The glow of the Tree of Life still pulsed faintly through the clearing, its silver branches arching high into the eternal night. The last murmurs of Sira's friends lingered in Aria's ears — whispers of Xyren's past, of his mother swallowed by the roots, of oaths no one dared to speak of too loudly.
Aria's thoughts swirled, restless. She should have been relieved that someone had spoken openly, that she had a glimpse into the mystery shrouding the boy with storm-lit eyes. Yet the more she knew, the less she understood.
Her gaze flickered back toward the far side of the roots. There — just beyond the sway of the hanging lanterns — stood Xyren. He leaned against the trunk's shadow, half-hidden, arms crossed. He wasn't close enough to hear, perhaps, but he was watching. Always watching.
Sira tugged Aria's sleeve, whispering with a nervous smile."Don't stare too long. Some say if you do, he'll catch your thoughts before you've even spoken them."
Aria's lips parted to answer, though what she would say she didn't know — when the sound of footsteps pressed the air flat. Heavy, deliberate, a rhythm that silenced the girls mid-breath.
Lirien.
He stepped into the clearing like the night itself had formed around his frame. Tall, wrapped in layers of black trimmed with glints of steel, his presence folded the space into quiet obedience. The guards that had lingered near the path fell behind him, no word spoken, yet the threat of them pressed on Aria's chest.
"Enjoying yourselves, are we?" His voice was calm, too calm — like still water over jagged rocks.
Sira dipped her head quickly. "Councilor Lirien." She caught Aria's sleeve again, this time pulling her back a pace as though she could shield her. "We were only—"
"You may go." Lirien's eyes slid over Sira and her friends, dismissing them as if they were air. His tone was mild, but the command within it brooked no refusal.
The girls exchanged glances. No one argued. Within seconds, their soft steps retreated into the courtyard shadows, leaving Aria standing alone before him.
Her stomach tightened. The silence stretched.
"Curious little human," Lirien murmured finally. His lips curved, but it wasn't a smile — it was the shape of something sharper, something that cut without being seen. "Already you ask questions. Already you look where your eyes should not linger."
Aria swallowed hard. Her voice snagged in her throat before she forced it out. "I was only—"
"Only?" He tilted his head, dark hair falling across one eye. His tone laced around her like a serpent. "Do you know what curiosity did to the last foreigner who lingered in this court, girl?"
She froze. He let the pause hang, savoring it.
But then — a flicker of movement.
Behind Lirien, across the roots, Xyren still stood. Not moving, not interfering. His face was unreadable in the half-light, but his eyes… Aria felt them on her like a tether. Watching. Waiting. Silent.
Lirien followed her gaze. He did not turn fully, only shifted his head slightly, enough to acknowledge what she had been looking at. His laugh was low, amused.
"Ah. So that's where your attention wanders."
Aria's pulse skipped. "I— I wasn't—"
"Prince Xyren," Lirien said, shaping the title like mockery. "My wayward charge. You've heard the stories, haven't you? You think his silence hides gentleness, perhaps even sympathy?"
His eyes snapped back to hers, sudden and cold. "It hides nothing but danger."
Aria stiffened, every instinct screaming at her not to answer. Yet the silence between them demanded something.
"I don't believe—"
"You don't believe?" He cut her words in two. "And why should you believe anything at all? You are not of this land, Aria. You are a shadow dragged here by accident. Do you think our roots, our council, our gods, owe you truths? You are here at my command, and at my command you will remain."
His tone was calm, but it weighed more heavily than a shout.
Aria's breath came shallow. She wanted to look away — to break from the weight of his stare — but again, beyond Lirien's shoulder, Xyren's gaze anchored her. He did not move. He did not defend her. But he was there.
And that was almost worse.
Lirien stepped closer. Not fast, not slow. Each pace measured, deliberate. His cloak brushed the ground, whispering like a blade being unsheathed.
"You wish to know of him," he said softly, his voice dropping lower, almost intimate. "You wish to know of the boy who stands apart from us all, who does not kneel, who does not serve. And yet—he obeys me. Have you wondered why?"
Aria's lips parted. Her heart thudded, but no sound came.
Lirien smiled — thin, sharp, humorless. "Of course you have. And you will keep wondering. Because he will never tell you. He cannot."
Her fists clenched at her sides. The insignia fruit had granted her the tongue of this land, but it had not given her courage. And still—something in her resisted bending fully.
"You… you don't control everything," she whispered.
The moment the words left her lips, regret burned.
Lirien's eyes gleamed. His hand lifted, one finger tracing the air as though he considered silencing her with a single motion. But he didn't. He leaned closer instead, close enough that she caught the faint scent of iron on his breath.
"No," he said. "Not everything. But you, Aria—" His finger dropped, pressing against the insignia mark faintly glowing on her wrist. "You are mine to command. You will remember that."
The pressure sent a shiver through her veins, as though the tree's own glow recoiled at his touch. She bit her lip to keep from gasping.
And then, just as suddenly, the pressure lifted. He straightened, cloak falling back into place.
"Return to your cell."
The words snapped like a closing lock.
At his signal, two guards emerged from the shadows, armored in black and silver. Their faces were obscured, but their grip on their weapons needed no translation.
Aria's gaze flickered once more toward Xyren. He hadn't moved. He stood where he had been, arms folded, eyes storm-bright in the dark. No resistance. No help.
But there — for just a heartbeat — she thought she saw something in his stare. Not pity. Not defiance. Something heavier. A weight she could not name.
The guards closed in. Lirien turned away, already dismissing her from his mind as though she were a note he had finished reading.
Aria's throat tightened. Fear pressed in with every step as the guards guided her back toward the shadows of the halls. Yet the image clung to her — Xyren watching, silent, bound not by chains but by something deeper.
Something that made her feel both less alone, and more trapped than ever.
The guards' footsteps echoed through the corridors, and the glow of the Tree of Life dimmed behind her. She wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight of Lirien's command still rang in her ears.
Return to your cell.
The words felt like iron shackles, dragging her down into the dark.
And as the door shut behind her, locking her once more inside the narrow chamber of stone, Aria sank to the floor, breath shaking.
For the first time since arriving in Carfein, she truly felt what it meant to be caught between shadows.
Not free. Not safe.
Only watched.
Always watched.
And the image of Xyren's eyes in the dark — distant, unreadable — haunted her long into the silence of the night.