Lessons in Silence
Lumi did not begin with answers.
That, Iria would later realize, was the lesson.
They met before dawn on the western terraces, where Noctyrrh's stone sloped into open air and the city thinned into shadowed steps and half-forgotten gardens. The sky was a deep bruise of color—no true sunrise yet, just the suggestion that the world remembered light.
Iria arrived early, restless. The want had not left her overnight. It never truly slept. Even in dreams, it threaded itself through images—people reaching for doors, hands hovering over choices they were afraid to touch.
Lumi stood near the edge, facing outward, cloak loose around her shoulders. Blake was there too, a quiet presence leaning against a balustrade, arms crossed, eyes scanning without seeming to.
"You didn't bring a notebook," Iria said, unsure why she'd expected one.
Lumi smiled faintly. "This isn't that kind of lesson."
Iria folded her arms. "Then what kind is it?"
"The kind where you stop trying to control what you're hearing."
"That's not comforting."
"It's not meant to be."
They walked in silence for a while, the stone cool beneath Iria's boots. Below them, the city breathed—subtle, uneven, alive in a way it hadn't been when the curse held everything tight. Doors opened early now. People lingered in conversation. The night no longer pressed them into corners.
It gave them space.
"That's what scares you," Lumi said, as if picking the thought directly from Iria's chest. "Not the want itself. The room it has to move."
Iria frowned. "You make it sound like weather."
"It is," Blake said quietly. "Just not one you can wait out."
They stopped near a low wall where ivy had begun to creep again, reclaiming stone abandoned during the curse. Iria stared at it, struck by how quickly life returned once it was allowed.
"Tell me what you hear," Lumi said.
"Everything," Iria replied too quickly.
Lumi shook her head. "No. Choose."
Iria hesitated. Closing her eyes felt dangerous, like stepping into water without knowing how deep it was. Still, she obeyed.
At first, it was chaos—a thousand overlapping pulls. Want for safety. For recognition. For absolution. For someone else to decide where the blame should land.
Her breath hitched.
Then Lumi's voice cut through, steady. "Don't catalog it. Don't judge it. Let one voice rise."
Iria focused.
A single thread sharpened: a woman in the lower district, awake too early, wanting permission to leave a marriage that felt like a room with no windows.
Iria's chest tightened.
"There," she whispered.
"What does it feel like?" Lumi asked.
"Like… pressure," Iria said. "Like if I don't acknowledge it, it will collapse inward."
"And if you do?"
"It hurts less," Iria admitted. "But it feels… dangerous."
Lumi nodded. "Because desire doesn't want to be solved. It wants to be seen."
Iria opened her eyes. "That's it? That's the lesson?"
"For today."
Frustration flared. "People are making decisions that could break the realm. The Concord is already drafting agreements. Borders are shifting. I can feel how close they are to giving up control, and you want me to listen politely?"
Blake straightened. "You think stopping them would be cleaner?"
"I think letting them walk into this is worse."
Lumi's gaze was gentle, but unyielding. "Power that overrides choice is just another kind of curse."
Iria looked away, jaw tight. "So we do nothing."
"No," Lumi said. "We witness. We warn. We refuse to become the answer people want instead of the truth they need."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hostile.
From the far steps, footsteps approached. Kael Thorn emerged from the shadows, coat unfastened, expression unreadable.
"Council session ended early," he said. "They're celebrating progress."
Iria felt the want spike in response to his words—bright, reckless. She winced.
Kael noticed. "It's getting louder, isn't it."
"Yes," she said. "And I don't know how long I can stand it."
He studied her for a moment, then nodded once. "Good. That means you still care."
She huffed a humorless laugh. "That's your comfort?"
"It's my warning."
The sky lightened another shade. Not day. Not night. Something in between.
Lumi rested a hand briefly on Iria's shoulder. "You're not here to save Noctyrrh," she said softly. "You're here to remind it that wanting something doesn't mean you're owed it."
Iria swallowed, eyes burning.
Below them, the city stirred. The borders breathed. And somewhere within the open night, desire waited—patient, persuasive, and very much alive.
Iria squared her shoulders.
"Then teach me how to stand in it," she said. "Without disappearing."
Lumi smiled.
"That," she said, "will take time."