Quiet Fears in a Quiet Room
The house was in silence the way it always did—slowly, reluctantly.
Not all at once.Never like that.
Laughter stopped echoing down the hallway. The batch of plates and utensils softened as they were rinsed and stacked with care. Lanterns dimmed one by one, their glow shrinking until shadows reclaimed the corners of the Arcelion home.
Footsteps passed.Paused.Then disappeared behind closed doors.
Outside, the people of merchant district slept beneath a calm sky, unaware of how much weight was lingering inside one quiet house.
Lucien sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the open travel bag at his feet.
And was in deep thought.
It wasn't large.
Just sturdy. Practical. Chosen for movement rather than comfort.
Inside lay folded clothes—simple tunics, a belt, extra bindings. Nothing unnecessary. Nothing sentimental.
He picked up his wooden sword, fingers wrapping around the familiar grip.
For a moment, he considered placing it inside the bag.
Then he stopped.
Lucien set it gently beside the bag instead.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow, this would stop being practice.
He reached for a small cloth pouch next, loosening the drawstring. Inside layed a sharpening stone, smooth at the edges— it was Darius's gift, given without ceremony weeks ago.
Lucien turned it over in his palm, thumb brushing the familiar grooves.
He packed slowly.
Not because he didn't know what to bring—
But because every folded item felt like a choice he couldn't take back.
A life measured in things left behind.
Behind the doorframe, half-hidden in shadow, Seris stood watching.
She hadn't meant to.
She told herself she was only walking past. That she'd stop for a second, then keep going.
But she stayed.
Arms folded loosely. Shoulder pressed against the wall. Eyes fixed on her little brother as he prepared to step away from a life of peace and preparing for his upcoming adventures.
Lucien paused, lifting a scarf from the bed.
Elena had knitted it years ago—back when his height barely reached her shoulder. He smiled faintly as he folded it, careful and precise, placing it at the top of the bag, prolly reminiscing.
Seris swallowed.
He looks taller, she thought.
Not physically.
Just… steadier.
Lucien tied the bag closed and rested his hands on his knees, sitting there longer than necessary.
Quiet.
Thoughtful.
As if memorizing the room.
Seris leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
She didn't tease him.
Not tonight.
Before leaving, she slipped something small from her pocket—a compact pouch tied with silver thread—and placed it outside his door.
No knock.
No words.
Just a silent offering.
Then she turned away and walked back to her room, jaw tight, refusing to look back.
Behind another closed door, Elena finally allowed herself to sit.
She sat at the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, gaze unfocused. The warmth of the celebration still lingered in the room—sweet, familiar—but the moment the door shut, the worry she had carried all evening returned like an old headache.
Darius entered quietly and closed the door behind him.
"You held it together well," he said.
Elena exhaled slowly."I had to. It was his birthday."
She looked up at him, eyes catching the dim lamplight.
"Darius… tomorrow they stop being children."
He crossed the room and sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"They stopped being children long before today," he replied gently.
Elena gave a soft, humorless laugh."That's what frightens me."
She stared at her hands.
"Lucien has always been kind," she continued. "Elaira is thoughtful. Rogan is steady. They're good children."
Her voice lowered.
"And the Tower doesn't care about good."
Darius was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, "The Tower doesn't reward cruelty either. It exposes what already exists."
Elena shook her head.
"Lucien still believes he's ordinary. He pushes himself because he thinks he's behind everyone else."
Darius smiled faintly.
"That humility will keep him alive."
Elena's gaze drifted to the far wall, memory surfacing without warning.
A small boy gripping a wooden sword with both hands.Stance crooked. Feet wrong.Looking up at her afterward with bright eyes.
Did I do it right?
She had smiled.
Told him he had.
"And Elaira," Elena continued softly. "She carries herself so calmly… but she's always watching. Always calculating. She bears more than she lets on."
"She always has," Darius agreed. "Even as a child."
Elena nodded.
She remembered Elaira standing at the edge of the garden—not playing, not speaking. Watching the wind bend grass. Mimicking movement without instruction.
Learning quietly.
"And Rogan…" Elena's voice wavered. "He puts everyone before himself."
Darius reached out and took her hand.
"That kind of boy gets hurt first," Elena whispered.
"That kind of boy," Darius replied, "becomes a shield others survive behind."
Elena closed her eyes.
"You never told them," she said quietly. "How exceptional they are."
"No," Darius said. "Because the moment they believe it, they'll stop listening. Stop doubting. Stop growing."
He squeezed her hand.
"They think they're weak because they measure themselves honestly. That honesty will carry them farther than arrogance ever could."
Elena leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.
Another memory surfaced.
Lucien, younger—much younger—waking from sleep as frost traced the edge of the window. Breath visible in the dark. A chill in the air that shouldn't have been there.
She had held him close.
Felt something answer inside him.
Not violent.
Not dangerous.
Just… awake.
"I just want them to come back," she whispered.
Darius rested his chin lightly atop her head.
"They will," he said. "Not because they're strong."
He paused.
"But because they walk forward together."
Lucien lay back on his bed later, hands folded over his chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling beams.
Sleep didn't come.
Every sound felt sharper tonight—the quiet settling of wood, the distant night calls, the steady rhythm of his own breathing. His packed bag rested near the door, unmistakable even in the dim light.
He didn't look at it again.
Instead, he thought of mornings in the merchant district. Of Seris barking orders. Of Elena's calm voice cutting through chaos. Of Darius's presence at the edge of the clearing.
This is still home, he reminded himself.
Even if tomorrow changed everything.
Outside, the Arcelion house slept.
Inside, three young souls stood at the edge of something vast.
And somewhere beyond the walls—
The future waited.
Quietly.
Patiently.