Soren
The cellar smelled of cold stone and grain. Outside, the muffled sounds of the Aurelian family complaining about their doughnuts felt like they belonged to a different world. Down here, there was only Eira, Soren, and the bruised, rhythmic pulse of the violet lantern.
Soren slumped against a stack of burlap sacks, his shoulders casting a jagged shadow against the wall. He looked exhausted, the kind of tired that went deeper than bone.
"Tell me everything," Eira said. She stood over him, her lemon-yellow light acting like a spotlight. "From the beginning.."
Soren looked at her, then back at his lantern. "My light... it wasn't always like this," he rasped. "Back at the docks, before the accident, it was burgundy. Deep, like old wine. It was... weighted. From the work. From the cold."
He looked down at his large, calloused hands. "But the winter got worse. The pipes froze. My mother passed away, my father left, and then the debt came. I couldn't carry the burgundy anymore. It started to feel like lead in my chest."
Eira felt a flicker of recognition. She knew what it was like to carry a weight that no one else could see. But she pushed it down. "So you went to the river."
"I went to the bridge," Soren corrected. "I didn't want to be a burden anymore. I thought if I jumped, the river would just... take the weight for me. I stepped off the ledge."
He closed his eyes, and for a second, the violet lantern flared bright.
"But your father was there," Soren whispered. " He caught my arm while I was dangling over the water. He was so small compared to me, Eira. I told him to let go. I told him I wasn't worth the strain."
"He would never..," Eira breathed, her voice cracking.
"He didn't. He started to pull, but the current caught my legs. He was slipping. I saw his own amber light start to flicker. He was… giving me his warmth. He tried to share the weight, but the river was too strong. The ice gave way."
Soren paused, staring blankly at the wall.
"When we were in that water, the cold was stopping my heart. But your father... he wouldn't leave me."
Soren finally looked up, his dark eyes shimmering with a pain.
"He grabbed me, and I felt this... this rush. It was like he opened a vein of pure sun and poured it into me. He was sharing his light. He pushed his own warmth into my chest to keep the river from freezing my blood. He gave, and he gave, and I could feel him getting colder as I got warmer."
Eira's breath hitched, her hand flying to her mouth. She knew the medical theories of Light-Transfer, but she'd never heard of someone doing it to the point of total depletion.
"By the time I dragged him onto the bank," Soren continued, "he wasn't breathing. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't... there. He had given so much of his spark away to save me that he turned into what you see now. A shell. A statue."
He gestured to the violet lantern, which throbbed with a bruised, guilty light.
"It was amber when he handed it to me. It was bright and warm. But after I dragged him back and everyone started screaming that I had killed the village's greatest man, the colour just... changed. My guilt and their hatred turned my light into this violet mess… the heart of a murderer. It's been this way since that night. I took his gift, and I ruined it."
Eira felt the air leave her lungs. The image of him dragging her father's limp body through the snow wouldn't leave her mind.
The silence in the cellar was suffocating.
"He told me one thing," Soren said, breaking the quiet. "Right before his eyes went dull. He looked at me and said, 'Don't let the cold stay.'