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Serinde was shaking as she hunched over the lifeless body of her father. Straight brown hair fell around her shoulders and hid her face from the bitter cold that surrounded their dwelling. Her twin sister, Erilas, wrapped an arm around her and knelt over the small bed alongside her.
For years, the three of them lived in the city of Azol, the southernmost city of the elves on Irradan. Their home was a simple stone rectangle, built into the bottom most wall of the tower. The poorest of the poor lived in homes such as these.
No elf was permitted to live outside the protective wall. All were required to live inside the towered city and work for the good of all the elves inside. It was this task that had worked her father to death.
Two threadbare mats lay upon small wooden frames: one for their father and the other for the twins who shared it. A window looked to the inside of the city, but now was covered with leather in an attempt to keep out the cold and seal in the heat.
A meager fire in the stone hearth was their only attempt to bring warmth to the small living space. But without her dad, Serinde felt as if she would never again feel the warmth of the suns. It was like all the heat had left Gilia without ever planning to return.
Her sobs shook her whole body as she softly whispered for their dad not to leave them.
“Father,” she said through a quaking mouth and torrent of tears. “Don't leave us. Not like this, father. We aren't ready for you to go.”
Erilas petted her hair, comforting her, though she, too, must be feeling the crushing weight that pressed against Serinde's chest. Her sister's blonde hair fell down alongside her own.
This was the only feature that could identify the twins to those unfamiliar with their family. They were the same height, had the same soft features and face, and both shared their father's cheekbones that made him appear to always be in the highest of spirits. Even though he was being crushed by the weight of their work.
Their family, along with hundreds of other elves of Azol, was tasked with building the great tower that would shine as a beacon for the Empire of Enoth. So far, the only thing their efforts had given them was more burials during the last winter than their city had ever known.
Serinde was so convinced they had survived the harsh conditions. She had believed their family had made it. They were not unused to difficult work as they had tended fields before being forced into the city by the Enoth guards to lay stone and build walls and towers.
Their father had always loved the fields and the plants that they could grow, even in the sparse warm months they had. Taken away from their ancestral lands and taught how to lay stone and mix mortar, they had fared better than some. When the empire invaded their lands a hundred years ago, many thousands of elves gave their lives defending their homes against the invaders.
Their graves would be found on no map. Their bodies were burned in mounds upon the battlefield.
Those who were left, like Serinde's family, were rounded up, told they were now citizens of the empire and forced to work.
Serinde and Erilas were only five when the invasion occurred. What should have been the sunlight-filled years of their youth was spent in a stone quarry alongside their mother. They carried what loads they could when they turned twenty and were deemed fit for labor.
An accident had claimed their mother twenty years ago. And now their father had succumbed to what was known in Azol only as a “Toiler's Wage.” His body had simply given up.
The suns rose on a mockingly beautiful day. Outside, echoing around the streets of the city, the bell of Azol tolled to signal the beginning of the workday.
Report to the quarries or be reprimanded.
Erilas adjusted herself, like she was getting ready to stand. To leave their father's body until the work required of them was done. She had always been the one to follow the rules. It was in her nature to do what she was told. Serinde was a different creature.
Her sobs abated just long enough for her to form a coherent sentence. It was not one said out of sorrow or sadness. Hatred filled her heart.
“They killed him,” she whispered.
It was both meaning and understanding colliding inside of her. Comprehension and determination smashed together in her voice and her head.
The Empire was responsible for the death of her father.
"They killed him, Eri," she said again, this time louder and with more defiance in her voice. "They have to pay!"
Serinde felt her sister's hand tremble and pull away from her back.
Erilas stood up and walked to the lone table in their home. This was the place where they ate and spent many nights talking to one another about happier times. In the mornings it held their tools and lunch buckets for their work.
Three buckets were sitting on top of the table now. Only two were filled for the day's work.
"Come on, Seri," Erilas said to her sister, not facing her. She was gathering her things off the table. "We're going to be late. We'll..."
Serinde heard a small choking sob come out of her sister and turned to see her back shaking.
"We'll bury him tonight," she finished, finally turning around to face Serinde. She was holding out the other bucket of food containing a small loaf of bread and two apples.
It was all they had. Not because her anger had abated, but for the love of her sister, Serinde stood up and took her bucket. For a moment, they both stood at the entryway to their home, staring down at the body of their father. His funeral would have to wait.
Work called.
Erilas left through the thin fabric that served as their door first, leaving Serinde looking down at her father alone. A small breeze blew in through the opening, whipping her face with a cold chill. In no way did it diminish the fire growing inside of her belly. It was not a warm, gentle heat.
That was gone now.
In its place was a burning, fiery hatred of those elves who had worked her father to his death.
"I will avenge you," she promised.
She allowed one last tear to fall from her cheek and then left through the opening after her sister, filing in with the others who were headed to the quarry.
Though she could have never have guessed it, this would be the last time she ever saw her home, or her father, again.