The Cost of Listening
The first headache nearly took Iria to her knees.
It struck without warning in the middle of the western thoroughfare—one moment she was walking, the next the world tilted, sound flattening into a single, piercing note. She caught herself against a stone column, breath sharp, vision dimming at the edges.
The want had spiked.
Not in volume, but in density.
It pressed inward, no longer a tide but a weight, compact and relentless. Iria squeezed her eyes shut, teeth clenched, trying to separate herself from it.
It didn't work.
A hand steadied her shoulder. "Easy."
Kael's voice cut through the haze. She hadn't known he was there, only that his presence felt like an anchor—contained, deliberate.
"You should have told someone," he said quietly.
"I did," she muttered. "They told me to breathe."
He snorted softly. "Figures."
They moved her off the street and into a narrow alcove between shops, the hum of the city muffled but not gone. Iria slid down to sit on the cool stone, head in her hands.
"This is new," she said. "It didn't hurt like this before."
"That's because you weren't in the middle of it," Kael replied. "Listening from the edges is different than listening from the table."
The headache ebbed slightly, replaced by exhaustion that sank into her bones. The want lingered—quieter now, but sharper, as if it had learned how to focus.
She laughed weakly. "They're not even doing anything wrong."
Kael crouched in front of her. "Power rarely does. That's how it gets invited in."
Footsteps approached. Lumi and Blake emerged from the crowd, concern written plainly across Lumi's face.
"This can't continue," Lumi said, kneeling beside Iria. "You're not meant to absorb this much."
"I'm not absorbing it," Iria protested. "I'm just hearing it."
Lumi shook her head. "Listening without release is still a kind of holding."
Iria swallowed. "So what do I do? Tell people to stop wanting things?"
Blake spoke softly. "You choose what you carry."
The idea felt impossible.
"How?" Iria asked. "It all sounds the same."
Lumi considered her for a long moment. "It doesn't," she said. "You're just afraid to prioritize."
Iria frowned. "That feels… wrong."
"Yes," Lumi agreed. "And necessary."
They helped Iria to her feet. The world steadied, though the ache behind her eyes remained, a reminder of limits she hadn't known she had.
As they walked, Iria noticed something new.
The want from the Concord chamber felt different than the want from the city. Polished. Focused outward. Designed to move, not settle.
"It's not just me," Iria said slowly. "They're shaping it."
Kael glanced at her. "Shaping desire?"
"Yes," she said. "Encouraging some. Quieting others. Making certain wants feel reasonable, and others… selfish."
Lumi's expression darkened. "That's not governance. That's cultivation."
They stopped at the edge of the terrace overlooking the city. Lights flickered below, warm and hopeful. Too hopeful.
Iria rested her hands on the stone railing. "If they can teach people what to want," she said, "then listening won't be enough."
Blake's reflection in the glass was sharp. "Then the cost will rise."
Iria straightened, resolve cutting through the lingering pain.
"Then I need to learn how to push back," she said. "Not by silencing desire—but by reminding people it's theirs."
Lumi smiled, tired but proud. "That lesson always hurts."
The headache pulsed once more, then settled into something bearable.
Iria stared out over Noctyrrh, understanding now that the cost of listening was not pain alone.
It was responsibility.
And it was already asking more of her than she'd planned to give.