Kit

The Ring and the Silence”

( Albus is presumed dead. Faith lives with the weight.)

The wind howled through the rafters that night.

Springrock didn’t sleep easy when the sandstorms rolled in—it sounded like voices clawing at the shutters, or ghosts begging to come inside. But Faithful didn’t hear the wind. She heard a memory. She always did, especially when it was quiet.

She sat by the window, half-shadowed in lantern light, embroidery forgotten in her lap. Her fingers idled over the old chain around her neck—worn, dull metal, but the ring it held was brighter.

Too bright. Too heavy.

Albus’s ring.

He’d left it behind the day he threw himself into hell.

He was supposed to die. Everyone believed he had. And maybe, in a way, he did. The man who walked away from that fire wasn’t the same man who gave Faith that ring with a crooked smile and calloused hands.

But she didn’t know that. Not yet.

All she knew was this unbearable silence where he used to be.

She blinked hard, the weight of the ring sinking into her collarbone. She still wore it. Every day. Close to her heart like a splinter that wouldn’t dislodge.

Behind her, quiet footsteps.

She didn’t turn. She knew them.

Kerano.

The girl said nothing as she climbed into Faith’s lap and leaned against her, Fluffle clutched loosely in one hand. Faith wrapped her arms around her instinctively.

“Another nightmare?” she asked softly.

A nod.

“Was it the altar again?”

Kerano hesitated, then shook her head. “No. It was you.”

Faith froze.

Kerano’s voice was small. “You were walking away. And I kept calling your name but… you didn’t look back.”

Faith shut her eyes, trying to will her heartbeat to calm.

“That’s not real, baby,” she whispered. “I’d never leave you.”

“But what if I do something wrong? What if you don’t want me anymore?” Kerano mumbled, eyes down.

And something cracked. Something deep.

Faith squeezed her tightly. “No. No, never. You could set this whole house on fire and I’d still fight gods to keep you.”

Kerano looked up. “But what if you’re not okay? You cry sometimes when you think I’m not looking.”

Faith flinched.

The truth stung sharper when spoken by small voices.

She looked down at Kerano’s round eyes, filled with too much understanding for her age, and something inside Faith shattered further. Quietly. Privately.

Because she’d been trying so damn hard.

She tried to be strong. Gentle. Loving. A mother. A protector. A wall. A beacon. Everything she never had, and everything she feared she could never be.

And deep down—she was so scared she was failing.

What if she was too soft? Or too cold? What if she wasn’t enough to fill the space Albus left behind? What if the child in her arms one day looked up and saw nothing but a fraud wearing a saint’s name?

Faith felt her breath tremble.

“I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” she whispered, voice cracking, arms trembling as she held Kerano tighter. “Some days I wake up and I don’t know who I am. I try to be good. I try to be safe. But I’m scared too, little one. I’m so scared.”

Kerano didn’t move. Just rested her head against Faith’s chest, her voice muffled by cloth and heartbeat.

“I think you’re doing really good.”

Faith broke.

Silently, a tear rolled down her cheek and landed in Kerano’s hair. Then another.

Then more.

She rocked her gently, clinging to the child like a lifeline. And the ring around her neck pressed cold into her skin—a reminder of what she lost, what she promised, and what she had to keep going for.

Albus was gone.

But this—this tiny soul in her arms—was here.