The Boy Without Words

The marble steps of the Rock & Roll Syndicate Auction House shimmered under floating crystal lights. Velvet banners hung from arched pillars, each etched with gilded emblems of power. The doors—tall and ancient—opened like the jaws of fate.

Jimmy stepped in, his presence quiet but unnatural. A cloth bandage concealed his eyes, his expression unreadable. The air was thick with perfume, chatter, and something more—opulence laced with wariness.

He moved calmly, guided by scent and vibration.

Inside, waiters glided like ghosts in tailored uniforms, carrying silver trays. Holographic guides floated above them. People in silk robes and radiant Armor laughed, bartered, and drank wine brewed from mythic fruits.

It was then Jimmy noticed the unmistakable purple lotus emblems on the chests of two men standing near the inner chambers.

Arcana.

His breath slowed.

The Sundial Shrine

At the far end of the entrance chamber, a mesmerizing structure towered—a grand rotating hourglass bathed in golden hues, suspended mid-air. Like a living relic, it spun in harmony with the unseen tempo of time.

Jimmy paused, his heart recognizing what his mind couldn't fully name.

The hourglass shimmered… almost like the Sun Dial Whisp he'd seen in the plaza. Was this part of that dream—or another layer of reality watching him?

He turned away. No answers. Not yet.

Near the hallway leading to the private auction rooms, he checked the glowing schedule board. His number blinked:

S-135: Bronze Circle Lounge, Hall 3.

As he proceeded, two guards stopped him.

"Ticket," one of them said, arms crossed.

Jimmy nodded, pulling it from his coat.

The second guard squinted. "Photo verification required. Remove your blindfold."

Jimmy raised his device and typed:"Can you really see it?"

They sneered. "Protocol. Just open it."

He hesitated, then slowly untied the cloth.

Their smirk dropped instantly. His eye socket—if it could be called that—was a swirling black void, darker than night. The guard turned away, gagging slightly.

"Close it! Damn it—cover that thing!"

Before he could react, a woman's sharp voice cut through the tension.

"Did you even read his file?"

A tall woman in a fitted silver suit stormed in. Her heels echoed like thunder.

"Tie that blindfold again. Now. And if I ever see you treat a guest this way again, I'll have your badge."

The guards shrunk like children. She turned to Jimmy and adjusted his blindfold with surprising care.

"You're S-135? Follow Chimi."

A floating Whisp with four mechanical wings beckoned. "This way, honored guest."

As they left, one of the guards whispered, "No way he's just F-Rank. No pet, no aura. How the hell did he get in?"

........................................................

The laughter stung more than the words.

Jimmy sat quietly at Table S-135, his fingers resting on the edge of the cloth. His blindfold, wrapped neatly over his hollow gaze, gave no expression. But everyone stared anyway. Some in mockery. Some in curiosity. None with kindness.

"Is he even supposed to be here?" someone whispered.

A man at a nearby table scoffed, loud enough to be heard. "Looks like a performer who got lost. Where's your jester stick, mute boy?"

That triggered more chuckles. One of them even tossed a grape at Jimmy's table.

He said nothing.

Did nothing.

His silence only made it worse.

"He's blind, mute, and alone. What's the point of him coming here? This is a Whisp auction, not a charity corner."

Then someone—bolder, crueller—tried to tip Jimmy's chair back.

But before it could fall—

"Enough."

The voice came sharp, feminine, and cold as polished steel.

A woman in black stood near the side corridor. Her gown shimmered faintly like flowing ink under moonlight. A small Arcana insignia gleamed at her shoulder—marking her as one of the elite guards stationed to oversee the auction's security.

Her steps were measured as she crossed the chamber. One by one, heads turned. The guards who had been watching did nothing to stop her. No one dared interrupt.

She approached Jimmy's table and let her gaze sweep across the gathered guests.

"He is still more composed than any of you." Her words were a lash wrapped in silk.

Those people stammered, stepping forward. "Madam, I—I wasn't aware—"

She raised a hand. Silence returned.

"The Rock & Roll Syndicate prides itself on exclusivity. On honour. Not on petty cruelty."

Her eyes found the man who had mocked Jimmy.

"You're done."

Guards appeared from the side in sync with her words. Two men—those who had laughed and insulted—were escorted out, their faces burning with humiliation.

"No place here for arrogance masked as wealth," she added.

Then she turned to the staff. "This guest is assigned Table S-135. Give him a private suite immediately. Food."

One of the servers nodded and rushed to act.

The woman didn't look at Jimmy again, didn't expect thanks. Her job was simple: maintain order. Guard the event.

Without flourish, she walked away—vanishing back into the corridor she came from.

No prophecy. No whisper of fate. No secret knowledge.

Just a guard doing her duty.

And Jimmy?

He didn't flinch. Didn't smile. But something inside his chest released its grip.

The cruelty had passed.

The staff came shortly after and bowed deeply. "Sir, we apologize for the treatment. Please follow me to a guest room prepared for you. It includes a full view of the auction floor, food service, and private security."

Jimmy stood, nodded, and followed.

A few minutes later…

The room he was given shimmered with warm golden lights and had a large one-way viewing window overlooking the auction floor. A silver tray of food awaited him. No words. No noise.

Only quiet.

Jimmy sat, released Luna from the Mind's Garden. She curled beside him and glanced up.

........................................................

The ballroom dimmed like a setting sun, golden chandeliers withdrawing their brilliance into a soft twilight. Only the circular stage at the centre remained illuminated—bathed in molten hues of amber and white light, as if forged by a god's hand.

A hush swept the room, followed by a single elegant chime that echoed through the towering glass dome above.

From behind a curtain of shimmering silk stepped the auctioneer.

She was breath taking.

Draped in a flowing gown of ember-threaded velvet, her presence drew every gaze—hair the colour of wildfire cascading over one shoulder, and a single ear looped with gold wire that sparkled as she moved. Her voice was velvet smoke and wind over coals:

"Ladies. Gentlemen. Masters of Whisps and Seekers of Wonder."

She tapped her golden staff gently against the platform—three distinct notes, like the start of a sacred rite.

"Welcome to the Morning Invocation. Hosted by the Rock & Roll Syndicate once every 5 Years. A celebration of rarity… and risk."

Behind her, soft light revealed a levitating display orb.

Jimmy, seated silently at private room, adjusted the crystalline earpiece handed to him earlier. The waiter had also placed a sleek envelope beside his plate. Inside it:

📜 RULEBOOK – Rock & Roll Auction HousePlease read before placing your first bid.

No power usage is allowed on other participants unless permitted by duel clause or auction staff.

Attempting to steal, threaten, or kill a guest will result in instant banishment and marking by the Sun Dial Whisp—a permanent brand of dishonour.

Bidding is open and unlimited, unless otherwise stated. Enjoy the thrill.

All payments include a 5% auction house fee.

Do not weaponize your own Whisp's presence to intimidate or force bidding behaviour.

Smile. It's a party. A dangerous, thrilling one.— Happy Auctioning.

As Jimmy tucked the rulebook away, the host's voice returned—this time brighter, hungrier.

"Let us begin with something to warm your spirits."

With a subtle gesture, the first item rose into view—a triad of scarlet flasks, swirling with fire-like luminescence, held within a heat-protected sphere.

"Item No. 1 — Three S-Fire Grade Elixirs, refined from Flame Basilisk Rock core and Pyrestone nectar. Grants temporary affinity boosts, healing fire-type Whisps, and enhances solar absorption."

The sphere rotated, casting fiery reflections across the audience.

"Starting bid: 480,000 T-Coins."

"Two hundred," someone called.

"Two fifty," another voice, bold and sharp.

"Three hundred!"

The numbers rose like flames on dry grass.

Jimmy sat still. He had no interest in the potions.

.........................................

He could feel it.

Soon, it would rise.

And when it did… the real auction would begin.

# tell me in comments if I mismatch the timing of the day or not. Keep following and Keep Supporting, Ladies & Gentlemen.