it the father who had flown with her despite everything?
Was it the one who had let her teach him knots?
That same knot now scratched the skin above her pulse.
“He told me he wasn’t divine,” she whispered, voice trembling but firm. “He said the Antarrila are just Ilari soldiers, nothing more.”
Fariah’s eyes flashed with fury that could have set the world ablaze. “Of course he said that! Because you made him ashamed of what he was! You forced him to deny his glory!” She bent suddenly, her icy breath brushing Lily’s ear. “But blood doesn’t lie, little thing. Look into his eyes on that statue. Look at the light carved into every line. That is what he was. That is what your mother stole from him. At least she had the decency to stay dead.”
Lily’s world blurred into a haze of tears. She turned and fled – not far, just to the statue’s marble base. There she fell to her knees, clutching at the engraved words:
EIRRAN V’ASANII, SERAPH OF ANTARRILA, SWORD OF ELLEVATH, HERO OF TAL’HESSIA
Above her, the stone angel loomed like fate itself – its face cold and untouchable, its wings forever spread in a glory she could never reach.
Fariah did not move to follow. Her message had been delivered; her victory felt.
But as Lily pressed her forehead to the cold marble, she realized something that hurt more than any blow:
A part of her believed those words.
Not about being a mistake, or a sin.
But about her father. About who he had been once.
And about the price he had paid for loving her mother – a price he was still paying, every time he chose her.
The knot was burning.
Twin tears, warm and alive, slid down her cheeks and fell onto the pedestal, leaving dark stains on the sacred stone.
And then she clenched both her teeth and her fists and whirled around to face her grandmother.
Fariah stood still, the tiniest glint in her eye showing her satisfaction. The smile that returned to her face was different now – without needles, yet colder. Deeper. Almost… sorrowful.
Lily was ready to lash out, but the next words made her freeze.
“You know,” Fariah said quietly, “he will outlive you.”
Lily didn’t blink, but tension crept down her spine like a cold finger.
“You should have realized that by now.”
Lily swallowed, then coughed from the dryness of her throat. She knew – of course she knew. She had eyes; she had realized that the Ilari lived much longer than humans, that they aged differently. She had never given it much thought. It was simply a fact, like that the sky was blue, or grass was green. She certainly hadn’t given a thought of how any of it might pertain to her.
“Our Light gives us long lives, it protects us from the rot of old age. Unlike the mudborn. Unlike you.” She clicked her tongue. “He’ll have to watch every moment of your decay until death inevitably claims you long before him. That is Ellevath’s punishment for his sin – a perversion of the natural cycle of life.”
The wind rasped against Lily’s ears. The birds stopped singing.
Fariah looked straight at her granddaughter.
“And you know what Ellevath’s curse is for you? You won’t die like the rest of the mudborn. You’ll last long enough to watch the world you love fade – that mudborn family of yours leaving, one by one. And one day, when he stands by your deathbed alone, you might realize what your life has truly cost him.”
A pause. Long enough for the words to settle on the air like ash. Lily felt her pulse drumming in her ears.
She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t even blink. Then, softly, she said, “But he’s not alone now.”
She paused, meeting Fariah’s gaze, her tears brushed away, jaw set firm.
“I don’t know much about those things.” Lily shook her head and squared her shoulders. “But I know that you are a sad woman to think that time is a measure of love.”
Her voice trembled just a little.
“I know my mother loved him. And that she loved me. And that, even though she’s gone, even though I’ve never met her… it still matters.”
Fariah’s wings snapped open. “Your mother was nothing but a scheming, treacherous serpent!”
“Liar!” Lily screamed back, shoulders drawn back, fists clenching.
Fariah flinched, then froze. No one – no one – spoke to her like that.
But Lily was beyond manners. “I don’t care what you have to say. I don’t believe a single word.” She almost wavered as the statue loomed above them. “I know you hate me. I know you hate that he loves me. But what I don’t know is – why does it hurt you so much?”
Fariah gasped, wings dropping, hand grasping at her stomach without conscious thought. She opened her mouth, then closed it.
Lily blazed – small and hurt and fierce – emerging from the shadow of her father’s glory.
“You will not speak to me this way.” The words flowed thin, fragile. Fariah’s mouth pressed shut. “The lesson is finished.”
And then she turned and disappeared in a blur of feathers.
Lily stood numb in the deafening silence of stone giants as the northern wind mercilessly beat at her dress and whipped loose strands of dark hair across her unfeeling face. And when she finally ran, it was in a blur of anger and unshed tears.
When Eirran walked out of the Council Hall that afternoon, his mind deep in reports of a human plague arriving on one of Third’s merchant ships – and in the dealings with organizing quarantine on the docks – he nearly missed Evan standing in the hallway, pale and distraught.
All thoughts of plague fell away. Ice ran through his veins.
The boy approached him in a couple of long, fast steps.
“I can’t find Lily anywhere,” Evan whispered, his voice trembling. “I found a book at her favorite reading spot, but she’s gone. I’ve been searching like crazy, and I’ve heard servants whisper something about the Path of Glory. I… I thought of going up there myself, but then realized that maybe coming to tell you was a better idea. Please, can you go find her?”
Eirran’s blood turned to ice as he listened to the boy.
No. Anywhere but there.
For a moment he stood frozen – then, after a heartbeat, he was already at the window.
He cast a quick glance toward the boy. “You did the right thing, Evan.”
And then he simply launched himself into the air.
The wind shrieked in his ears as he frantically raced over terraces and towers – over all the places that should have been their sanctuary and had become a cage. Every beat of his wings was a strike of terror and rage.
He landed so roughly that the marble moaned under his feet.
Lily was gone. So was Fariah.
All that was left was a small dark stain at the pedestal of the giant statue.
Start reading here (Chapter 1):
https://earthbornnovel.com/2025/09/14/earthborn-chapter-1-ghost-of-astochia-discussion-spoilers-2/
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