Above, the Watchful World

Chapter Eight: When the Night Melted

- - -

Before the night could melt away, there was a letter, a glance, and a single sentence that overturned the balance between blood and mercy. A child spoke, a man obeyed, and a mother broke… then the fire awoke.

- - - -

---

— Raphael —

It hadn't been many hours since one of the Shira summoned me.

It was unexpected — not only because they rarely move,

but because of the strange feeling that overtook me the moment I heard the order…

as if something inside me shrank without permission.

About five hours, no more.

And I still remember holding my breath, pretending to stay composed.

They are... children.

Yes, mere children.

But...

The title of Shira does not distinguish age or gender.

Only they have the right to resemble no one.

Only they are reshaped to surpass their primal nature.

And therein lies the dread.

Every time I meet one of them, I tremble inside,

even if my face remains frozen.

There's something in their eyes...

or in their coldness...

or maybe in the way they look at you

as if they know everything you've never said.

I was told my mission concerned a servant girl.

I didn't give it much thought.

Servants fall like autumn leaves in this palace — no one cares.

Blood contracts are not governed by emotion,

and I ask for nothing more than clear instructions.

I conducted interrogations.

Took notes.

Memorized the details.

The Shira I work with dislikes reading. She prefers to command and forget.

I was finishing my last note

when I heard light footsteps, evenly spaced.

I didn't need to look.

Soft steps in this place belong only to those with seals.

I fixed my appearance, straightened my posture…

then realized I had forgotten to take off the robe.

I rushed to correct the mistake,

dropped to one knee, removed it with a trembling hand,

then took my place to the Shira's left.

Still... sweat trickled from my brow.

The child sitting before me — the one everyone knows as the youngest Shira —

was not blinking.

His eyes were calm... far too calm.

And when he finally spoke,

his words came out flat, emotionless,

as if the decision had already been made and filed away in his mind.

"It's fine."

Two words. That was all.

And suddenly, I realized I was breathing.

As though life had returned to my limbs after a brief eternity.

Ishwar left after finishing his meal.

He placed a small note on the table,

then exited through the door Aiant had opened for him —

with a ceremonial calm that felt more like the end of a ritual than a meal.

Even after they were gone,

the silence remained suspended in the basement...

as if the walls themselves were keeping what could not be said.

---

— Ishwar —

Everything felt dull.

The meal.

The conversation.

The air.

Even his features — Aiant — looked far too familiar.

The way he sat...

His extreme stillness...

That detachment from the moment.

He resembles him.

That person.

I don't know if it's just an illusion...

or a memory left open by accident.

But I see him in Aiant.

As if souls repeat themselves.

As if our mistakes are reborn in other bodies.

I... I know this state.

Detachment.

It started when I was seven… in my first life.

I began to kill without crying.

Without hesitation.

Without asking: why?

Then… the guilt disappeared.

That's how memory works.

It erases what hurts,

and leaves just enough for you to continue.

But I haven't forgotten completely.

Small pieces of that child still scream inside me.

That's why I don't want Aiant to become the same.

I don't want him to repeat the same cycle of pain.

But he's already started...

And that... is my fault.

He needed a companion.

And I needed a shadow that wouldn't ask questions.

And he volunteered.

I never asked for him.

But...

I wish I hadn't let him get close.

I stayed by his side because I needed someone who understood my silence.

He understood... and melted into it.

I know staying here will take me back to him.

Will remind me of that look.

That end.

So that's enough.

Enough.

I stand.

I leave.

I shut down my hunger.

And I leave him behind — once again.

---

— After Aiant and Ishwar left the room —

The corridor quieted.

The small footsteps vanished...

and the echo of the last door closed on a heavy stillness.

I was alone.

Me... and the spy.

No voice rises from her severed mouth.

No voice descends from my noisy mind.

Aiant...

That child...

How?

How can a four-year-old freeze the air like that?

Utter stone-like words and walk away as if nothing happened?

I didn't expect him to be the one to speak.

None of us did.

He said "It's fine"...

As if my life wasn't hanging in the balance.

He let me breathe.

But I didn't feel relief.

Something inside me froze when he spoke.

And it stayed frozen, even after he left.

I slowly put my robe back on.

My hands didn't obey easily.

My shoulders were heavy.

In my mind, the orders were clear:

Execute.

Execute as instructed.

I picked up the paper.

Read the instructions.

Then looked at her... the spy.

Her limbs bound, her soul absent.

No words.

No resistance.

No remnants of a human.

I whispered,

as if laughing at something utterly humorless:

"How pathetic."

But I... didn't laugh.

I raised my hand.

Ran it over my face.

Then over my hair.

Once.

Twice.

Three times...

And murmured, so softly I didn't even hear myself:

"I'm no different from you."

I execute.

Just like you.

I too... am a tool.

Do I think I'm better?

Do I claim nobility because I don't cut the tongue with my own hand?

Is writing orders in elegant ink enough to make me clean?

No.

I know what I am.

Just a shadow,

moving according to whoever lights the path —

be it light,

or fire.

And what terrifies me most...

is that I'm starting to get used to it.

---

It was late.

And the wind had no intention of stopping.

There was a strange silence in the palace.

As if someone had strangled the walls and hidden all sound.

Ategjila sat.

Just sat.

Trying not to collapse.

"Your Majesty… we're sorry."

Whispered the servant emerging from the dark.

Softly.

As if not to awaken a disaster.

"We... found something."

Then silence.

As if words could save no one.

She rose slowly.

She didn't ask.

She didn't scream.

But the entire world beneath her skin began to freeze.

She walked with slow steps,

as if treading the edge of memory.

Everything around her began to lose its voice,

its color,

its meaning.

And then she saw.

There was no need for details.

Blood knows its way.

And absence needs no explanation.

Everything left of her collapsed.

She knelt.

Held what warmth remained,

what was left of her name.

She closed her eyes.

Let her tears bleed without permission.

"Elza…"

She murmured the name

as if saying goodbye for the first time —

and the last.

"I'm sorry."

"I pushed you to this."

"You... weren't ready."

The tears hardened.

But something else stirred inside her.

Something like fire.

Quiet.

Willing to wait.

But unforgiving.

She lifted her head.

She wasn't just a noblewoman.

She was a mother.

"Gather the allies."

She said without looking at anyone.

"Not for war."

"But for memory."

---

"…And when the night melted, the sun did not rise as it used to.

It looked on from afar,

as if waiting for the day to begin…

in a silence that knew what had happened,

and did not intend to forget."