I woke before the sun finished rising.
The room was still dim, the kind of gray-blue light that slipped in just before dawn decided whether it would commit to morning. I was lying on a sofa, something soft pulled up to my chest. A blanket. It smelled fresh, definitely not from the inn I'm staying.
I didn't move.
Not because I couldn't. My body felt fine. Whole. Reset, like always. But there was a calm sitting in my chest that I didn't recognize at first, and I didn't want to disturb it by testing whether it would disappear.
So I stayed still, eyes open, breathing slow.
The first thing I noticed was the quiet.
Not the tense, waiting quiet that came before monsters or ambushes. Not the hollow quiet that followed death. This was… settled. The kind of silence that came from walls built thick enough to keep the world out. Peace, calm quietness that I rarely experienced.
My eyes shifted, not my head. I didn't want to break whatever this moment was.
That's when I saw her.
Madison sat on the chesterfield sofa across from me, one leg folded beneath her, posture relaxed in a way that didn't look practiced. She was reading something bound in dark material, its surface faintly textured, letters moving on their own in slow, deliberate lines. A small orb of light hovered near her shoulder, dim and steady, illuminating the page without casting harsh shadows.
A thin blanket rested over her shoulders, slipping slightly down one arm.
The light flickered gently as she turned a page, catching on her lashes, tracing the clean line of her nose, softening the curve of her mouth. Her hair fell loose down her back, dark against the pale fabric, still slightly damp as if she hadn't been awake for very long.
I stared.
I didn't mean to. I wasn't even aware I was doing it at first.
I've never been the type to fixate on how people look. Back home, I barely noticed when someone was considered attractive unless it was pointed out to me directly. Even here, in Aetherfall, where beauty seemed to follow different rules entirely, I'd learned quickly that appearances meant very little.
I had seen locals whose features were so balanced it felt unreal. Beastkin with an effortless grace that drew eyes without trying. Even elfen-descended Wayfarers whose presence made ordinary humans look unfinished by comparison.
And yet.
Madison Ultima could stand among any of them and not disappear.
The thought came uninvited, and just as quickly, I dismissed it. Madison felt distant in a way I couldn't put into words. Like someone meant to exist in a different story.
I was still staring when she spoke.
"You done?"
Her voice was calm, unbothered. She didn't look up at first. Just turned the page she was reading as if she hadn't noticed anything at all.
I froze. Heat rushed up my neck before I could stop it.
"I— sorry," I said. The word came out automatically, clumsy and inadequate. I couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't sound like an excuse.
Madison lifted her gaze then.
She closed the book with one smooth motion and rested it on the arm of the sofa. Her eyes caught the light fully now, amethyst bright even in the dimness, clear and focused in a way that made me feel like she could see far more than she ever let on.
"It's nearly morning," she said. "Someone's waiting for you."
My mind moved ahead of the moment before I could stop it. Astrae. The capital. Tomas' warning. The way things had been too quiet after the relics were handed over. I didn't doubt for a second that Madison already knew about my companion. If she knew, then whatever Tomas had hinted at was probably already in motion.
Madison didn't comment about any of that.
She watched me for a second longer, her expression unreadable, then added, "You've gotten yourself involved in something troublesome."
Not a reprimand. Not concern. It's a statement.
"I know," I said quietly.
She wasn't talking about last night. Not about the alley. Not about the body that still lingered at the back of my thoughts, heavy and unpleasant.
She meant the dungeon.
The decision to go back. To look too closely. To touch something that didn't want to be understood.
I shifted slightly, finally pushing myself up enough to sit properly. The blanket slid down, pooling around my legs. I didn't rush. Whatever urgency usually followed me hadn't reached this room yet.
"I didn't see another way," I said, trying to explain. "I can't just wait for a perfect moment."
Madison studied me, not searching or judging. Just observing, like she was confirming something she already suspected.
"There rarely is," she replied.
The quiet settled again, gentle and unforced.
Outside, the city was beginning to wake. I could hear it faintly now. Distant movement. The low murmur of life continuing, unaware of how close things had come to breaking.
Madison stood, adjusting the blanket on her shoulders, and turned slightly toward the window. She walked toward the it without a sound.
The room was still dim, but dawn had begun to press against the glass, pale light seeping in.
She stopped there, hands loosely at her sides, gaze fixed outward.
The quietness stretched. Seconds into minute, minute into tens.
It was not an empty silence. It was dense. Heavy enough that I felt it settle on my shoulders, slow my breathing, make me acutely aware of the space between us. Whatever she was thinking about, it wasn't something meant to be shared. It wasn't even something she seemed fully present for.
I pushed myself up from the sofa.
My outerwear lay folded neatly on a low table nearby. Not a cloak in the dramatic sense, but a travel mantle, heavier than a robe, lighter than armor. Clean from others blood. Fresh as if recently wash. Someone had taken the time to see to it while I slept.
I picked it up and slipped it over my shoulders.
For a moment, I thought that was all Madison was waiting for. For me to leave quietly. To slip out without interrupting whatever weight had settled on. The thought made something in my chest tighten.
I crouched to pull on my boots, tightening the straps carefully, deliberately. I moved slowly, keeping my steps light. I didn't want to disturb her.
When I straightened, I turned toward the door.
My feet didn't follow though.
Instead, they carried me toward her.
I didn't decide to do it. There was no clear thought attached to the movement. Just an unspoken pull, a need to close the distance for unknown reason.
I stopped a step away.
Up close, I saw it.
Madison's eyes were open, but unfocused. She wasn't blinking. Her breathing was shallow, almost absent, like someone holding still so long they'd forgotten how to move again.
Her expression was calm at first glance.
But I had learned, painfully, how to read what people didn't say.
I'd done it my whole life. In classrooms. On buses. In hallways where silence could turn sharp without warning. Reading posture. Micro-movements. Tension held too long.
Madison was worried.
Not the kind of concern that flickers and passes. This was deeper. Controlled. Pressed down until only the faintest edge showed. If I hadn't been trained by necessity to notice the small things, I would have missed it entirely.
My eyes dropped.
Her hand was clenched.
Fingers curled so tightly into her palm that her nails had broken skin. Thin lines of blood traced slowly down her fingers, dark against pale skin.
She didn't react. She didn't seem to feel it or even aware of it.
Something within me snapped.
Heat rushed up behind my eyes before I understood what I was feeling. It was not fear.
Anger.
Sharp. Immediate. Unfiltered.
I stepped forward and grabbed her wrist, yanking her hand away from herself, a little to hard, before I could stop to think.
"What the hell are you doing to yourself?!" I growled in a low menancing voice.
The sound of my own voice shocked me. I'd never heard it like that before. Carrying weight I didn't know I was capable of.
Madison blinked.
Once. Twice.
Her gaze dropped to where I was holding her. To the blood smeared across her skin. Then back to my face.
"Oh," she softly exclaimed. Not bothered of my reaction.
She didn't pull away.
She stared at the part of her hand where I was holding, like it was a novelty, something mildly interesting. Like she was noticing it for the first time. I realized then that she truly hadn't been aware of what she was doing.
I didn't let go.
Her skin was warm beneath my fingers. Soft. Real. Against all reason, the sensation grounded me. Calmed something that had flared too fast to control.
For one strange moment, neither of us moved.
Then Madison gently shifted her hand, easing it free from my grip without force or resistance. The contact ended so smoothly it felt like it had never been there at all.
"I was in deep thought," she said, as if no time had passed.
She glanced down at her wrist again, then tugged her sleeve down to cover the blood, careless and precise at the same time.
"That's not thinking," I said flatly.
My voice was rough. The anger hadn't fully faded yet. It lingered in my chest, tight and unfamiliar. I didn't understand why it was still there, or why it felt personal.
Madison exhaled slowly.
"You wear me down," she replied. Her tone more expressive than usual.
Her words landed harder than I expected. For a split second, my mind scrambled. Guilt surged in its wake, immediate and unwelcome. I'd never meant to be a burden. The thought that I was causing her stress, that I'd added something heavy to someone who had helped me so much without asking anything in return, made me ashamed.
"I'm sorry…" I started to say.
She didn't let me finish.
She turned to face me fully.
Her expression was almost blank, but her eyes weren't. There was pain there. Frustration. Something deeper than exhaustion, closer to strain.
She looked straight at me.
I couldn't look away.
"You're too slow…" she said quietly, so soft I could barely hear it. "And it's getting harder..."
The words didn't make sense.
Not fully.
They hovered between us, loaded with meaning I couldn't access. Whatever she was referring to, it wasn't about walking pace. Or travel. Or the city outside those walls.
I only knew one thing with certainty.
Madison was in pain. Her eyes clearly says it. There was no lie there.
And somehow, impossibly as it may be, it felt like it was my fault.
She held my gaze for another second, then tilted her head slightly, as if coming to a decision. She sighed, long and controlled, and whatever had surfaced in her eyes receded back behind that familiar calm.
"You need to go Theo, things needs to move." she said. Not rude but kind of like sending me away.
I nodded, even though every part of me wanted to stay and ask what she meant. To ask what I was missing.
Instead, I turned toward the door, jaw clenched. I couldn't even bring myself to say thank you for the help. I was upset for reasons I didn't understand. Madison was barely a friend, but I owed her. Still, that didn't justify why I felt like shit as I walked away from her like this.
And as I left, the weight of her words followed me out and live within me, hiding behind my present worry.
~~~
[Madison POV; 3rd]
Madison continued to stare at the window long after the door closed behind him. The reflection in the glass barely registered, city lights blurring into something distant and unimportant. She did not move. She did not need to.
A few minutes passed before she sensed someone behind her. Footsteps, unhurried. A chair shifted softly as someone sat down without asking. She did not turn, but she already knew who it was.
"You're frustrated," Mireya said, her voice calm, observational rather than accusatory.
Madison finally lowered her gaze, lifting her hands and spreading her fingers in front of her. The skin was smooth. Unbroken. No trace of the wound, no lingering ache, not even a stain where blood had once been. It was as if it had never happened at all.
Mireya watched her hands. "You could force it, you know."
Madison tilted her head just enough to acknowledge her presence, her eyes still on her palms. "It should happen his way. Anything else would make it meaningless."
"That doesn't make it easier," Mireya replied. "It still frustrates you."
Madison exhaled slowly, the sound quiet but heavy. "Because there's a level of involvement there that I'm still working through."
Mireya leaned back slightly. "Something's coming?"
"There will always be," Madison said without hesitation.
"He needs to step up fast."
Madison nodded once, accepting the truth of it. She turned fully then, meeting Mireya's eyes. "How about the others?"
Mireya smiled, warm and measured. "Working on it."
"How many are in partial awakening?"
"A little more than half."
Madison hummed softly, the sound neither pleased nor disappointed. "Good enough."
She turned back toward the window, arms folding a loose embrace on her body, already letting the moment pass.