Role

Chapter 1

"Daerys, look!" The voice, light as the breeze that danced through the
leaves, belonged to Talia, his younger sister. She emerged from between the
gravestones, her arms cradling an array of wildflowers, their vibrant colors
stark against the monochrome of the graveyard. In her eyes gleamed the
innocence and wonder that Daerys had fought so hard to preserve in this harsh
world they called home.

He turned, a smile breaking through the mask of concentration. "What have you
found now?" he asked, his voice gentle, the rough edges of his daily
existence softened in her presence.

Talia rushed to him, her excitement palpable. "Flowers, Daerys! Look how
beautiful they are!" She held them out to him, an offering of light in their
dim world. "I thought... maybe we could put them on the graves, make them
pretty for the spirits."

Daerys knelt beside her, examining the flowers. "They're perfect, Tal," he
said. "You've put alot of effort into this, let's do that. The
spirits will appreciate it, I'm sure." His work as a groundskeeper, a role he
had taken to both out of necessity and a genuine respect for the dead, had
nurtured in him a belief in the importance of honoring those who had passed
on. It was a belief he cherished, a sliver of nobility in a life otherwise
mired in moral ambiguity.

Despite his affinity for the spirits and the dead, Daerys was acutely aware
of the contradictions that defined his life. Orphaned and thrust into the
responsibility of caring for Talia, he had navigated the underbelly of
society with a pragmatism that left little room for ethics. Theft,
scavengingsurvival had dictated a code of conduct far removed from the
reverence he showed the departed.

Yet, as he watched Talia tenderly place flowers on a weathered tombstone, her
face alight with a mixture of reverence and joy, Daerys felt the stirrings of
hope. Hope that perhaps there was a path forward, one that didn't rely on the
shadows they had known all too well. Working in the graveyard had offered him
a glimpse of that patha way to forge a life of meaning, not just for
himself but for Talia too.

"We're doing something good, aren't we, Daerys?" Talia asked, her voice
tentative, seeking affirmation.

Daerys placed his hand on her shoulder, his gaze sweeping across the graves
they had adorned with flowers. "Yes, Tal, we are," he said, his voice firm
with conviction. "We're giving them a bit of beauty, a reminder that they're
not forgotten. And maybe, just maybe, we're finding our way too."