EndlessReverie
Chapter 9: Inner Voice
Continuation of Chapter 8: Legends (2)
𝚉𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗
05/27/2025
A/N: my brain was not braining today. i just took in a suggestion from my friend.
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After the wonderful event brought by the House of Navalia and Tempora — tranquility was brought to the main hall. The echoes of laughter and the melodies of orchestral strings had long faded.
Only the soft hush of wind threading through frosted ivy remained, rustling against the enchanted glass petals blooming under the snowless veil of midwinter essence and the slow fall of snowflakes.
The great hall had emptied, save for close peers and family having an after-party to have conversations with a deep discussion. Stewards were also quietly extinguishing lanterns and brushing silk from marble.
Towards the interiors of the solarium hidden by the shadow of the night and majestic lights blaring on the inside. Zairon and Ethereth were there, sitting silently as they took the warmth of the hearth.
Ethereth took her leave after she told Zairon that she'd find their siblings before she left. Zairon was now alone, his legs were crossed loosely on the carpet floor.
His gaze wasn't fixed on anything in particular — and yet it saw everything.
The banners with the sigils and emblems of their Sovereignty, the frost-covered panes that stretched from the floor towards the surface, and other furnitures that he remembered rummaging around when his curiosity got the better of him.
He didn't turn when the door opened nor the footsteps inching closer towards him.
"Zairon."
It was a voice woven of velvet and strength — motherly, composed, but with a hint of tenderness that only surfaced when she wasn't cloaked in her role as duchess.
Aidelie stood beside him, backlit by the moonlight steaming aside and from above. Her gown of soft plum and ivory shimmered faintly in the enchanted glow, and her silver tiara settled loosely above her braided silver hair that matches her son's lustrous hair.
She took a quiet breath.
"You slipped away," she said, not scolding, but curious. "Even before dessert."
Zairon tilted his head. "I don't like crowds, mother."
A smile teased at Aidelie's lips. "Is that so? Even when you're with your loving mother and doting sisters? Am I bothering my baby boy?"
He shrugged gently, shaking his head slowly. "N-not like that. I just like silence—it's a reminder of what you are to me, Mother. Tranquility."
Aidelie walked around slowly until she's facing him, the fire sparkles parting subtly with each step as if recognizing her essence. She knelt down on both of her knees before Zairon, her gown pooling like soft mist over the polished surface.
For a moment, neither spoke. The winter air between them felt like silk pulled thin — fragile, shimmering, real.
"Do you know," she began, brushing his cheek, "—this is where I met the wonders of life."
Her fingers shifted, rising before him with fluid grace.
Then—
A flick.
A single thread slipped from her fingertips, curling into the air like liquid starlight.
It shimmered, hovered, danced.
The magic twisted in a slow spiral, thin as breath and bright as dawn. The air tingled with warmth as the strand unfolded itself — not like fire, not like electricity, but like emotion made visible. As if her heartbeat had found a color.
Zairon's breath caught in his throat. He leaned forward, eyes wide, the soft glow reflecting in his irises like mirrored constellations.
Zairon blinked. "Mother, what is it?"
She smiled more fully now, her eyes turning distant — not absent, but reaching far into memory.
"This," Aidelie said, voice quiet as snowfall, "—is not what you imagined it is. It's not the trigger nor the initiation—not spellcraft, not invocation. Not even artifice."
She let the strand weave between her fingers — one, two, three — before shaping it into a petal that bloomed midair.
"It's the thread of soul. A living whisper of who we are, turned into form."
The petal unraveled into a snowflake — then a second — before it danced upward as if beckoning.
"When I was younger than your eldest sister," she continued, "I was told the soul was sacred. But I didn't understand it until I saw what it could become when offered freely."
Aidelie then intertwined the threads before looking at Zairon's gaze—it was admiration and great curiosity. She smiled at her boy. "Hold your hand out."
Zairon lifted a hand. The thread came to him as if called, spiraling gently around his fingers — warm, soft, alive.
Zairon felt warmth from the essence, much more warmer and gentle than the fireplace giving them heat. Zairon melted at the essence before speaking in quiet excitement.
"Will I make one too?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
Aidelie smiled. "One day. When your soul is ready to speak in colors of its own."
Then the magic slowly began to fade, dissolving into stardust that scattered around them like fireflies vanishing into frost.
Zairon stared at his hand as if trying to catch the last sparkle.
Aidelie cupped his small palms in hers.
"You were born with quiet threads," she murmured. "Ones I can't see yet. But they're there, waiting. And I believe… they'll speak louder than anyone's one day."
Zairon looked up at her, his voice distant. "Even louder than the fox?"
She blinked.
Then she laughed softly, brushing his silver hair back.
"Perhaps," she whispered. "Perhaps loud enough to call our guardian—Aikan—back.
And with that, they sat in silence once more — mother and son, wrapped in the remnants of soul-light and winter warmth, beneath the watchful banner of the fox that fluttered above them.
But the moment passed.
"…Come," she finally said, offering her hand. "Your father might not say it, but he was watching the door all night, waiting for you to reappear."
Zairon took her hand and stood.
But as they walked back through the arched glass of the solarium, the boy looked over his shoulder one more time — to where the banner fluttered, and the shadows behind it almost, just almost, formed ears and tails beneath the snowlight.
∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗
𓊆 Western Hall — Navalian Dining Hall 𓊇
Evening passed and the night had settled—gentle and deep. The music had begun once more but with a soft tune that fully envelops the peace in the now of time.
At the end of the long dining table, Aidelie first escorted her son towards her proper seat before sitting beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The warmth of their moment earlier still lingered in her chest — Zairon's wide eyes full of wonder, the thread of light dancing from her fingers, and that precious question he had asked.
At the end of the long dining table, Aidelie sat beside Zairon, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The warmth of their moment in the solarium still lingered in her chest — his wide eyes full of wonder, the thread of light dancing from her fingers, and that precious dream he had.
He was only four. Yet already, there was something behind those eyes — not merely curiosity, but weight. A knowing.
The door creaked slightly.
Sofia, flushed from laughter, entered first. Behind her came Yve, arms crossed, wearing the usual mock-displeasure that barely hid her concern. And finally, Ethereth, composed and quiet, trailed after with steps like whispering silk.
"There you are!" Sofia sang, practically floating toward the table. "We've been searching half the estate for you!"
"He wasn't lost," Ethereth replied evenly, her eyes settling on their mother. "He just returned back to the Solarium after he wandered."
"I didn't wander," Zairon said softly.
"Oh?" Yve tilted her head, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Then what do you call slipping away from the ballroom in the middle of the evening feast?"
"I was thinking."
Sofia giggled. "You're four! What do you need to think about?"
"Now, now—girls. I showed your brother essence," Aidelie replied gently, smoothing a hand through his hair. "He was amazed and full of curiosity—weren't you, my little fox?"
"Mom..." He muttered gently with a tinge of complaint as he gets kissed on his forehead.
Ethereth looked at him for a moment before speaking. "Mother, did you know—Heizen was still smiling when he walked off the dueling court. Afaren didn't look so lucky."
Sofia huffed a laugh. "Heizen didn't even break a sweat."
Yve shook her head. "That boy's ego is going to take weeks to patch."
Zairon stirred at their words. He heard people walking around the halls near the Solarium from where he stayed and discussed about the events that unfolded. Yet it was not clear, maybe he can guess.
He then spoke, his voice of uncertainty and question. "Did he lose because of his stance?"
The girls turned.
"What?" Yve blinked.
"You said Heizen didn't break a sweat," Zairon continued, voice soft but clear. "If Afaren pushed too hard in the first exchange, and Heizen didn't respond with force... it means he used his movements instead. He let the boy chase and fall into his own rhythm."
There was a silence.
Ethereth's eyes narrowed slightly, not in disapproval — but surprise. Sofia tilted her head, her smile caught halfway. Yve's mouth opened, then closed again.
"You weren't even there," Ethereth finally said.
And after Ethereth, Aidelie then murmured. "You're so peculiar, my son. Even when you said you weren't bothered to watch the duel."
Zairon looked up at her. "W-well, they described enough."
"Then how did you know Afaren lost badly?" Sofia asked, sliding into the seat beside him. "We didn't even talk about the details yet."
Zairon tapped a small finger against the wood of the table, quiet and thoughtful.
"You said Heizen smiled and walked away." He looked toward Ethereth. "And you said Afaren stumbled. That means Heizen didn't try hard. He probably let him waste energy."
They paused.
Aidelie's hand froze mid-pour of sweet tea. Sofia's mouth parted. Yve stared.
Ethereth blinked once, slowly.
"…That's exactly what happened," she said.
"What the hell," Yve muttered.
"Okay that's creepy," Sofia whispered.
Aidelie tilted her head slightly. "Accurate."
The door creaked again.
Heizen walked in, towel draped over one shoulder, shirt loosened, golden eyes calm but keen. "What's accurate?"
Sofia jabbed a thumb toward Zairon. "Your duel. Your tiny brother just played prophet and told us exactly how you won."
Heizen stared at Zairon for a beat. Then smiled. "Huh."
He crossed the room and dropped a heavy hand on Zairon's head, ruffling his silver hair.
"Already learning how to kill with just your eyes," he said, amused. "Good. Don't let these loud sisters distract you."
"Hey!" Sofia protested.
Yve threw a spoon at him. He caught it.
Ethereth just sighed and sat down beside Zairon.
"You're going to be dangerous when you grow up," she said softly.
Zairon looked at her, and for a moment, the firelight caught something old in his eyes.
Heizen caught it too.
He said nothing—but the smirk faded slightly from his lips.
Dangerous wasn't something admirable for someone. He had already considered that Zairon wasn't fit—he'll just be a little spectator that this family would adore.
He shouldn't...
∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗
﴾ Synthara Arkfal — Holoris Hall Tartarus ﴿
Far from the snow-dappled beauty of Navalia, another realm breathed under crystal skies—one etched in perfection—Synthara, or its capital of Arkfal. Where Navalia wore fur and stone and forest, where Luminark shines with the sunlight breeze and the light of Aether—Synthara shimmered in woven glass and polished essence.
Beneath the radiant domes of Holoris, where every corridor glimmered with logic and light, there existed one chamber that wasn't accessed by mere anyone. Where it never reached the sight of the star serving as their light.
Hall Tartarus — the buried spine of Holaris, a sanctum meant not for punishment, but for containment.
Where Synthara's brilliance cast no mercy, and light became a cage.
It was here that Alicia was confined.
The walls pulsed with low-frequency hums of containment essence — pale threads etched across blackened glass, moving like slow lightning veins.
They monitored her. Measured her.
Watched her soul.
She sat on a crystal dais suspended in the center of the room — barefoot, arms resting against her lap, the hem of her gown falling like liquid light. Still adorned in ceremonial white, but now shadowed by silence.
No toy. No vanity. No gardens. No stars.
Just her.
And the hum.
A pulse echoed in her chest — not her heartbeat, but the other one.
The one that didn't belong.
Or maybe it did.
"You are not alone."
The whisper again — a presence, buried within her mind, coiled like a mirror beneath the surface. It was silent, but she could hear it enough. It etched deep within her soul.
She should have been afraid.
And she was.
But not enough of it.
Only of the walls.
Only of the voice that she couldn't understand.
"... P-please stop..."
A soft chime.
The door folded open like a fracture of light, and Lucien, her father, stepped into the chamber. His coat was high-collared, sharp at the shoulders — woven from indigo and lattice-thread. His eyes held the cold gleam of a mind that measured stars like chess pieces.
He said nothing at first.
He didn't have to.
The silence bowed to him.
Alicia raised her head slightly, watching him with steady eyes.
Lucien folded his arms behind his back, stepping to the edge of the containment dais. A pause. A breath. A calculation.
"You uttered a name," he said at last.
Her eyes wavered.
"Z-zairon."
Lucien's jaw clenched subtly. "There is no record of that soul among our registry. No presence in the Citadel's Thread Archives. And yet—"
He gestured, and a projection bloomed beside them — a mirrored soul-thread, silver-laced and split. One part fused to Alicia. The other… wandering.
"This resonance appeared the moment you stood at the Heartwood. It is foreign. Impossible. And yet it echoes through your soul with perfect parallelism. Like two instruments playing the same note… from different worlds."
Alicia stared at the thread. She didn't understand it fully. But she knew—at least the other soul contained within her knew.
"I don't know..."
Lucien's lips tightened. "Your soul is a dual-node. That makes you a liability."
Her expression did not break.
But her essence did.
It stirred. Shivered.
Not in fear — in resistance.
"... So you'd experiment on me," she whispered. "—dad..?"
"I would protect you," he answered.
"... T-then please," she whispered. "—make it stop.'
A beat of silence passed. And then—
Lucien turned away.
He began to issue commands to the system, essence flickering through the air like surgical instruments.
"Log anomaly. Code: Ashfall. Initiate perimeter scan on metaphysical link. Restriction Class: Radiant-Null."
"Affirmed," the chamber echoed.
And just like that, the walls grew colder. The threads hissed louder.
The dais dimmed.
But Alicia didn't cry. She only closed her eyes.
And within, the other voice returned. Stronger now. Clearer.
"He'slookingforus."
"Wemustnotforget."
The older Alicia cried out to her inside yet this young vessel couldn't hear. At least—
... not yet.