The Weight of Silence

The doors closed behind us with a deliberate finality.

Not the sound of heavy wood hitting stone. Not just the end of the movement.

But the silence that came when power was in the room.

The sort that stopped everything else in its tracks and demanded your attention.

No one spoke.

Not me. Not Asura. Not even the man who'd brought us here.

Because she was there.

And that was enough.

The Woman Who Will Not Wait for Anyone

Celeste was seated in a chair that did not throne, nor did it allow for the ease of an ordinary seat; this chair was carved as if with umbellate hands, crafted not for comfort but for presence.

She did not lounge.

As if she had waited too long, she adjusted none.

She just occupied this space as if it were made for her.

Her golden-blonde hair was pristine, unsullied by the dirt of the outside world. Her brown eyes were framed by sharp, arched brows, but didn't show the warmth that tone should have given them.

They were not inviting.

They were assessing.

She was in an emerald top — a tunic, cropped to just above her waist — fitted not as one would when you want to attract a lot of attention but as one does when you have a lot of attention and don't much care.

And she said nothing.

Because she didn't need to.

A Presence That Is Not To Be Ignored

I had been standing in front of commanders.

Men who had barked commands on the battlefield, their voices steel-forged, brutal.

Men who ruled through fear and strength.

But this was different.

Celeste was not asking for power.

She already had it.

There was no need for her to raise her voice.

She didn't need to introduce herself.

So she just waited, knowing that we'd be the ones who needed to speak first eventually.

But we didn't.

Because instinct told me—its a mistake to speak before this:

The First Word Is Hers

The silence stretched.

Not awkward. Not tense.

Controlled.

Hers.

Then, finally—

"I was not expecting you."

Her voice was rich and smooth, carefully considered. Not a whisper, not soft. But even and deliberate, as if each word were weighed before spoken.

Still, she did not move.

She glanced up over me, then over Asura.

She had seen us even before we entered this room.

Already knew we were coming.

Her face betrayed nothing, but her tone left no doubt.

So we stood in front of her because she let us.

Nothing more.

The Control of a Single Gaze

I exhaled slowly. "You knew we would come."

A small, nearly invisible change in her posture. No surprise. Not confirmation.

A slow intake of breath, then — "Of course.

Nothing more.

She did not explain. She did not justify.

Because she didn't need to.

Asura was quiet beside me.

Just that let me know the amount of weight in the room.

Asura was not an easily impressed person.

But she recognized power when she encountered it.

And Celeste had it without having to earn it.)

The First Clue

Celeste's fingers brushed the armrest of her chair lightly, almost as if she were contemplating something.

Then without moving her gaze — "Tell me, Alarion, what do you think you've found?"

No one told her my name.

But she was unhesitating when she said it.

As if it was something she'd always known.

My pulse quickened.

Celeste was no one who volunteered knowledge.

There was something about her presence, her silence, her calm but purposeful control of this conversation that told me — that information was a currency she did not spend lightly.

Which meant this was a test.

I had to be precise about what I said.

An Answer That Will Cost Me

I met her gaze. "A ledger of names."

She didn't respond, but I sensed she was waiting for more.

I made my voice sound firm. "They weren't just knights. They were—"

"Erased."

Celeste completed the sentence for me.

The word landed like iron.

Not a whisper. Not an assumption.

A fact.

And for that moment, I knew—

She already knew all that we had learned.

She had always known.

We weren't providing her with new information.

She was waiting to see how much we knew.

And I hated the fact that I still didn't know how she felt about any of this.

.....

Celeste leaned slightly forward, and rested an elbow on the arm of her chair, her fingers gently pressing against her temple.

"You came here to find answers."

A pause.

"But do you even know what questions to ask?"

My throat tightened.

Not from fear.

But because I didn't know the answer.

And that meant, for the first time in this conversation—

I had already lost.

.....

The cold night air smacked my skin when I stepped out of Celeste's chamber. The doors closed behind me, silently, but heavily, as if they were sealing something inside—or keeping something out.

I didn't speak. Neither did Asura.

We both felt the weight of the meeting hanging between us unspoken but undeniable. Celeste hadn't given us anything, yet somehow, we'd feel as if she had taken something instead.

She knew our names. She knew we would come. And she knew more about the missing knights than she admitted.

And I hated it.

The World is Watching

The knight-order halls weren't usually this quiet at night. There was always the sound of boots on stone, murmuring voices, the occasional distant ringing of training blades.

But this evening, the quiet seemed different.

Wrong.

A flash of motion brushed the corner of my vision. A shadow, moving unnaturally with the torchlight.

I spun, fingers brushing my blade's hilt by reflex.

Nothing.

Only an empty corridor that leads into the dark.

But the feeling didn't fade.

Someone was watching.

Or something.

I took a deep breath and exhaled, making myself soften my shoulders. I was not about to start jumping at shadows.

Not yet.

"Let This Go."

We weren't the only ones who had been awake.

An outline rested against one of the stone columns by the mess hall, arms crossed. Older than I am, but just barely. A knight.

He glanced at me, then at Asura.

"You should stop looking."

I tensed.

Asura was already looking at him, her face now impassive. Measuring.

I took a step forward. "Looking for what?"

The knight sighed, as though to gather his words. "You think you're the first to notice something's amiss?"

My pulse quickened.

So we weren't alone. Others had seen it too.

But something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten.

I hesitated. "Then why hasn't anyone—"

"Because they're gone."

There was a long silence between us.

Asura's voice was quiet. "Gone?"

The knight met her gaze. "You've seen the records. You know what I mean."

He pushed himself off the pillar, stepping closer, and lowering his voice. "You think this is over a few missing knights? A few erased names?"

His eyes darted down the hallway — checking.

Then, sharper. "It's bigger than that. Bigger than you."

I clenched my jaw. "Then tell us what it is."

He exhaled.

And then—"I can't."

Frustration rose in my chest. "Why not?"

A gleam of something in his eye — fear? No. Not quite.

Acceptance.

He had already decided the path.

Not to fight this.

Not to be erased.

He turned away. "You should do the same."

And just like that, he had vanished.

The Foundation Starts to Break

I paused, his set there fresh on my mind.

I had expected secrecy. I had expected warnings.

But I hadn't expected this.

This quiet resignation.

This conviction that if we continued to dig, we would not emerge unscathed.

I had never really wondered where I fit in.

Never questioned whether I was more than another recruit, another knight in training.

But now — now I was starting to get it.

The knight order was not defending its own.

It was guarding something else,

And I had no idea what it was.

But I knew one thing.

I was not ready to leave this behind.

The Second Meeting

When we came back to Celeste the following night, her chamber had a different atmosphere.

Not hostile. Not welcoming.

Expectant.

She was seated there, waiting.

She had known we'd be back.

This time — she didn't make us wait for her to speak first.

She looked at me for a long moment then tilted her head the slightest bit.

"Tell me, Alarion, what do you think it's like—to be erased?"

My pulse slowed.

Not from calm.

But from something colder.

Understanding.

Celeste hadn't merely allowed us to come to her.

She had been watching us too.

She had just directly stated it — she knew what we were about to ask even before we opened our mouths.