The tavern had grown still. Not empty- there were always travelers passing through the Ashwood Sky-but the noise of it no longer touched her. It moved around her like wind past glass. She served the patrons, tuned her lute, even smiled when she remembered to. But it was all mimicry, the shadow of who she had been.

She hadn’t sung since he left.

Kaelen’s songs still echoed in the beams overhead, in the floorboards he used to pace while humming half-finished verses. She thought if she sat still long enough, she might hear them.

But silence had settled over everything, thick and smothering.

Elara stood by the hearth one evening, the fire too low to warm her hands. Her lute sat beside her, untouched. It had grown colder with each passing week. Or perhaps that was just her.

Leor, always quiet in his watching, stepped up beside her.

“They’re asking for a song,” he said, nodding toward the guests.

She didn’t look. “Let them ask.”

He paused. “You used to say music was how we survive.”

“I don’t know if I want to survive it,” she whispered, then immediately hated herself for saying it aloud.

Leor didn’t speak for awhile. Then, softly: “What do we do now?”

Elara stared into the flames. Her throat tightened, but tears wouldn’t come. She didn’t know. She truly didn’t.

She had believed in them. In this. She had believed that he was building a life with her here, one note at a time. That his promises were more than a way to outrun the past.

Now the past had taken him back. And she was here. Still.

What do I do now?

She sat down, slowly, as though her body wasn’t entirely hers. Her fingers hovered over strings, hesitant. They trembled, softly, like leaves in the wind.

And then she played.

The song that came out wasn’t one she had written. It wasn’t crafted, it was bled. A soft, aching melody, carrying no clever turns, no polished edges. Just a single questions in every note:

What do I do now that you’re gone?

Patrons went quiet. Even the wind outside still. Her voice, fragile at first, grew into something steady- not strong, but steady.

And when it ended, there was no applause. Just stillness. Reverence.

Leor looked at her differently then. Not with pity, but with awe.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t move. But inside, something shifted. Not enough to heal. Not enough to hope. But maybe… enough to begin.