Smoke curled lazily from the clay pots set before the shrine. The wind carried the faint smell of damp wood and grief.

A woman sat crouched by the fire, her face streaked with tears, fingers trembling as she pressed a damp cloth to her mouth to muffle the sounds of mourning.

Every few breaths, she rocked herself and whispered Ariya's name like a prayer.

Across from her, her younger sister kept stirring a pot of herbal brew, eyes swollen from her own crying but voice steady - ...