The Price of Standing
The Relief Tower did not fall.
It endured.
Cracked, humming, half-blind—but standing. And in Noctyrrh, survival without obedience was an act of violence.
Sirens cut through the streets, sharp enough to scrape bone. The executioners regrouped with brutal efficiency, forming a wall between Lumi and the crowd now spilling into the square beyond the tower doors.
Blake stepped in front of her without thinking.
At twenty-four, Blake Crowe had been trained to weigh every motion, every breath. This time, instinct won.
"Don't," Lumi said softly.
"I know," he replied. "But I'm still doing it."
The Dreadsword shifted at his side—not eager, not hungry. Waiting.
Serath Vale recovered quickly. He always did. Chaos did not frighten him; it clarified him.
"You see?" he called to the crowd, amplifying his voice through fractured systems. "This is what unregulated truth brings. Instability. Violence. Fear."
A stone clattered across the square.
Then another.
Not thrown at the tower—placed carefully at its base.
People knelt to set them down. One by one. A line forming, deliberate and calm.
Blake exhaled. "They're not running."
Lumi's chest tightened. "Neither will he."
Serath's gaze locked onto Blake. "Prince Crowe. You endanger everyone by standing there."
Blake lifted his chin. "Then punish me."
The truth flared—raw, painful.
This is the debt.
Serath smiled thinly. "Gladly."
The tower's remaining sigils ignited, twisting inward. Not toward Lumi—but toward Blake. Restraints of shadow and light snapped into place, binding his arms, dragging him to his knees.
Lumi surged forward.
Blake shook his head once. No.
Serath addressed the city. "The curse demands balance. A symbol must be broken to restore order."
Pain lanced through Blake as the Dreadsword screamed—not in fury, but grief. The bond strained, tearing at places Blake had sealed long ago.
Lumi stepped between Blake and the executioners.
"I'll go," she said.
The city inhaled as one.
Serath considered her. "You already belong to the people."
"So do you," Lumi replied. "You've just forgotten."
She knelt beside Blake, pressing her forehead to his. The truth softened, narrowed—focused.
"You don't owe them your life," she whispered.
Blake's voice shook. "I owe you my honesty."
He met her eyes, unflinching.
"Every time I see you, it's as if the world holds its breath. My heart has always known its home, and it is with you."
The words landed like a vow written into bone.
The crowd stirred—not loud, not wild. Steady.
Serath's voice hardened. "End this."
The executioners advanced.
And the city stepped forward.
Not to fight.
To stand.
Bodies filled the square, closing the distance, forming a living barrier. Hands linked. Candles raised. Threads stretched from wrist to wrist.
Truth surged—not from Lumi alone, but from thousands.
The restraints shattered.
Blake collapsed forward, free.
Serath staggered back, shock finally cracking his control. "This is impossible."
Lumi rose, voice steady, carrying farther than sound.
"No," she said. "This is the price of standing."
Above them, the eternal night trembled.
And somewhere deep in Noctyrrh, the curse took note.