CHAPTER 11 — THE SHADOW OF ATTENDANCE
Selara had been unusually busy that morning, consulting with distant informants, reviewing intercepted letters, and mapping out potential trade routes across Axiom Nallura. By mid-morning, the estate hummed with movement—but not her usual guidance.
Zephyr noticed immediately. The absence of his mother meant no one was hovering, no small voice nudging him to focus, no subtle aura of quiet control watching his every move.
Selara, of course, had anticipated this. Standing in the grand hall, she gave a crisp nod to the head maid.
"Lyra," she said. "Attend to the Young Master today. Ensure he is safe and… occupied."
The girl stepped forward. Slightly taller than Zephyr, with a quiet confidence in her stride, her black hair braided simply down her back. Her dark violet eyes were alert, scanning the room, taking in the folds of his robes, the glint of his hair, the faint tremor in his small hands from sleepless morning thoughts.
"Yes, Lady Nightshade," Lyra said. Her voice was calm, polite, measured—but there was a subtle undertone of warmth in it, as if she had already made up her mind to watch over him carefully.
Zephyr tilted his head. "You'll follow me around all day? Is that your entire life's purpose?"
Lyra's lips curved slightly. "Not my entire life, Young Master. But today, it is my honor." She moved beside him, silent as a shadow, not pressing too close, not distant enough to be absent.
'Huh,' Zephyr thought. 'She's… careful. Watching, but not imposing.'
Minutes passed as they walked the estate corridors. Zephyr peeked at her several times, and each time, she met his gaze evenly, then returned to her own scanning, recording every detail.
"You notice a lot," Zephyr said finally, testing her. "Do you follow me just because you were told to—or because you want to know?"
Lyra considered him for a heartbeat. "Perhaps both. Observation is its own reward."
Zephyr smiled faintly. "Not a bad answer. Not many adults would admit that."
"They are trained to pretend," Lyra replied. "I am trained to observe."
He let the corner of his mouth twitch. "I see. Then you and I are… kindred spirits."
Lyra's eyes flicked to his for a moment, and in that brief glance there was something unspoken—an acknowledgment of understanding, and a promise: she would watch, learn, and maybe one day… notice everything about him.
For now, she simply walked beside him, alert but relaxed, ready to intervene if danger arose, but not to smother.
By midday, Zephyr had grown used to her presence. She carried his books when he fumbled, retrieved minor ingredients for his experiments, and—most importantly—never questioned his curiosity. Instead, she watched, waited, and sometimes offered a small, precise hint if he asked.
"Lyra," Zephyr said as they paused by the small greenhouse, "if I create something… will you understand its purpose?"
Lyra tilted her head, as if pondering the question deeply. "I may not understand everything, Young Master. But I will observe what you do, and that… will be enough."
Zephyr's grin widened, small but sharp. "Good. Then you'll be my first witness."
She nodded. "And perhaps, someday, my first teacher will be you."
For the first time, Zephyr felt a small stir of… anticipation. He didn't know what form it would take, but he knew he wanted her to see everything—his failures, his discoveries, and eventually, his power.
And Lyra, silently, promised to stay near. Not out of duty alone, but because she already found it… interesting