It was the time of palest silver, the slender crescent moon being but an inch from the ragged horizon, when Night arose again from her own sleep. The next day had come, and as she roused herself to begin her work it looked to her like every other morning except for the unseen yet tangible significance of the anniversary. She’d never have been able to guess.

She sat up from under her covers, her bare arms chilling in the cold, vacant air, but she’d long since had to lose the instinctual fear of the morning cold. Her hair flowed down like liquid moonlight. She shoved the thick hodgepodge of coverings off of her and grabbed her long sleeves and cloak from where they lay on the dusty floor and, pulling them and her canvas shoes on, silently slipped out the door and down the ladder.

The room below was dark and empty. Tristan must be out. She hovered over the center table for a moment to pick out a small piece of food to last her for the day if she didn’t find anything. It didn’t much matter to her whether she did or not anyway. She’d learned to survive on nothing when she had to. After slipping the small, hard fruit into her bag, she stepped out of the house and into the darkness she’d named herself after.

The hours had gone slowly. She’d been trying to ignore the ridiculously vivid memories, but it hadn’t worked at all. Images that had been seared into her innocent mind still burned her vision every time she closed her eyes. The oldest ones were the hardest. The half-forgotten faces and voices that she’d sworn to never forget and the powerlessness to do anything against it.

Verene?

Night jumped. Someone had spoken nearby, but there shouldn’t be anyone there. She looked around for a person, but the only thing she saw was the bare, flat landscape. And what the voice had said… had she imagined it, or… was someone really asking about…

Verene, is that you? the voice asked.

“Verene died six years ago,” Night hissed. “Whoever you are, come out where I can see you.” So I can kill you for mentioning that name, she added mentally.

She… died?

“Gone,” Night confirmed. “Now step into the clear before I destroy you where you’re hiding.”

A tiny scratching in the rubble, and a tiny black shape appeared at the same moment the red sun lifted over the shadowed horizon. Light-edged pointed ears peeped up from a pile of collapsed concrete. Night blinked a few times. She hadn’t seen an animal in years. How could this one have survived for so long? But as she watched, the shape moved up more and a tiny human head appeared – what she’d thought were ears were only tufts of thick, unkempt black hair.

She stared. “That was you talking?” she asked. The child looked too young to be able to speak much at all, let alone ask the questions or know the names he had.

The little boy nodded, his bright, crystal-azure eyes glowing with tears and some inner light. You mean, she’s really gone? Vere—

“Yes!” she interrupted angrily, wishing he wasn’t here. But the little boy’s voice was so clearly audible inside her soul. He was speaking to her, for her.

Please. If Verene isn’t alive, I… I… He looked straight up into her eyes, pain glimmering in the blue depths. I needed her.

Night couldn’t take her focus off of the entrancing stare to say anything more. Those eyes were so different. So different. They were unlike the blank eyes she’d seen for six years, but also unlike anything she’d seen before then. Brighter. Fuller. Open. Deeper. So innocent, yet so knowing.

With a hasty shake of her head she wrenched herself away. Something had clicked into place within that gaze that made her feel so complete; she could have stayed there, standing, staring, forever. She didn’t want to.

“Why did you need her?” she continued the conversation where it had left off. “How do you even know her?”

She was my friend, my protector, the child said, his voice brimming with sadness. She was going to help me.

“With what?”

He hesitated, studying the girl with guarded eyes. It was put off because of the accident. Now Verene’s gone. I can’t do it.

Night’s eyes shifted down to the ground momentarily, then over to the red-rimmed horizon in the east. “Whatever. Yeah. Now will you please stop mentioning that name?” Her only response was another, deeper stare. Then finally a tiny nod. “Okay, good. Now, speaking of names, you have one?”

Kea.

“Kea. Okay. Kea, where do you live?”

Nowhere.

Not unusual, Night thought. “You want to live with us?” she offered, not out of kindness, but out of habit. Any of the few children she and Tristan had come across, he’d insisted they take in. They were lucky to have the place they did, so he said they had to share it with those who had less. That was like him. Over time she’d accepted that that was how his mind worked and went with it, much as she disagreed.

Kea nodded in agreement to her proposal, crawling out from behind the pile of destroyed rubble. His tiny form looked possibly two years old and was wrapped in a crudely-fashioned tunic of rough, faded blue cloth tied at the waist with a fraying rope; his feet were bare on the dusty, hard ground. But strangely, he wasn’t calloused from sun, wind, sand, and exposure like everyone else. He scrambled over the sharp and crumbling stones to Night, reaching out his childish hand to hers.

She didn’t take it, and for a second he stood in hesitation. Then with a frown he took his own hand instead of hers.

So are we going now? he asked.

“Hah,” Night laughed in contempt. “Nope. I’m just starting my day. We can go back tonight. And you’d better not get in my way until then.”