Dawn stretched its pale fingers across our village, lighting the mud-brick homes and narrow paths I had walked since childhood. My mother laughed as she chased my youngest brother with a piece of cloth, threatening to wipe his dusty face. My father’s voice carried from outside, deep and steady, reminding us that the world was still safe.

We were wrong,Soo wrong!!!

The sound that tore the morning open was not thunder.

It was not wind.

It was a scream—raw, sudden, and full of knowing.

My father was inside in an instant. His hands trembled as he gripped my shoulders, his eyes searching my face as if trying to memorise it. “They’ve come,” he said. Not who. Just they. As if the name itself was too heavy to speak.

My mother did not cry. She moved with frantic purpose, pulling at loose boards beneath the floor, revealing the narrow hollow we had prayed we would never use. My brothers surrounded me like walls made of flesh and love.

“No matter what happens,” my mother whispered, pressing her forehead to mine, “you stay hidden. You hear me, Sabrina? You stay alive.”

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to fight.

Instead, I nodded.

They lowered me into the darkness as if laying me into a grave. The floor closed above me, sealing away the light—and them.

Then the Aurelian Vanguard descended.

Their arrival was announced by the pounding of boots and the clash of metal against wood. Doors were forced open. Homes were invaded. Orders were shouted in cold, commanding voices that carried no doubt, no mercy.

Through the narrow cracks, I watched my world end.

I saw my father stand in the centre of our home, unarmed, unbowed, his shoulders squared as though courage alone might shield us. I saw one of my brothers step forward despite my mother’s desperate grip on his arm. I saw her reach for them both, her face twisted with fear and love and fury.

They did not beg for themselves.

They begged for me.

“Please,” my mother cried, her voice breaking apart. “There’s nothing here. We are nothing.”

But the Vanguard did not come to listen.

I pressed my hands over my mouth as the sounds rose—voices shouting, furniture crashing, the sharp finality of lives being taken one by one. Each sound struck my chest like a hammer. Each breath felt stolen.

I watched my family fall.

Not all at once.

Slowly.

Cruelly.

My brothers tried to protect her. My father tried to protect them all. My mother never stopped reaching—never stopped standing—never stopped loving, even as the world punished her for it.

And I did nothing.

I lay in the dirt, shaking, swallowing my screams, because living was the last command they had given me.

Fire followed the Vanguard when they left. Smoke crept into my hiding place, burning my eyes, my lungs, my memories. The village that had raised me dissolved into ash and silence.

When the sounds finally stopped, the quiet was unbearable.

I waited long after it was safe—long after my heart had splintered beyond repair. When I emerged, the sun was already lowering itself from the sky, as if ashamed to look at what remained.

There were no voices calling my name.

No arms waiting to hold me.

Only ruin.

That was the moment I understood:

my body still breathed, but the girl named Sabrina had been buried beneath that floor.

That was the day my heart was emptied.

That was the day my soul went silent.

That was the day I died.

I had learnt to disappear while standing in the open.

Even fifteen years later, my mind still wandered back to ashes and silence, to hands that once held me and never would again. Grief had become a place I visited so often it felt like home.

"Sabrina."

I didn't hear it.

"Sabrina."

A sharp snap cut through the air.

I blinked.

Anna stood before me, her fingers still raised, her expression caught between amusement and worry. Sunlight kissed her dark skin, making it glow like polished obsidian. She was beautiful in the way strength is beautiful-unapologetic, steady, alive. Her braids were pulled back, her posture proud, her eyes always watching, always guarding.

"You were gone again," she said softly.

"I wasn't," I replied, even though we both knew it was a lie.

Around us, the others moved with practice ease, packing up fabrics and instruments, laughter weaving through the air like music. Charlotte, sharp-tongued and warm-hearted, argued playfully with Clara, whose smile hid a past she rarely spoke of. Mireya, quiet and observant, folded costumes with reverence, as if each thread held memory.

Five survivors.

Five souls the world had failed to erase.

We were dancers now.

Not because it was easy-but because movement was the one thing that kept the memories from crushing us. From village to village, city to city, we danced in open squares and royal outskirts alike. We earned our meals with aching feet and sleepless nights. We protected one another fiercely, shared everything, and trusted no one else.

We had no blood ties.

But we were family.

Anna fell into step beside me as we walked away from the others. "You drift when you're quiet," she said. "That place again?"

I didn't answer.

She stopped walking. I didn't. Her hand closed gently around my wrist, firm enough to ground me. "Sabrina."

I turned, irritation flickering in my chest. "What do you want me to say, Anna? That I'm fine? That time healed me?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "Time only taught me how to survive."

Her eyes softened. "You survived," she said. "That matters."

"They didn't," I snapped.

The words hung between us, heavy and unkind.

Anna didn't flinch. She never did. Instead, she stepped closer, lowering her voice as if the wind itself might be listening. "Holding on to their deaths won't honour them. It's killing you slowly."

"I'm not letting go," I said, my jaw tight. "If I let go, then they're really gone."

Her hand pressed over my heart. "They live here," she whispered. "Not in your pain."

For a moment-just a moment-I felt the crack. The ache. The unbearable longing to rest, to stop remembering every detail as if memory were a duty.

But I pulled away.

"I need my grief," I said. "It's all I have left of them."

Anna's eyes glistened, but she nodded. "Then I'll walk with you while you carry it," she said. "Just don't forget-you're not alone anymore."

She turned back toward the others, calling out something teasing, light, alive. I watched the four of them gather-laughing, arguing, moving together like pieces of the same soul.

My new family.

They did not replace the old one.

Nothing ever could.

But they held me up when the weight of memory threatened to crush my spine. They reminded me that even broken things could still move beautifully.

I followed them.

Still grieving.

Still breathing.

Still standing.

The sun poured golden light through the small wooden windows of our home, catching the dust motes in lazy spirals. The room was warm, cosy, and alive with laughter. Simple rugs covered the floor, a few cushions scattered about, and shelves lined with instruments, fabrics, and trinkets collected from their travels. It was modest, but it was ours — a home built from scraps of survival, stitched together with trust, laughter, and the bond of five girls who had outlived fire.

Sabrina twirled lightly in the centre of the room, her fingers brushing along the golden bands she wore — souvenirs from the markets, gleaming in the sunlight. Charlotte hummed a tune as she braided a strip of cloth into her hair. Clara leaned against the wall, tapping her foot to a rhythm only she could hear, while Mireya carefully inspected the edges of her costume, smoothing stray threads. Anna, ever serene, moved between them, adjusting small details, keeping the energy grounded.

For a moment, the room was full of warmth and ordinary joy. we were happy, despite all the years of loss, despite the memories that lingered in quiet corners of our minds. we were alive, together, and for now, that was enough.

Then — a knock at the door.

Not hurried or desperate, but elegant and steady, each rap measured, precise. It echoed in the quiet room.

“We have visitors?” Charlotte asked, tilting her head.

Anna moved to open the door. Outside stood a man taller than most, robes of deep crimson stitched with gold glimmering faintly in the afternoon light. Beads on his turban caught the sun, sparkling like scattered stars. In his hands, a scroll tied with crimson ribbon. He exuded calm authority, a presence that demanded attention without shouting.

“I apologize for intruding,” he said smoothly, voice low and even. “I bring a message for the dancers of legend. The Palace Hall requests your presence tonight. Your performance would honour the city — and its nobles.”

For a heartbeat, the girls stared. Sabrina’s heart raced so quickly she thought it might burst.

“W-we’re invited?” Clara whispered, voice trembling between excitement and disbelief.

“Yes,” the merchant said, bowing slightly. “All five of you. And they say the eldest…” He paused, eyes meeting Sabrina’s. “…is unparalleled.”

Sabrina felt fire bloom inside her chest. Fifteen years of loss, of fire, of wandering — all the nights she had buried her sorrow and held onto the fragments of a shattered family — had led to this moment. She glanced at her sisters-in-arms, seeing awe mirrored in their eyes.

They erupted in laughter, gasps, and whispers, a chaotic symphony of joy and disbelief. Charlotte clutched her hands to her chest. Clara spun once and froze, eyes wide. Mireya smirked, though her fingers drummed nervously against her arm. Anna simply smiled, steady as always, squeezing Sabrina’s hand in reassurance.

For a moment, the laughter died down. The girls sat in a quiet reflection, thoughts of their lost families brushing through their minds. Fifteen years ago, fire and rage had stolen their parents, their childhoods, their innocence. Yet here they were, alive, together. Sabrina let a small smile touch her lips, gratitude warming her chest.

“We’ve come far,” Anna whispered. “We’ve built something beautiful from ashes. Never forget that.”

Sabrina nodded, feeling the truth of it settle in her. “We have. And tonight… tonight we show the world who we are.”

With renewed energy, the girls moved to prepare. Fabrics were laid out, golden bands adjusted, hair pinned with care. Each girl checked herself in the small mirror, practising steps and movements quietly, laughter and whispers intertwining with the rhythm of anticipation. The air in the room buzzed with nervous excitement, tinged with pride.

Sabrina let her fingers glide along her golden bands one last time, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her chest. Egyptian-inspired adornments gleamed under the sunlight, a promise of allure and grace. They were ready — not just for the dance, but for the world beyond their small home.