U N B R O K E N
The songs carried easily across the gathering, rising and falling with the crackle of the fires scattered across the fields. I found myself listening more than anything else, letting the voices blend together while conversations drifted between the verses. Warriors laughed together over old stories I hadn't been there to witness. Clans spoke with the kind of familiarity that only came from years spent fighting, rebuilding, and living beside one another. It still felt strange watching it all unfold around me. Not because I disliked it, but because I still wasn't entirely certain where I fit within it. A few months ago I would have stayed as far from the fires as I could without drawing attention to myself. Now I found myself sitting near the edge of one of the larger gatherings, close enough to listen without feeling as though I belonged in the middle of it.
My attention wandered across the people gathered beneath the night sky until it settled on someone standing just outside the circle of firelight. At first it was simply the way she held herself that caught my attention. There was a hesitation there that felt strangely familiar, as though every step forward had to be measured before it was taken. It took another moment before I finally recognized her. The smoke, fire, and chaos of Ironbush had given way to cleaner clothes and quieter surroundings, but I remembered the mechanic who had stood her ground while her home burned around her. I remembered the determination beneath the fear, the way she had refused to stop moving even when everything she knew was falling apart. Looking at her now, I realized that part hadn't changed. She wasn't standing apart because she wanted to be alone. She was standing there because she hadn't yet decided whether she was allowed to come any closer.
Without thinking, my thumb brushed against one of the pouches on my belt. The motion was so absentminded that I didn't notice it until several seconds later, my fingers resting lightly against the worn fabric before I caught myself. I let my hand fall away almost immediately, pretending I had only been adjusting the belt as my thoughts continued drifting somewhere else entirely. Another memory surfaced before I could stop it. A child had once crossed a crowd to speak to me without hesitation, offering something small that had somehow carried more weight than I understood at the time. They hadn't waited for me to make the first move. They hadn't stood back wondering whether they belonged near me. They had simply closed the distance because, to them, it had been the natural thing to do.
My eyes found Kaela again.
She looked too much like I remembered feeling.
Watching everyone else laugh together.
Watching everyone else already know where they belonged.
Waiting quietly on the outside because stepping into something uninvited felt wrong.
For a moment I almost stayed where I was. That would have been easier. It was what I had always done before someone else chose to cross that distance for me. The thought lingered only briefly before I found myself standing, my feet carrying me toward the larger fire almost before I had made the decision myself. I settled onto one of the open logs circling the flames, leaving enough room beside me that it wouldn't feel occupied. The songs continued around us. Conversations rose and fell without anyone paying particular attention to where I had moved, and somehow that made it easier.
When I looked toward Kaela, I simply raised one gloved hand and turned my palm toward the empty place beside the fire. The gesture wasn't an insistence, nor was it meant to draw the attention of everyone nearby. It was only an acknowledgement that the space existed if she wanted it.
"You don't have to stand by yourself."
The words came more naturally than I expected, though they still carried the quiet uncertainty of someone who wasn't entirely used to starting conversations. I held the gesture for another moment before letting my hand settle back onto my knee.
"If you'd rather keep standing, that's alright too."
I left the choice with her.
Someone had once done the same for me, and I was beginning to understand that sometimes belonging didn't begin with being welcomed into a crowd. Sometimes it began with something much smaller. A single open place beside a fire. A quiet invitation. The chance to decide for yourself whether you wanted to take the next step.
Kaela Voss
My attention wandered across the people gathered beneath the night sky until it settled on someone standing just outside the circle of firelight. At first it was simply the way she held herself that caught my attention. There was a hesitation there that felt strangely familiar, as though every step forward had to be measured before it was taken. It took another moment before I finally recognized her. The smoke, fire, and chaos of Ironbush had given way to cleaner clothes and quieter surroundings, but I remembered the mechanic who had stood her ground while her home burned around her. I remembered the determination beneath the fear, the way she had refused to stop moving even when everything she knew was falling apart. Looking at her now, I realized that part hadn't changed. She wasn't standing apart because she wanted to be alone. She was standing there because she hadn't yet decided whether she was allowed to come any closer.
Without thinking, my thumb brushed against one of the pouches on my belt. The motion was so absentminded that I didn't notice it until several seconds later, my fingers resting lightly against the worn fabric before I caught myself. I let my hand fall away almost immediately, pretending I had only been adjusting the belt as my thoughts continued drifting somewhere else entirely. Another memory surfaced before I could stop it. A child had once crossed a crowd to speak to me without hesitation, offering something small that had somehow carried more weight than I understood at the time. They hadn't waited for me to make the first move. They hadn't stood back wondering whether they belonged near me. They had simply closed the distance because, to them, it had been the natural thing to do.
My eyes found Kaela again.
She looked too much like I remembered feeling.
Watching everyone else laugh together.
Watching everyone else already know where they belonged.
Waiting quietly on the outside because stepping into something uninvited felt wrong.
For a moment I almost stayed where I was. That would have been easier. It was what I had always done before someone else chose to cross that distance for me. The thought lingered only briefly before I found myself standing, my feet carrying me toward the larger fire almost before I had made the decision myself. I settled onto one of the open logs circling the flames, leaving enough room beside me that it wouldn't feel occupied. The songs continued around us. Conversations rose and fell without anyone paying particular attention to where I had moved, and somehow that made it easier.
When I looked toward Kaela, I simply raised one gloved hand and turned my palm toward the empty place beside the fire. The gesture wasn't an insistence, nor was it meant to draw the attention of everyone nearby. It was only an acknowledgement that the space existed if she wanted it.
"You don't have to stand by yourself."
The words came more naturally than I expected, though they still carried the quiet uncertainty of someone who wasn't entirely used to starting conversations. I held the gesture for another moment before letting my hand settle back onto my knee.
"If you'd rather keep standing, that's alright too."
I left the choice with her.
Someone had once done the same for me, and I was beginning to understand that sometimes belonging didn't begin with being welcomed into a crowd. Sometimes it began with something much smaller. A single open place beside a fire. A quiet invitation. The chance to decide for yourself whether you wanted to take the next step.
Kaela Voss
