The palace stirred with the faintest hints of morning light, though no bird called, no wind whispered beyond the walls. Neo-Lagos remained still, a city of muted colors and carefully measured motions. Ireti Adeola opened her eyes slowly, the weight of yesterday's thoughts pressing against her chest. She had lain awake long after the moon sank beneath the neon skyline, imagining rhythms that could not exist and sounds that no one else remembered.
Stretching beneath the silk sheets, she noted the faint hum of the palace itself. Perhaps it was the vibrations of the solar panels above, or the quiet machinery hidden in the walls. Whatever it was, she alone seemed to notice it—a subtle reminder that even in a city stripped of music, life found ways to whisper.
"Princess," a soft voice called. Her handmaiden appeared at the doorway, hair bound tightly, hands clasped. "Your breakfast awaits." Ireti nodded, sitting up and letting the silken covers fall around her shoulders. She dressed quickly, the familiar weight of ceremonial attire settling like armor. She walked silently across the polished marble floor, each step a rhythm in itself, unnoticed by anyone but her.
The dining hall was immaculate as always. The long table gleamed, reflecting the pale sunlight, and servants moved around with choreographed precision. Her father, King Adeola, sat at the head, his expression flawless, his synthetic voice carrying measured words. "Good morning, Princess. You have duties today. Do not forget them."
Ireti inclined her head, picking at the fruit and bread offered before her. She tasted nothing. Her mind wandered to the city beyond the palace gates, imagining the ordinary chaos of life—the calls of market traders, laughter of children, music of drums. She had never heard such sounds, yet she felt them in her bones, as if her body remembered what her ears could not.
After breakfast, she moved to her private study, a room few ever entered. It was a sanctuary of sorts, filled with polished wood, rare books, and a balcony that overlooked the quiet city. Sliding the tall window open, she leaned against the frame, letting the filtered light warm her face. Below, students and street vendors moved in silent performance, their motions precise and rehearsed. Still, she caught the smallest irregularities—a flicker of movement, a vibration through the stones, a pulse that hinted at life struggling to assert itself.
Her fingers tapped lightly on the balcony rail, experimenting with rhythm. She listened—not with her ears, but with her body—feeling the faint tremor of energy in the air. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was private, almost sacred. Each tap a rebellion of thought against the city's imposed stillness.
"Princess," came a polite voice from behind. Her tutor, a stern man named Olumide, bowed slightly, hands clasped. "You are late in your reflection today. Remember, focus on your studies. You represent the crown at every hour, even in silence."
Ireti nodded, forcing herself to stand straighter. Her mind, however, remained elsewhere. She had begun to wonder if the world's forgetting of sound was more than law—it was a loss, a theft from the very soul of Neo-Lagos. Could she do something about it? Did she even have the right to imagine it?
The morning passed in study and instruction. Her friends, who visited occasionally, exchanged signs and gestures in the quiet air. Amara, always vibrant even in silence, attempted a joke, tapping Ireti on the arm. The princess only smiled faintly, her attention already drifting to the vibrations of the palace walls. She could feel them, like a hidden heartbeat beneath the city's enforced quiet.
By midday, she left the study and moved toward the palace gardens. Even here, Neo-Lagos maintained its imposed calm. Trees bent in mechanical symmetry, fountains flowed in controlled arcs, and flowers bloomed under artificial lights calibrated to perfection. Yet Ireti walked slowly, deliberately, allowing her gaze to linger on the edges where life refused to be fully contained. A leaf trembled under the sun's heat. She noticed the faintest shimmer of a movement that should not have been there. Her pulse quickened—not fear, but curiosity.
Lunch was taken in the gardens, away from the formal dining halls. Servants left platters of food and retreated, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She chewed slowly, tasting the textures, but hearing nothing. Still, she felt something—a resonance in the air that moved with her heartbeat. She placed her hand on the stone table, tapping softly, feeling the reverberation. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was a secret language, one only she could understand.
Afterward, she wandered deeper into the gardens. She passed the reflective pool, where the water shimmered like glass, untouched by sound. For a fleeting moment, she imagined what it would be like if she could hear even the softest ripple, the gentle lapping of waves, or the splash of a stone. Her imagination stretched the limits of her reality, and for a heartbeat, the city seemed alive with possibilities she could not yet name.
Returning to the palace, she passed corridors lined with statues of past rulers, their stone faces silent witnesses to centuries of order. Ireti ran her fingers along the base of one, feeling the cool marble, imagining the stories these walls could tell if they could speak. Each touch was a tiny rebellion, an assertion of her awareness against the suffocating stillness.
In her room, she allowed herself a final moment of private reflection. Fingers tapped on the armrest of her chair. Once. Twice. Each tap carried meaning, a rhythm that she alone could sense. Neo-Lagos lay muted around her, but in her chest, in her bones, in her fingers, a small pulse of life persisted.
Ireti closed her eyes, envisioning a city that might sing again, imagining voices, laughter, drums, and songs that could awaken the world from its imposed quiet. The thought was fragile, yet unyielding, a seed planted deep within her.
And as the palace continued its silent routine, as the city remained muted under the Council's watchful eyes, Princess Ireti Adeola allowed herself a moment of hope—a quiet promise to the rhythm that stirred within her. One day, she would discover how to bring what had been forgotten back to life.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A small rebellion in a world of Silence.