HANA
Time snapped thin.
The string thrummed under his clutching hand, the bow bending in a jagged, unintended pull. The archer grabbed for it, too slow, eyes going wide.
The arrow leapt.
I saw it as if the rest of the world had vanished: black shaft, white fletching, a bead of melted snow on the metal tip. It arced down from the platform.
Toward the yard.
Toward us.
Toward the small, warm head tucked under my chin.
There was no room in me for thought. No argument, no weighing of chances. Only one blazing, absolute refusal.
Not him.
I twisted, dragging Kaida’s head down against my shoulder, curling around him as tight as my joints would allow, making myself as big as I could.
The arrow hit just below my shoulder blade and punched through.
Impact first—like a horse’s kick, a blunt, stunning blow that knocked me forward. Then heat ripped through my side, bright and white, flooding down my ribs, stealing sound and breath and thought.
Someone screamed. It was me.
Kaida shrieked too, thin and higher, infinitely worse. His little hands clawed at me as we toppled into the snow. The shaft shifted, and another wave of agony tore through me, sharp enough to blacken the edges of the world.
When color seeped back in, everything felt wrong: snow too hard, air too thin, my own body strange, heavy and hollow.
“Mama? Mama!” Kaida’s voice was right at my ear, raw. His weight jostled the arrowhead protruding from my chest.
A strangled sound tore out of me. Stars burst behind my eyes.
Don’t let that be the last thing he remembers, some distant part of me begged. Don’t let it be the screaming.
I forced my face smooth.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Shh, little river. Mama’s here. I’m here.”
He pushed back to see my face, blotchy with tears, snot bubbling at his nose, snow melting on his lashes. His gaze followed the shaft with slow, terrible curiosity.
The arrowhead jutted from my front, red and ugly against the blue of my tunic.
His hands went still.
“Mama…” His voice shook. “You… you stick.”
A laugh tangled with the sob in my chest. “Yeah,” I managed. “Mama’s a bit stuck.”
I dragged up a hand and cupped the back of his head, drawing him in so he wouldn’t have to look.
Above us, steel rang on wood. Someone yelled. The wind threw snow into my face like cold ash.
None of it reached the small, trembling circle of the world where we lay.
All that existed was the weight of my son on my chest and the slow, steady warmth leaking under my ribs. The snow around us wasn’t white anymore. It was red.
Kaida sobbed, shoulders jerking. Every motion made the arrow move inside me.
“I wan’ up,” he hiccupped. “Mama, up. Up.”
“Oh, baby.” My voice cracked. “You are up. You’re with me.” My fingers were clumsy, too far away from me, as I tried to wipe his cheeks.
“Hurts?” he whispered.
Children his age should have said toy and cookie and again, not hurts.
“A little,” I said. “But it’s… it’s all right.”
It wasn’t.
Each inhale was shallower, scraping through a too-tight chest. Not enough air. Or too much blood. Or both. The edges of the world blurred to gray. His face stayed sharp.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, to Kaida, to Sakura, to the girl I’d been who swore she’d never bring a child into this life.
“No,” he said firmly, toddler sure that no could change anything. “No sorry.”
A choked sound came from above. Sakura knelt, boots in ruined snow, her shadow over us like a crooked wing.
“Hana,” she said, voice roughened beyond recognition. “Hana, love.”
I turned my head. Stone-heavy. Her jaw clenched, eyes blown wide with a fear I had never seen on her.
“Sakura,” I breathed, tasting iron.
Her gloved hand hovered over the arrow, then flinched back, fingers red with blood—whose, I couldn’t tell.
“Get him warm,” I tried to say, but coughed instead. Dark flecks spotted the snow. “He’s… freezing.”
“We will,” she said quickly. “We will. We’re going home. All of us.”
We both knew she was lying. The lie still cracked something open in me. For half a heartbeat, I wanted to believe it.
I rested my cheek against Kaida’s hair. His sobs had faded to hiccups, the exhausted crying that comes when a body has nothing left.
When I opened my eyes again, the world felt further away.
“Sakura,” I said through the tightness in my chest. “Listen.”
“No.” A tear carved a clean line down her cheek. “No, Hana, don’t you—”
“I have to.” Another cough. Warmth filled my mouth. I turned my head so it wouldn’t spill on Kaida. “Take him.”
Kaida made a strangled noise, clinging to me. “No ’Kura. No go. Mama.”
Every instinct screamed to agree. Instead I smoothed my shaking hand down his back.
“You’ll go with her,” I whispered. “You remember her funny faces at dinner? How she steals your bread?”
“Bread,” he muttered, bewildered.
“She’ll give you so much bread you’ll get sick of it.”
Sakura’s breath hitched.
“You keep him away from all this,” I said. “No Kurai. No debts. No traders. Take him to the river. Let him throw rocks, shout at fish, swear at the wind instead of men.”
“We were supposed to do that together,” she said.
“We got him this far together. The rest is yours.” A pause. “Please.”
Her face crumpled, then hardened. “I swear it,” she said. “On everything they’ve taken from us. He’ll never see a Kurai collar again. Not if I have to burn this place to the ground.”
Some tightness eased in me that had nothing to do with the arrow.
I looked at Kaida. He watched me with faded focus, as if through water. His tears had slowed because his small body had run out of them.
“Mama,” he whispered. “’Wake up.”
“I’m awake, little river,” I murmured. “I’m right here.” For now.
“Kaida,” I said, shaping his name like a blessing. “Listen to Mama, okay?”
He nodded, tiny and jerky.
“You are so loved. More than snow. More than river. More than sky.”
He frowned, puzzled, but his hand tightened in my cloak.
“I love you,” I whispered.
Something in my chest that had been clenched since the day he was born finally loosened. I had said it a hundred times in the dark. Saying it now felt too late and exactly on time.
“’Uv you,” he sobbed. “Mama, ’uv you.”
The world narrowed to his wet cheek against mine, his hot breath on my skin, his voice shaking around words bigger than he was.
Snowflakes landed on his hair and my lashes.
My chest rose one more time. It didn’t quite fall. Breathing was a hill with no top.
“Don’t be angry,” I managed, to Sakura and to him. “I really… I tried.”
“You did it,” Sakura rasped. “You got him to me. That’s more than anyone could have asked.”
Somewhere, doors slammed, orders were shouted. The world tried to rush back in.
I didn’t let it.
I kept my eyes on my son.
“Go with Mama Sakura,” I whispered, maybe out loud, maybe only in my mind. “Live. Be loud. Be… free.”
He pressed a wet, snotty kiss to my cheek.
“Mama,” he said into my skin.
If there was ever a word worth dying on, it was that one.
The pain ebbed away, leaving only the weight of my body and the warmth of his, already drifting from something I held to something I remembered.
I let out a breath that might have been his name.
The snow kept falling.
The last thing I knew was the feel of his small body on my chest and Sakura’s hand over his back, over mine, holding us both as if she could pin me here by will alone.
Then, like snow settling on a river and disappearing beneath the surface, I was gone.
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 1:46 AM UTC
HANA
Time snapped thin.
The string thrummed under his clutching hand, the bow bending in a jagged, unintended pull. The archer grabbed for it, too slow, eyes going wide.
The arrow leapt.
I saw it as if the rest of the world had vanished: black shaft, white fletching, a bead of melted snow on the metal tip. It arced down from the platform.
Toward the yard.
Toward us.
Toward the small, warm head tucked under my chin.
There was no room in me for thought. No argument, no weighing of chances. Only one blazing, absolute refusal.
Not him.
I twisted, dragging Kaida’s head down against my shoulder, curling around him as tight as my joints would allow, making myself as big as I could.
The arrow hit just below my shoulder blade and punched through.
Impact first—like a horse’s kick, a blunt, stunning blow that knocked me forward. Then heat ripped through my side, bright and white, flooding down my ribs, stealing sound and breath and thought.
Someone screamed. It was me.
Kaida shrieked too, thin and higher, infinitely worse. His little hands clawed at me as we toppled into the snow. The shaft shifted, and another wave of agony tore through me, sharp enough to blacken the edges of the world.
When color seeped back in, everything felt wrong: snow too hard, air too thin, my own body strange, heavy and hollow.
“Mama? Mama!” Kaida’s voice was right at my ear, raw. His weight jostled the arrowhead protruding from my chest.
A strangled sound tore out of me. Stars burst behind my eyes.
Don’t let that be the last thing he remembers, some distant part of me begged. Don’t let it be the screaming.
I forced my face smooth.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Shh, little river. Mama’s here. I’m here.”
He pushed back to see my face, blotchy with tears, snot bubbling at his nose, snow melting on his lashes. His gaze followed the shaft with slow, terrible curiosity.
The arrowhead jutted from my front, red and ugly against the blue of my tunic.
His hands went still.
“Mama…” His voice shook. “You… you stick.”
A laugh tangled with the sob in my chest. “Yeah,” I managed. “Mama’s a bit stuck.”
I dragged up a hand and cupped the back of his head, drawing him in so he wouldn’t have to look.
Above us, steel rang on wood. Someone yelled. The wind threw snow into my face like cold ash.
None of it reached the small, trembling circle of the world where we lay.
All that existed was the weight of my son on my chest and the slow, steady warmth leaking under my ribs. The snow around us wasn’t white anymore. It was red.
Kaida sobbed, shoulders jerking. Every motion made the arrow move inside me.
“I wan’ up,” he hiccupped. “Mama, up. Up.”
“Oh, baby.” My voice cracked. “You are up. You’re with me.” My fingers were clumsy, too far away from me, as I tried to wipe his cheeks.
“Hurts?” he whispered.
Children his age should have said toy and cookie and again, not hurts.
“A little,” I said. “But it’s… it’s all right.”
It wasn’t.
Each inhale was shallower, scraping through a too-tight chest. Not enough air. Or too much blood. Or both. The edges of the world blurred to gray. His face stayed sharp.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, to Kaida, to Sakura, to the girl I’d been who swore she’d never bring a child into this life.
“No,” he said firmly, toddler sure that no could change anything. “No sorry.”
A choked sound came from above. Sakura knelt, boots in ruined snow, her shadow over us like a crooked wing.
“Hana,” she said, voice roughened beyond recognition. “Hana, love.”
I turned my head. Stone-heavy. Her jaw clenched, eyes blown wide with a fear I had never seen on her.
“Sakura,” I breathed, tasting iron.
Her gloved hand hovered over the arrow, then flinched back, fingers red with blood—whose, I couldn’t tell.
“Get him warm,” I tried to say, but coughed instead. Dark flecks spotted the snow. “He’s… freezing.”
“We will,” she said quickly. “We will. We’re going home. All of us.”
We both knew she was lying. The lie still cracked something open in me. For half a heartbeat, I wanted to believe it.
I rested my cheek against Kaida’s hair. His sobs had faded to hiccups, the exhausted crying that comes when a body has nothing left.
When I opened my eyes again, the world felt further away.
“Sakura,” I said through the tightness in my chest. “Listen.”
“No.” A tear carved a clean line down her cheek. “No, Hana, don’t you—”
“I have to.” Another cough. Warmth filled my mouth. I turned my head so it wouldn’t spill on Kaida. “Take him.”
Kaida made a strangled noise, clinging to me. “No ’Kura. No go. Mama.”
Every instinct screamed to agree. Instead I smoothed my shaking hand down his back.
“You’ll go with her,” I whispered. “You remember her funny faces at dinner? How she steals your bread?”
“Bread,” he muttered, bewildered.
“She’ll give you so much bread you’ll get sick of it.”
Sakura’s breath hitched.
“You keep him away from all this,” I said. “No Kurai. No debts. No traders. Take him to the river. Let him throw rocks, shout at fish, swear at the wind instead of men.”
“We were supposed to do that together,” she said.
“We got him this far together. The rest is yours.” A pause. “Please.”
Her face crumpled, then hardened. “I swear it,” she said. “On everything they’ve taken from us. He’ll never see a Kurai collar again. Not if I have to burn this place to the ground.”
Some tightness eased in me that had nothing to do with the arrow.
I looked at Kaida. He watched me with faded focus, as if through water. His tears had slowed because his small body had run out of them.
“Mama,” he whispered. “’Wake up.”
“I’m awake, little river,” I murmured. “I’m right here.” For now.
“Kaida,” I said, shaping his name like a blessing. “Listen to Mama, okay?”
He nodded, tiny and jerky.
“You are so loved. More than snow. More than river. More than sky.”
He frowned, puzzled, but his hand tightened in my cloak.
“I love you,” I whispered.
Something in my chest that had been clenched since the day he was born finally loosened. I had said it a hundred times in the dark. Saying it now felt too late and exactly on time.
“’Uv you,” he sobbed. “Mama, ’uv you.”
The world narrowed to his wet cheek against mine, his hot breath on my skin, his voice shaking around words bigger than he was.
Snowflakes landed on his hair and my lashes.
My chest rose one more time. It didn’t quite fall. Breathing was a hill with no top.
“Don’t be angry,” I managed, to Sakura and to him. “I really… I tried.”
“You did it,” Sakura rasped. “You got him to me. That’s more than anyone could have asked.”
Somewhere, doors slammed, orders were shouted. The world tried to rush back in.
I didn’t let it.
I kept my eyes on my son.
“Go with Mama Sakura,” I whispered, maybe out loud, maybe only in my mind. “Live. Be loud. Be… free.”
He pressed a wet, snotty kiss to my cheek.
“Mama,” he said into my skin.
If there was ever a word worth dying on, it was that one.
The pain ebbed away, leaving only the weight of my body and the warmth of his, already drifting from something I held to something I remembered.
I let out a breath that might have been his name.
The snow kept falling.
The last thing I knew was the feel of his small body on my chest and Sakura’s hand over his back, over mine, holding us both as if she could pin me here by will alone.
Then, like snow settling on a river and disappearing beneath the surface, I was gone.
This is the (cropped) death scene of one of the main characters of my final book in my trilogy. Did anyone cry? I did.
If you liked this, either DM me or comment your email-- I will send all 3 books for free. <3
