23. Tayana
23
TAYANA
O nce upon a time, a very long time ago, in a secluded village, nestled between dense woods and jagged mountains, there lived a girl named Tide (Tee-de). At seventeen, she was a vision of youth, with a laugh that rippled like the streams that fed her humble home. Her days were simple but happy, filled with love and laughter, and dreams of a future beyond the moors of the small village in which she lived.
But fate was a cruel storyteller.
One moonless night, shadows crept into her village, bringing with them fear. A towering man, etched in darkness, rode into the village on a black stallion. His name was Alrich and he was known as a merciless tyrant who instilled fear in all who crossed his path. Alrich swept Tide away, his hand clamping over her mouth as her muffled cries got lost in the night.
Alrich had a fortress carved into the mountains, its jagged towers clawing at the sky. Here, Tide was imprisoned, her bright laughter replaced with quiet tears as she yearned to return home. Alrich’s cruelty was not just in his words or deeds but in the way he stole her hope and mocked her spirit, reveling in her despair.
Weeks turned to months, and Tide’s heart grew weary. But she did not break. She did not wilt. For somewhere deep inside her, a spark of defiance remained.
Alrich’s older brother, Kale, had been away in distant lands, trading in silks and spices to expand the family’s wealth. Where Alrich was brutal and cunning, Kale was thoughtful and kind, his strength lying not in force but in quiet resolve. When he returned to the palace and saw Tide—her once-vivid eyes dulled by fear and suffering—Kale’s fury was a storm that shook the palace until cracks formed in the merciless foundations of the fortress.
“What have you done, brother?” Kale demanded, his voice a deadly calm that hid the raging fire within him.
Alrich laughed, his cruelty unrepentant. “She’s mine, Kale. To do with as I please. She’s a prize for the taking. And she’s mine alone.”
Kale said nothing more. That night, while Alrich reveled in his ill-gotten power, Kale spirited Tide away. He rode with her under the cover of darkness, on a massive white stallion called Knight, his arms shielding her from the darkness and the cold.
They found refuge in a neighboring kingdom, where Kale denounced his brother and vowed to never return to the cursed fortress. He and Tide began to build a life together, and over time, Tide's laughter returned, this time softer but no less genuine. She came to love Kale, not because he had saved her, but because he had treated her with a kindness she had long forgotten existed.
Time passed, and fully healed, Tide and Kale married in a quiet ceremony beneath a canopy of ancient oaks. Soon after, they welcomed a daughter, Ofelia, whose arrival brought light to their lives. Ofelia was a curious child with her father’s strength and her mother’s resilience. She grew up in a home filled with love and laughter, away from the shadows of the ugly world outside.
When Ofelia turned twelve, the shadows returned.
Alrich, who had spent years nursing his hatred, found Tide. Fueled by revenge and a twisted sense of ownership, he stormed their peaceful home. Kale was away at the market, and Tide, unwilling to endanger her daughter, surrendered herself to protect Ofelia.
“Tell your father to come and find me,” Alrich sneered at the terrified girl before dragging Tide into the night.
When Kale returned and found Ofelia trembling and alone, his resolve hardened. With Ofelia at his side, he began a desperate search for Tide, their journey taking them across treacherous mountains and through dark forests. Along the way, Kale taught Ofelia the skills she needed to protect herself, forging a bond between father and daughter that could never be broken.
The trail led them to Alrich’s fortress, now a crumbling relic of its former glory. Kale and Ofelia stormed the fortress, their courage fueled by their mutual love for Tide. Kale confronted his brother in the great hall, the clash of their wills echoing like thunder.
“You never deserved her!” Kale roared, his voice filled with years of restrained fury.
“And you think you did?” Alrich sneered. “You took what was mine, and now I’ll take it back!”
But Alrich underestimated the strength of a family bound by love. Ofelia, resourceful and brave, freed her mother while her father fought. Together, the three escaped the fortress as it burned, Alrich’s cries lost in the roaring flames.
With Alrich’s shadow finally lifted, Kale, Tide, and Ofelia followed the stars until they found their way home. Though scars remained, they were a family, and their love was a fortress stronger than any stone palace.
Years later, Ofelia would grow into a woman of extraordinary strength, her parents’ courage and resilience etched into her soul. And though the story of her mother’s past was one of pain, it was also one of hope—a reminder that even in the darkest of tales, love could triumph over hate.
I wake with a start, my eyes unfocused as they flit around the room, trying to make sense of the shadows. My breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts, my chest heaving as if I’ve just run miles. My heart pounds against my ribs, a relentless, panicked drumbeat.
A dream. Just a dream. But it doesn’t feel like one.
The haunting melody of my mother’s voice lingers in my mind, weaving together fragments of a bedtime story she used to tell me. For a fleeting moment, her voice had been so vivid, so real, it was as though she were in the room with me. But now, reality comes rushing back, and the warmth of her memory is replaced by the icy grip of loss.
I scramble upright, my hands clutching at the blankets as if they can anchor me. The room is unfamiliar, the faint moonlight casting long, eerie shadows on the walls. My pulse quickens, confusion flooding my senses. Where am I? My mind claws for answers, the remnants of my dream tangling with reality.
Before I can steady myself, the door bursts open with a loud crash, and Rafi barrels into the room. His dark eyes scan the space, his expression a mix of alarm and determination. There’s a gun in his hand, which he lowers as he steps into the room and sees that I’m alone.
“Tayana?” His voice is low, steady—like a rope thrown to a drowning soul.
I can’t find the words. My body shakes as tears well in my eyes, the weight of my memories pressing down on me like a tidal wave. He’s at my side in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around me as I collapse into him.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice soft but sure. “You’re safe, Tayana. I’ve got you.”
I clutch at him as though he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s crumbling around me. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and I bury my face against his chest. His warmth seeps into me, grounding me even as I unravel.
“It was just a dream,” I whisper, though the tremor in my voice betrays the truth. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a doorway to the past, one I hadn’t been prepared to walk through.
Rafi doesn’t press for details. He simply holds me, rocking gently as my sobs break free. The room fills with the sound of my anguish, a mournful symphony that echoes off the walls. For the first time in years, I let myself cry—not the restrained, quiet tears of someone trying to hold it together, but the guttural, raw cries of a little girl lost in the storm.
“My mother used to tell me a story,” I manage between shuddering breaths, the words tumbling out unbidden. “About a girl that lost her way… She said... she said the stars would guide her home.”
Rafi’s hand strokes my hair, his touch gentle and unhurried. “That’s a beautiful story,” he says, his voice thick with sleep.
“She believed it,” I choke out. “But my mother never found her stars. She never came home.”
The confession splinters something inside me, the weight of my mother’s plight crashing down on me once again. I feel Rafi’s arms tighten around me, his silence speaking volumes. He doesn’t offer empty platitudes or try to fix what can’t be undone. Instead, he lets me grieve, his presence a lifeline that keeps me tethered to the present.
When my sobs finally subside, I pull back slightly, my eyes meeting his. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his gaze—something steady and unwavering—that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to carry the weight of my past alone.
“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere, Tayana. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, I nod, letting his words wrap around me like a protective cocoon. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it makes the weight of it a little easier to bear.
Rafi stays until I drift back to sleep, his presence a quiet reassurance. And when I wake again, the memory of my mother’s story still lingers, but so does the steady rhythm of his heart as he lays beside me.