Lirith and Lythia
The Silence of the Empty Nest
The cold didn't wake Lirith; she was used to the ice. It was the silence that did it.
Usually, her mornings began with the rhythmic, heavy thrum of Lythia’s purr or the soft rustle of blue-grey feathers as the Callifly stretched her wings. This morning, there was only the whistle of the wind through the cave mouth and the sharp, biting scent of old frost.
Lirith sat up, her hand instinctively flying to the hilt of her knife. "Lyth?"
No trill answered her. No weight pressed against her side.
Lirith scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She checked the back of the cave, then the narrow ledge outside. The snow showed no signs of a struggle—no blood, no ruffled feathers—but it also showed no fresh tracks. The air felt thin and empty, stripped of the shimmering hum of imagination lore that usually permeated their campsite.
"Lythia!" she shouted, her voice cracking as it echoed off the jagged peaks.
She stood on the edge of the precipice, scanning the clouds. Lythia never wandered. They were two halves of a whole, bonded by a magic so old it predated the Guilds. Even if Lythia had gone to hunt, she would have sent a mental image of a mountain goat or a pika to let Lirith know. There was nothing. Only a hollow, aching void in Lirith’s mind where the bond usually pulsed.
Panic, cold and sharp as a glacier, threatened to swallow her. Lirith forced herself to breathe. She looked at the ground again. A faint, shimmering residue—like crushed diamonds—dusted the stone where Lythia had slept. It wasn't snow. It was the physical remains of a high-level containment lure.
"Surveyors," Lirith hissed, her eyes burning with a sudden, murderous light.
They hadn't just been watching; they had planned this. They had waited for her to be exhausted from the rescue of the merchant’s son and then used something to dampen the lore and snatch a mythic beast from under its keeper's nose.
Lirith knew she couldn't track them alone. Not if they had used Guild-grade cloaking. She was a ghost of the mountains, but she was a fifteen-year-old girl with limited resources. To find Lythia, she needed to go where the information flowed—the heart of the mountain's power.
She needed to go to Halois.
***
The capital of The Mountains was a city carved directly into the face of a massive, grey-blue peak. It was a place of stone bridges, hanging gardens of hardy moss, and the constant, thundering roar of vertical waterfalls. For Lirith, who had avoided human contact for a decade, it felt like a cage.
She pulled her hood low over her red hair, her shoulders hunched as she navigated the crowded tiers of the city. People were everywhere—merchants in heavy furs, miners covered in soot, and Guardians in their polished leather armor. The noise was an assault on her senses.
She found the Guardian Guild at the highest point of the city, a fortress of obsidian and iron. She didn't go to the main desk. She watched from the shadows of a pillar until she saw a woman who looked like she had no patience for nonsense.
The woman was tall and lean, with a face that looked like it had been chiseled from the mountain itself. A jagged scar ran from her temple down to her jaw, cutting through a pale cheek. Her blond hair was pulled back into braids so tight they looked painful.
"Runa Rasgar," a passing initiate whispered with a mix of awe and fear. "Don't cross her today. She’s in a mood."
Lirith didn't want a friendly Guardian; she wanted a fierce one. She stepped out of the shadows and intercepted the woman as she crossed the courtyard.
"I need a tracker," Lirith said, her voice raspy from disuse.
Runa stopped, her cold blue eyes sweeping over Lirith. She took in the tattered cloak, the bone-handled knife, and the way Lirith stood—balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to bolt or strike.
"The Guild handles commissions through the front desk, girl," Runa said, her voice like grinding stones. "Go fill out a form."
"I don't have time for forms," Lirith snapped, her sarcasm masking the desperation in her chest. "And I don't want a Guild commission. I want someone who knows how to find something that doesn't want to be found. They say you’re the best. Or are you just the loudest?"
Runa’s eyes narrowed. She turned her full attention to Lirith, a slow, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of her scarred mouth. "You’ve got a sharp tongue for a mountain rat. What did you lose? A goat? A purse?"
"A beast," Lirith said.
"What kind?"
"The kind that doesn't wander off," Lirith replied cryptically. "She was taken. Last night, near the Weaver’s Peaks."
Runa crossed her arms, leaning against a stone pillar. "Give me a name. Yours and the beast’s."
"Names don't matter," Lirith said. "What matters is that she’s mine, and someone has her. I have Sapphire Root for payment. High grade. Enough to buy a house in the lower tiers."
Runa’s eyebrows shot up. Sapphire Root was rare, but the girl’s refusal to give details was even more intriguing. "You’re traveling alone. No family? No caravan?"
"I don't need people," Lirith said. "I need my beast."
"You’re a keeper, then," Runa observed, her gaze lingering on Lirith’s eyes, looking for the telltale shimmer of lore. "Where are you from, girl? You don't sound like you're from Halois. Too much frost in your words."
"Elsewhere," Lirith said shortly. "Are you going to help me or should I find someone who asks fewer questions?"
Runa let out a short, bark-like laugh. "If you find someone in this city who asks fewer questions than me, they’re probably planning to slit your throat. Fine. I’m between contracts, and I have a weakness for stubborn runts. I’ll help you. But if you lie to me, I’ll leave you in a crevasse."
"I don't lie," Lirith muttered. "I just don't tell everything."
"Fair enough," Runa said, unhooking a heavy greataxe from her back and checking the edge. "We leave now. The Weaver’s Peaks are a three-day hike for most. For us, we’ll make it in two."
***
The journey back into the high country was silent. Runa moved with a tireless, predatory gait that even Lirith struggled to match. The Guardian didn't try to make small talk, for which Lirith was grateful. Instead, Runa watched the horizon with a practiced intensity, her hand never far from her weapon.
On the second night, as they huddled over a small, shielded fire, Runa finally broke the silence.
"You haven't told me what kind of beast we're looking for," Runa said, tossing a dry stick into the flames. "If it's a mountain lion or a snow leopard, the trail will be different than if it's a flyer."
Lirith stared into the fire, the image of Lythia’s blue-grey wings vivid in her mind. "She flies. But she’s small. White fur. Blue-grey markings."
Runa paused, her hand hovering over her water skin. She looked at Lirith with a strange, searching expression. "White with blue-grey? There haven't been sightings of anything matching that description in these parts for a long time. People talk about ghosts, but that’s all they are. Stories."
"She isn't a story," Lirith said, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "She’s the only thing that’s ever stayed."
Runa saw the flash of pain in the girl’s eyes—a look of profound, ancient loneliness that didn't belong on a fifteen-year-old face. The Guardian’s expression softened, just a fraction.
"The surveyors," Runa said, her voice lower now. "There’s a group of them. They’ve been setting up high-altitude camps near the Weaver’s Peaks. They’re funded by the capital’s research division. If they found something rare... something they think is extinct... they won't just study it. They’ll want to transport it to the central menagerie for 'safekeeping'."
Lirith’s hand clenched into a fist. "Safekeeping is just a fancy word for a cage."
"In the city, yes," Runa agreed. "But they have to get it there first. There’s only one pass wide enough for a transport wagon this late in the season. The Iron Gate."
"Then that’s where we’re going," Lirith said, standing up.
"It’s guarded," Runa warned. "And if they have Guild permits, I can't officially interfere. My reputation is fierce, girl, but I’m still bound by the laws of Halois."
Lirith looked at the Guardian, her brown eyes hard as flint. "I’m not. I don't belong to your Guild, and I don't care about your laws. I’m going to get her back. You can either help me get through the gate, or you can stay here and watch the fire."
Runa stood up, towering over Lirith. She reached out and gripped Lirith’s shoulder. The touch was heavy, but not unkind.
"You remind me of a wolf I once tracked," Runa said quietly. "Caught in a trap, ready to bite its own leg off just to get a piece of the hunter. It’s a bad way to live, kid. It consumes you."
"I’m already consumed," Lirith said, pulling away. "The famine took the rest of me years ago. Lythia is all that’s left."
Runa sighed, a long, weary sound. "Lythia. So the ghost has a name."
Lirith bit her lip, realizing she had let the name slip. She turned away, staring into the darkness toward the Iron Gate.
"Don't worry," Runa said, picking up her axe. "I’m a woman of my word. You paid for a tracker. I’ll get you to your beast. But once the steel starts flying, you stay behind me. Understood?"
"I don't stay behind anyone," Lirith said, though she felt a strange, flickering warmth at the Guardian’s protective tone. It was a sensation she hadn't felt since Emilis had pushed a bowl of soup across a table.
She pushed the feeling down. Hope was dangerous. It made you slow.
"Let’s go," Lirith said.
They moved out into the night, two shadows against the snow. The wind picked up, howling through the crags, but Lirith didn't feel the cold. She felt the hollow space in her mind, the silence where a purr should be, and the burning, singular need to bring her best friend home.
The surveyors thought they had captured a myth. They were about to find out that myths were much harder to hold when they were guarded by a girl with nothing left to lose.