Are you made of stardust too?

The question reverberated in her head. No. Not just in her head. She could have sworn it echoed in the hollow as it repeated its guise. When he asked that, a white noise clouded her audio in which she could hear static pops and scratches beneath the familiar tone.

Miraye had already drawn her gaze away from his form by this point, clutching her cloak closer although it were a protective shield. This was not to be avoided. Ignored, yes, but Tic had his own right to be curious. As hard as she tried to hold a grudge against him for bringing up the subject, she couldn't. She was the one who initiated this moment after all. She had intruded upon a painful memory. It was very well negotiable that he would do the same for her. Wouldn't she have done the same?

An infinity of images and voices welled up inside her.

Somewhere worlds above her, she could hear his quiet words. It processed as a polite apology like one she uttered some moments ago. But she was too far lost to reply, pulling the sheet over her head and curling into a fetal position.

“I didn't mean to...” Tic's voice wavered off. It seemed she had shut him off completely now and a twinge of guilt stung his chest. He buried his head into his arms, shuddering.

Night continued on. Now and then a lost creature would crawl into the borders of the wooden enclosure, sniffing and scratching at its bark. Tic would pick out some crumbs from his rations and flick the morsels towards the hungry animals. This helped ease the regrettable feeling the boy began to suffer from as he watch the creatures escape with food in their mouths.

It was almost an hour when the inanimate girl began to stir under the cloak. She slowly slid the cover away from her eyes, keeping the rest of her body buried. Tic could tell her arms were crossed over her chest while she stared above her, concentrating on something invisible.

“I was young,” she whispered, her words muffled more so by the fabric constricting her lips. “About ten. I'm not too sure. But it was during the autumn of my childhood, before one steps into the next phase.

“I had already been learning simple things before then. Trivial enchantments. It was in my blood all along. But it was decided I would be a Hisheme priestess to further advance m skills. So I was sent into the mountains. I did not like it. It was always cold. I never liked the snow too much.”

She swallowed, her mouth parched.

“I was under the watch of the other elder priestesses in our convent. They were very strict. I would always get in trouble if my mind wandered off during services. But they taught me well. They cared despite the lashes and the chores, I could say.

“After some years, I came back home. No longer a child.”

“Family?” Tic muttered.

She paused, closing her eyes shut. A crease appeared between her brow.

“I had... someone. I thought I could trust...”

Her chest tightened and relaxed at the same time.

Finally, she forced away the conflicting memories and set her sight to reality. She looked over at Tic who quickly broke whatever visible connection he had over her.

“I can't sleep, actually,” she sighed and sat up. “I'll take watch for now.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Are you...?”

She smiled, trying to convince him that it was fine.

Reluctantly he settled on the floor, his hands tucked under his cheek while lulled to slumber by the indigo bloom's hypnotic dance. His breathing transformed into slow, deep paces signaling he had lost his consciousness from the world. Miraye gently pulled his cloak over his shoulder and observed how his mouth slightly parted or the way his form would twitch.

She bent forward and tucked a stray lock behind his ear before resting her back against the hollow. Looking out into the darkness, a forest of moonlight caressed the fallen leaves below. Shadows of animals flit to and from sight. They cried to each other, surveying the premises and requesting for their mates to follow.

She raised her vision to the stars and the moons. All she could think of were his kind gray eyes. She coughed, wiping the ebony liquid away from her lips.

The wind howled leaving her with an indescribable loneliness.

Someone told me not to cry.

It was the first time Miraye had asked him about his past. The question was simple, but Tic found it hard to respond. He hadn't thought about his family in a long time. He'd chosen not to.

"I had a little sister." He kept turning his palm idly over in the conjured flame, needing something to do with his hands. The warmth of the enchanted flame awed him. He had learned to accept Miraye's magic as commonplace by now, though he always wondered about it. Had Miraye been learning it since a young age, or like him, found her powers by chance?

Miraye peered from beneath her cloak, looking smaller than usual. Tic hadn't noticed before how young she really was. She looked child-like when she wasn't fighting for their lives. Almost innocent.

"What's her name?" she asked. Miraye's curiosity bothered Tic a little, though he tried not to show it.

He had to think for a moment before answering. "Mia," he said. "Her name was Mia," he repeated, assuring himself he had not forgotten.

"Pretty," said Miraye.

"Yeah," he said. There was more silence, more awkward turning of his palm. He tried to think about something else, not knowing how his expression changed.

Miraye was aware of how Tic spoke of his sister, in had's and was's. She heard the way his voice changed when she questioned him. It was obvious the girl was dead.

"I'm sorry," she uttered quietly. Tic did not respond. Feeling it best not to press him any further, she turned onto her side and tried to sleep.

"We lived in New Jeda," Tic said from the silence. "We couldn't afford anywhere else."

Miraye raised herself, knowing for sure she'd never fall asleep. "Oh?"

"A few years ago, the government went after people who couldn't pay the new tithe. They were only supposed to put us in jail..." he paused. "But that was too humane for them."

His hand shook as he squeezed his knuckles white, as if trying to grip the enchanted flame. Suddenly he didn't want this ability. The guilt hit him as soon as he spoke it.

"I could've saved them."

Miraye sighed, putting her hand on Tic's shoulder. "You didn't know," she said.

Tic turned his face away; he did not want her to see his eyes, even in the dim light of the flame. A long silence passed as he struggled to clear the evidence of crying from his voice. He swallowed the knot in his throat several times. Pressured by the awkward silence, he asked Miraye something he'd been wondering since he'd met her.

"How did you learn magic?"