The crying started in the middle of the night.
At first, Alaric thought it was just part of a nightmare—some echo of Shuru or the city with sirens. But it didn't fade with the dream. It got louder. Higher.
A choking, panicked wail.
He rolled over and squinted through the dark.
A small shape sat upright two beds down, tiny hands clutching the blanket. Moonlight picked out tangled hair and a tear-streaked face.
Lia.
She'd arrived a few weeks ago—barely five, found wandering along a road with no one claiming her. In the day, she clung to Sister Elaina's skirts or hid behind Mira. At night… she didn't sleep well.
Alaric hesitated, then slipped out of bed.
Lia's sobs hiccuped as he approached. "M‑Mama…? Papa…?"
"It's me," Alaric whispered. "Alaric."
She blinked at him, breath stuttering. "It's dark."
"I know." He glanced around. No sign of Elaina; she was probably in the chapel. Corwin snored faintly in the small office rooms across the hall.
Alaric sat on the edge of her bed. "You had a bad dream?"
She nodded, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.
"Me too, sometimes," he said. That was an understatement. "But look." He held up his hand.
"Light," he murmured.
A tiny flame appeared on his fingertip, no bigger than a candle. Soft, yellowish glow spilled over Lia's face, turning her tears into silver streaks.
Her eyes widened. "Magic…"
"Just a little," he said. "See? Not so dark now."
She sniffled. "Will the bad dreams come back?"
"Maybe," Alaric said honestly. "But you can wake up. And there'll be light. And idiots like Rin snoring loud enough to scare monsters away."
Right on cue, Rin snorted and rolled over in her sleep, mumbling something about goats.
Lia giggled, very softly.
Alaric felt something ease in his chest.
"I used to be scared of the dark too," he lied. He'd been more scared of what came with it, but that was too complicated to explain. "My mom used to sing when I had bad dreams."
"Can you sing?" Lia asked.
He hadn't expected that.
"Um. I can… try."
He thought back. Marla humming while kneading dough, half‑remembered words about rivers and stars. His voice was rough and a little off-key, but he sang anyway, quietly.
Lia's breathing slowed. Her eyes drooped.
By the time he forgot half the verse, she was already asleep, fingers loosened from the blanket.
The little flame on his finger flickered.
Alaric watched it, then let it go. Darkness folded in again, but it felt… less heavy.
He slipped back to his own bed, heart a little lighter.
If I can keep one person from crying like that… that's something.
Not enough.
But something that encourages me more.