Isaiah had faced judgment before.
House Elders.
Soldiers.
Family who loved him but didn't know how to forgive.
None of that prepared him for a man hanging upside down from a ceiling, smiling like life had never touched him.
The Smiling Gentleman swung gently, hands folded behind his head, eyes bright with amusement. He studied Isaiah the way a child studies fire, not afraid, just curious.
"Relax, champ," he said. "If I wanted you dead, we'd be having this conversation in a much shorter format."
Isaiah didn't laugh.
The Elders cleared their throats, a rare sound of collective discomfort.
"Commander," one of them warned. "This is not the time."
The Smiling Gentleman gasped theatrically.
"Wow. Hurtful. This is exactly the time."
He dropped from the ceiling without a sound, landing barefoot on the stone like gravity had personally apologized to him.
Up close, Isaiah noticed things that didn't make sense.
The man's eyes were kind.
Too kind.
Not naive.
Not ignorant.
Kind in the way someone becomes after surviving something so horrible they refuse to let it own them.
The Smiling Gentleman circled Isaiah slowly.
"Hmm," he hummed. "Lion posture. Tight shoulders. Heavy chest. Shame sitting right here-" he tapped Isaiah's sternum lightly, and Isaiah flinched "-and a whole lot of 'I pretend I'm fine' energy."
Isaiah snapped, "You don't know me."
The Smiling Gentleman stopped.
Turned.
Smiled wider.
"You're right," he said softly.
"I feel you."
The air shifted.
Not pressure.
Not fear.
Lightness.
For one brief, horrifying second, Isaiah felt his guilt loosen, like fingers unclenching around his heart.
He staggered back, breath hitching.
"What, what did you just do?" Isaiah whispered.
The Elders stiffened.
The Smiling Gentleman raised his hands innocently.
"Whoa, relax. No DOMA tricks. Just vibes."
"That was a DOMA," one Elder said sharply.
The Smiling Gentleman tilted his head.
"Was it?"
Silence.
Uncomfortable.
Suspicious.
The Elders didn't press further. They never did with him.
Isaiah swallowed hard.
His heart was pounding, but something inside felt... quieter.
And that scared him more than pain ever had.
The Smiling Gentleman crouched in front of Isaiah, eye level now.
"Listen, Lion Cub," he said gently. "This place? It will not heal you. Healing is DIY."
He tapped Isaiah's chest again, softer this time.
"But it will teach you how to carry the broken parts without letting them leak everywhere."
Isaiah clenched his jaw.
"I don't want to hurt anyone again."
The Smiling Gentleman's smile faded, not completely, just enough to show depth beneath it.
"Good," he said.
"Fear is proof you still care."
He stood and stretched.
"Council, I'm taking him."
The Elders reacted immediately.
"You will not..."
"He has not been assessed..."
"This violates protocol..."
The Smiling Gentleman waved them off.
"Protocol is for people who already know themselves," he said. "This one's still meeting his shadow."
The first Elder narrowed her eyes.
"Where?"
The Smiling Gentleman grinned.
"The Hall of Quiet Truths."
Isaiah blinked.
"That sounds illegal."
"It should be," the Commander replied cheerfully.
Before anyone could object further, the Smiling Gentleman snapped his fingers.
The world tilted.
The Hall of Quiet Truths
They stood in a vast open chamber with no walls, just endless horizon under a sky that looked permanently stuck between dusk and dawn.
The ground beneath Isaiah's feet was smooth black stone, warm like sun-soaked rock.
"No guards?" Isaiah asked.
"No weapons?"
"No exits?
The Smiling Gentleman shrugged.
"Why would we need any of that?"
Isaiah's chest tightened.
Then
The silence arrived.
Not Nocturne's silence.
This was different.
This silence listened.
Isaiah's thoughts grew louder.
Memories sharpened.
His hands began to tremble.
"Oh no," he muttered. "Nah. I don't like this place."
The Smiling Gentleman nodded sympathetically.
"No one does."
A shape began forming ahead of them, not a person, not fully.
A moment.
A memory.
Isaiah's knees buckled as the night returned.
The argument.
The raised voice.
The push that became a fall.
The sound, not loud, just final.
Isaiah collapsed to the stone, hands clutching his head.
"I didn't mean to-" he gasped. "I swear I didn't-"
The Smiling Gentleman didn't interrupt.
Didn't comfort.
Didn't soften it.
He just stood there.
Witnessing.
"That's it," he said quietly.
"Don't run. Look."
Isaiah screamed, not loudly, but from somewhere deep, raw, animal.
The memory burned.
Then
A pulse.
From Isaiah's chest.
Not power.
Pain.
The stone beneath him cracked, just a little.
A faint pressure rippled outward.
The Smiling Gentleman's eyes widened, just a fraction.
"Oh," he murmured.
"There you are."
The silence thickened.
Isaiah gasped, clutching his heart as something answered him from within, something heavy, restrained, waiting.
Not formed.
Not named.
But awake.
The Smiling Gentleman crouched beside him.
"Congratulations," he said softly.
"You didn't break."
Isaiah looked up, tears streaking his face.
"I feel like I did."
The Smiling Gentleman smiled - gentle, proud.
"That's how you know it's real."
The horizon darkened.
Far away, unseen by Isaiah-
the Quiet King lifted his head.
And for the first time in years...
Nocturne stirred in recognition.