There came a day when Lune realized he no longer needed guidance.
It did not arrive with ceremony. No one announced it. There was no argument, no declaration of adulthood. It simply revealed itself through absence.
His parents stopped correcting him.
Not because he had become perfect—but because he had become predictable. He anticipated expectations before they were voiced. He adjusted behavior before concern surfaced. He removed friction so efficiently that there was nothing left to manage.
At school, teachers trusted him without question. He was allowed to work independently, to handle responsibilities others needed supervision for. He was given keys. Access. Quiet authority.
"You've earned it," the principal said once, handing him a task that required discretion.
Lune nodded.
He had.
The internal systems his parents had helped build now ran without input. Rules were no longer external structures enforced by charts or consequences. They were internal algorithms—fast, precise, invisible.
He did not ask what he should do. He calculated what would work.
When conflict arose, he resolved it before escalation. When temptation appeared, he assessed cost versus benefit. When opportunity presented itself, he evaluated exposure first.
Risk was no longer something to fear. It was something to measure.
One evening, his mother knocked on his door and paused, uncertain.
"You don't really need us hovering anymore," she said, smiling softly. "Do you?"
Lune met her eyes and returned the smile. "I'm fine."
She hesitated, then nodded. Relief washed over her face.
"That's good," she said. "That's very good."
After she left, Lune sat on the edge of his bed and let the quiet settle around him. The house felt smaller now—not restrictive, but irrelevant.
He realized then that the guidance he had once relied on had been absorbed completely. The rules, the lessons, the conditioning—all of it had fused into something seamless.
Control was no longer something imposed on him. It was something he exercised.
He did not feel pride in this realization. Pride implied comparison. He did not feel fear either. Fear implied uncertainty.
What he felt was readiness.
Standing by his window, looking out at the darkened street below, Lune understood that he could operate anywhere now. School. Work. Society. The stage.
Anywhere people watched.
And as long as they watched what he wanted them to see, he would remain exactly where he needed to be—unquestioned, trusted, untouched.
The control was no longer learned.
It was internal. And it was complete.