The Night Takes Notice
The rumors reached the outer districts before the council finished arguing.
By the time Lumi and Blake descended into the lower city, the streets of Noctyrrh hummed with a tension that felt different from fear. Lanterns of shadowglass burned brighter than usual, casting soft halos instead of sharp silhouettes. People watched from doorways—not with reverence, but with expectation.
That unsettled Blake more than open defiance ever had.
"They're hoping," he murmured.
Lumi walked beside him, her steps measured. "Hope is dangerous here."
"Yes," Blake said. "That's why the council will try to kill it."
The truth stirred uneasily at her words.
At twenty-two, Lumi had learned that when people hoped too loudly, the world listened—and often punished them for it. She felt the pressure now, a subtle pull beneath her ribs, as if the realm itself were leaning closer.
A woman stepped forward from the crowd, clutching a child to her chest. Her eyes were red, her voice trembling.
"Truth Bearer," she said. "Is it true the night has softened?"
The lie shimmered faintly beneath the question—not malice, but desperation.
Lumi hesitated.
Blake's presence at her side was steady, grounding. The shadows around them waited.
"Yes," Lumi said gently. "But softness does not mean safety."
The woman bowed her head, tears spilling freely.
That single answer rippled outward.
Whispers spread faster now. Some fell to their knees. Others reached out, brushing fingers through thinning shadow as if touching proof of something they barely dared name.
Blake felt the shift immediately.
"This is how rebellions begin," he said quietly.
"This is how faith begins," Lumi replied.
They returned to the palace to find the council chamber sealed—and guarded.
Inside, the elders stood in a half-circle, faces pale with fury.
"You have destabilized centuries of order," one of them hissed. "The curse holds Noctyrrh together. Without it—"
"Without it," Lumi interrupted calmly, "you lose control."
Pain flared sharply.
The truth burned hotter here, angrier, as if the walls themselves resented being challenged.
Blake stepped forward, shadows coiling protectively. "You will not threaten her."
An elder laughed bitterly. "We don't need to. The realm will tear her apart for us."
That was a lie.
Lumi tasted blood instantly.
"They plan to separate us," she said through the pain. "They believe distance will restore the curse."
Blake's expression hardened to something lethal. "They will not touch you."
"Not openly," Lumi said. "They'll send others."
Assassins. Zealots. Those who feared change more than death.
The council chamber seemed to shrink around them.
"Then let them come," Blake said. "The night will answer me."
Lumi shook her head. "No. The night is already answering both of us."
Silence fell.
Outside, thunderless tremors rippled through Noctyrrh. The shadows along the palace walls recoiled, then stilled, as if startled by their own hesitation.
For the first time in generations, the curse wavered.
And deep beneath the city, something ancient stirred—drawn not to fear or blood, but to the fragile, dangerous sound of truth spoken without pain.