Six months slipped by, and in all that ti Serah had not heard a single whisper, not even a fragnt of a word, from Marcus. Her frustration had never been so consuming, so maddeningly sharp, that concealing it beca a battle of its own. For a woman who had long trained herself to mask her emotions behind discipline and poise, she still managed to keep the mask intact for the common knights under her command and even before her father, the King. Yet despite all her efforts, there were still two people who saw right through her façade as though it were glass: her younger brother, Galen, and her mother, Queen Seralyne.
They both recognized the storm brewing within her. Seralyne, ever wise and gentle, chose not to press her daughter, content to let Serah fight her private battle in her own way. Galen, however—being Galen—was far less rciful. He knew exactly why his sister was this restless, who it was that haunted her thoughts and unsettled her calm. But sympathy was never his weapon of choice. No, Galen wielded mockery and mischief like a blade, planning from the start to make Serah’s misery worse under the guise of "brotherly love."
And true to form, he delivered. Every teasing remark, every sly grin and cutting comnt, he hurled them without restraint. Serah, however, knew her brother too well not to expect it. For months she endured his antics, keeping her composure, deflecting his jabs with the patience of soone who had danced this dance countless tis before. But even so, each exchange only reminded her more of the silence she couldn’t escape—the silence Marcus had left her in.
To drown that gnawing emptiness, she buried herself in training and in duty. Patrols across Ilis, oversight of Zone 15, endless drills, and ceaseless work—anything to occupy her mind, to keep her body moving so the quiet would not consu her. But no matter how hard she pushed herself, no matter how much sweat or blood she spilled in training, the frustration never dulled. If anything, it festered, growing sharper, heavier with each day that passed without his presence.
***
Within the pristine, echoing walls of the Solara Palace, Serah sat in her office, draped in the weight of duty. Behind her desk, scattered papers sprawled before her—reports upon reports detailing the rise of criminal activity across the Zone, petty thieves and organized cri syndicates taking bold steps into spaces they dared not occupy before. At the sa ti, reports showed a strange decline in demon activity, a shift she couldn’t quite make sense of, one that left her instincts uneasy.
The flickering light of the afternoon sun poured in through the tall windows, casting shadows across the ink and parchnt. Serah leaned back in her chair, exhaustion weighing her shoulders, and allowed her eyes to drift shut. The endless words of the reports blurred behind her eyelids, giving way to silence. For a mont, she simply breathed. Then, with a soft exhale, she opened her eyes again, gazing up at the ceiling. Her crimson eyes, dulled from fatigue, held a searching glint beneath the tired haze.
"Where are you, Marcus?" she whispered, her voice breaking the quiet. The frustration behind the words was sharp, aching, almost a plea she hadn’t ant to give voice to.
She let her eyes close again, as though perhaps in darkness she might find rest from both the work and the gnawing absence within her. But the stillness was soon interrupted by a knock at her office door.
"Co in," Serah called, her eyes remaining shut.
The door creaked open, and the soft steps of a maid entered the room.
"Princess," the maid greeted with a small bow of her head. "The Queen has requested your presence. She is waiting for you in the garden."
Serah’s eyes opened, fixing upon the maid with calm acknowledgnt, though a flicker of curiosity stirred within her gaze. "I will be there in a mont."
"Understood," the maid replied, bowing once more before quietly withdrawing, the door shutting softly behind her.
Alone again, Serah lingered in thought. Why would her mother call for her at such an hour? What matter pressed so deeply that it could not wait until the usual council or the following day? She sat in silence for a short while, her mind wandering, before finally rising from her chair. Straightening her attire, she left the office behind and made her way toward the garden.
***
The palace gardens shimred beneath the glow of the late afternoon sun, the air filled with the gentle hum of cicadas and the faint perfu of roses carried on the breeze. Marble paths wound through lush hedges, and at the center, beneath the shade of a grand sumr hut draped in climbing vines, Queen Seralyne sat in tranquil repose. A porcelain teacup rested delicately in her hand, steam curling into the air, while four maids stood nearby in perfect stillness, ever attentive.
Queen Seralyne was, as always, a vision of quiet regality. Despite her age, her beauty had only matured into sothing even more striking. Her long white hair—passed down only to he olderest son, Galen—flowed down her back in shimring strands, catching the sunlight like spun silver. Her dark silver eyes, deep and knowing, carried a calm gravity that both comforted and unsettled those who t them.
The mont Serah stepped into view, her mother’s gaze lifted, and with a serene smile, she gestured toward the seat across from her. "Sit, my daughter."
Serah obeyed, smoothing her garnts as she lowered herself into the chair opposite the Queen. Without delay, Seralyne poured her a fresh cup of tea, the soft clink of porcelain filling the space between them. She pushed the cup gently toward her daughter before shifting her attention to the maids.
"You may go for a walk," the Queen said, her tone light but carrying the weight of command.
"Yes, Your Grace," the maids replied in unison, bowing before gliding away, their footsteps fading across the gravel path until the two won were alone together.
For a mont, the air hung still, save for the chirp of birds and the faint bubbling of a fountain not far off. Then Seralyne began with her usual warmth, her voice like velvet. "How fare your duties, my child? Are the burdens light enough, or have they grown heavy of late?"
Serah took her cup, inhaling the fragrant steam before answering evenly, "Everything is fine, Mother. Nothing too hectic, especially with the recent reduction in demon attacks. Patrols are lighter, and the city is... calr than usual."
Seralyne nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "That is good to hear. Quiet days are a rare blessing, and you deserve them." She paused, letting her words linger, then tilted her head as her tone shifted, soft yet piercing. "And what of yourself, Serah? How fares your own life?"
The question landed like a blade slipped between the cracks of armor. Serah froze, her fingers tightening ever so slightly on the teacup. She forced her lips into the faintest smile, a mask well-practiced. "I am fine as well, Mother."
But Seralyne’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with gentle amusent. "There is no use in lying to , child. I am your mother. It takes nothing but a second to know when sothing troubles you."
Serah’s crimson eyes softened with a flicker of defeat. Truly, nothing slipped past her mother. Silence stretched between them as Serah weighed her words, but before she could speak, Seralyne leaned forward ever so slightly, her voice gentle but firm. "Tell , what is the source of your frustration? I know it has nothing to do with your work. No... it is a boy, is it not?"
Serah exhaled heavily, her shoulders sinking. She gave her mother a tired glance. "Did Galen tell you anything?"
Seralyne shook her head, a strand of her white hair slipping forward over her shoulder. "No. He has said nothing." Her tone was steady, honest, and Serah believed her without hesitation. For all her wisdom and cunning, her mother had never been one to lie to her children. And as for Galen—despite his mischief—he would never betray his sister’s trust, not in sothing so personal.
Serah’s gaze lowered, and with another sigh, she confessed, "It is... a boy."
Intrigue flickered in Seralyne’s eyes, her silver gaze sharpening like steel catching sunlight. Her daughter hadn’t spoken of a man in so long, hadn’t shown interest in anyone in years. For soone to stir such visible frustration in her ant only one thing—he mattered. Deeply. "Who is he?" she asked softly.
"I... can’t tell you," Serah replied, her voice low but firm. "Not yet."
Seralyne studied her in silence for a mont, then asked with quiet curiosity, "Would your father approve of him? Is he the kind of man your father would accept?"
Serah said nothing. Her silence was louder than any answer she could give. Seralyne leaned back, her smile returning, small and knowing. "Ah... I see."
But she pressed no further. She was too loving, too careful to force her daughter into corners she wasn’t ready to reveal. Instead, she let the matter rest, her hand resting lightly on her teacup. Her voice softened once again, no longer Queen to princess, but mother to daughter. "Then at least tell this, Serah. What is it about this man that draws you to him? What do you see in him that has left you so restless? And what has he done to frustrate you so?"
Serah hesitated, her crimson eyes shifting to the garden around them, as though the roses and the fountain could give her the words she struggled to find. Finally, she breathed out, her tone quieter, more vulnerable than before. "I don’t know much about him. Not really. But... speaking to him is easy. Natural. As though he understands without needing to explain myself. There’s sothing about him, sothing I can’t quite put my finger on, but it pulls in. Even when I try to keep my composure, even when I try to act calm, he makes feel... right."
She paused, the faintest smile tugging at her lips before it faded again. "And from what I’ve seen of him, I know he’s a man who keeps his word. That much, I trust. But..." her voice cracked just slightly, bitterness seeping in, "it’s been six months. Six months of silence. And now I don’t know what to think anymore."
Her words lingered in the quiet garden, heavy and raw. And across from her, Queen Seralyne studied her daughter with the eyes of a mother who understood more than Serah realized, her silence a comfort of its own.
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