The room was completely silent.
Not the comfortable kind of quiet with rustling pages or distant footsteps, but a heavy, absolute stillness that pressed on the ears like water pressure at the bottom of a well. It was the first ti Raphael had ever ’seen’ silence so clearly—like a thick, invisible curtain dropped over the world, cutting him off from everything living and breathing beyond these four walls.
On the other side of the palace, Heenahad no such luxury.
She had ’just’ decided to collapse onto the soft couch in her inner lounge, fingers aching from holding brushes and seals, eyes burning from too many docunts written in too-small script. She’d kicked off her formal shoes and was reaching for the cushion when the door burst open with enough force to make the hinges protest.
A breathless minister practically fell to his knees, robes askew from running. "Your Majesty, the surgery wing requests your imdiate presence. They need your approval for the new identification tags, the allocation lists for dical supplies, and... and several other urgent matters that cannot wait."
Heenaclosed her eyes for one long, suffering second.
She had been running nonstop for five days—inspections at the grain warehouses, audits of the military supply chains, ergency court sessions, reviewing ration distributions for the outer provinces, approving ergency asures for three different crises that had sohow all decided to happen simultaneously. Every single ti she thought she could finally rest, another fire appeared that apparently only the Empress herself could put out.
But she was the Empress. She couldn’t just throw the work back at them and go to sleep like a normal person.
With a sigh that ca from sowhere deep in her bones, she pushed herself upright, sliding her feet back into her shoes with resigned efficiency. "Fine. Lead the way. But if I die from overwork before I’m thirty, I’m going to haunt you first. You specifically."
The minister paled. "Y-yes, Your Majesty. This humble servant will accept responsibility."
"Good. Let’s go."
While she walked toward the surgery area with quick, practiced steps that made her robes swirl, Raphael sat at his small table in his silent room, stuffing food into his mouth like a starved man who’d just discovered the concept of eating.
The plates never stopped coming. Morning, noon, night—soone always brought him fresh, hot dishes: rich soup with floating herbs, soft bread still warm from the ovens, roasted at that fell off the bone, fruits arranged artfully, delicate sweets that dissolved on the tongue. Water in crystal pitchers, fragrant tea in porcelain cups, even light wine that sparkled gold in the afternoon sun.
It was obscene how much he was being fed. Any other noble would have called it pampering, would have praised the generous hospitality of the palace.
But Raphael quickly realized the truth.
The food was perfect—not a single dish burned or underseasoned. The room was bright and airy, sunlight streaming through clean windows. His clothes were replaced daily with fresh robes, perfectly pressed and untouched by any rough handling.
Only ’people’ were missing.
The "servants" who ca in were shadow guards in disguise, their faces calm masks, eyes utterly unreadable. They would bow with chanical precision, set the tray down without a sound, maybe adjust the curtains or add wood to the fire, then turn to leave with the sa eerie silence.
No matter how many tis Raphael tried to speak—"Wait," "Please," "Can I ask sothing?" "Is Her Majesty well?" "When can I see her?" "Please, just one word"—they never answered. At best, a brief glance that slid over him like he was a piece of furniture. At worst, nothing at all, as if he’d never spoken. They simply slipped out and closed the door with a soft click, leaving him alone with his full plates and the crushing, suffocating quiet.
So he ate.
He ate because chewing was sound—the crack of nuts between his teeth, the soft tear of bread, the scrape of spoon against bowl.
Because swallowing filled the emptiness for a second, gave him sothing to do besides sit and think about the silence.
Because if he stopped eating, the quiet beca so loud it felt like it would swallow ’him’ instead, like he’d disappear into it and never be found again.
Five days passed like this. Five days of perfect als and perfect silence and perfect, crushing loneliness.
anwhile, Heenawas working herself half to death across the empire.
She barely slept. She ate standing up, signed docunts while walking between etings, consulted with generals at dawn and rchants at midnight. She was out of the palace more often than in it, traveling to inspect problem areas personally because delegating had sohow made things worse.
She was so busy, in fact, that she didn’t even notice when the five days were complete.
It was a shadow guard who reminded her.
She’d just finished reviewing the surgery wing’s new protocols—approving tags, signing off on equipnt purchases, listening to three different doctors argue about treatnt thods—and was stumbling back toward her study when a figure materialized from the darkness.
"Your Majesty." The shadow guard knelt smoothly. "The five days are complete."
Hina’s hand, reaching for the door handle, paused mid-air.
Right. Raphael.
She’d been so buried in work that she’d almost lost track of her own punishnt schedule. She’d given very simple orders before she’d left the palace on this nightmare week of inspections: feed him well, keep him clean, don’t lay a finger on him beyond basic care—and ’no one’ answers him. No matter what he asks, no matter how he begs, no one speaks. As soon as five days pass, unbolt the door and let him walk out if he wants.
"Did he leave?" Heenaasked without turning around, too tired to waste energy on unnecessary movent.
The guard hesitated—just a fraction of a second, but enough to be noticeable. "No, Your Majesty. High Priest Raphael has not exited the palace grounds. He remains in the guest wing. Waiting."
Heenafinally turned her head, one eyebrow rising slowly.
"...Waiting for ’’?" Her voice was flat with disbelief.
"Yes, Your Majesty. He has been standing in the courtyard outside his quarters since dawn."
She clicked her tongue softly, a sound of profound irritation. Persistent bastard. Either his faith was stronger than she’d thought, or his guilt was eating him alive. Either way, she didn’t have ti to deal with him yet. She had seven more reports to review before she could even ’think’ about sleeping.
"Fine. Let him wait," she said, pulling open her study door. "No one touches him. No one talks to him. If he wants to stand in the courtyard for a month like so tragic statue, that’s his problem, not mine."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The shadow disappeared as silently as he’d co.
Heena collapsed into her chair with a groan and reached for the next stack of docunts.
On the other side of the city, Hina’s "green tea" experint was apparently working a ’little too well’.
She’d only half-seriously told Estov to go act like a ho-wrecking disaster and see how many of Seraphina’s supporters he could steal. Flirt here, smile there, pour so tea with delicate hands, drip a little vulnerability, question their faith in the heroine with sad, wounded eyes—classic green tea strategy. She’d expected him to maybe turn one or two heads, cause a minor scandal at most.
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