"Are we going to die, Mom?" the child asked softly, his tiny fingers clutching the hem of her robe.
His wide, innocent eyes trembled with fear, searching her face for a truth she couldn't bring herself to speak.
The woman looked down, her heart aching. All around them, the sounds of laughter and music echoed from the inner courtyards, where a grand celebration was underway.
Colorful lanterns floated in the air, casting a deceptive warmth over the night sky.
But the joy belonged only to a privileged few—those close to the new ruler. For the rest of the clan, especially the families of the Austere Clan, there was no celebration. Only silence. Only fear.
"No," she said, her voice as steady as she could make it. "We're going to survive." She bent down and brushed a hand through the boy's hair, then forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was a smile every parent wore that night.
The child nodded slowly, but his small hand wouldn't let go of her sleeve.
