After the Stew and the Noise
The hall had quieted. Students filtered out in twos and threes, some yawning, others vanishing behind dorm doors with spell-lit lanterns bobbing behind them. The fire in the hearth crackled low, painting the worn walls of House Mennefer in amber and shadow.
Nagara stood near the window, arms crossed, the night wind brushing against his hair through the cracked frame. His eyes were unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the spires.
"You'll catch a cold like that," came Azlin's voice, soft and nonchalant.
Nagara didn't turn. "I've had worse."
A pause.
Azlin approached and sat on the edge of the windowsill across from him, legs folded. He set down two steaming mugs—one of tea, one of broth.
"I figured you'd choose silence over small talk. But here," he said, nudging the mug toward him. "It's not poisoned."
Nagara finally looked at him—just a glance. Then, slowly, he took the cup.
Steam rose between them.
"Is it always like this?" Nagara asked quietly. "This… place?"
Azlin tilted his head. "You mean Mennefer?"
Nagara nodded.
Azlin's answer was a slow, thoughtful hum. "It's not the kind of house they write songs about, if that's what you're asking. Most here were sent after failing some trial, offending some noble, or just being... inconvenient."
"And you?" Nagara asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You don't look like a failure."
Azlin smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Looks can lie. And maybe I asked too many questions where I wasn't supposed to. Maybe I was born with the wrong timing. Maybe I wanted to stay."
That last part made Nagara raise an eyebrow. "You chose to stay here?"
Azlin sipped his tea. "No, but sometimes power doesn't come from where you stand. It comes from who stands with you."
Nagara looked down at his untouched broth. His voice dropped. "I had everything once. A seat at court. Power. People who listened when I spoke. Now I'm here. In a house of castoffs. Sleeping in a crooked bed."
"Yeah," Azlin said, leaning back. "But you lived. You chose to fight. That's more than most. And you didn't end up here by accident. It was perhaps destiny."
Silence stretched between them again, not heavy—just quiet.
"That girl, Rania, doesn't interact much with the others too, right?" Nagara muttered, finding the oddity.
Azlin chuckled softly. "Rania was actually quite similar with you, she is a noble daughter from House Thysia the ruling house in Southland. Despite her great origin, she stayed here. She has always been distant, but never really complains about her placement here unlike you."
Nagara scoffed.
Another moment passed. The fire snapped behind them.
"You miss your home?" Azlin asked.
Nagara didn't answer right away.
"Yes," he said at last. "I miss Asiah. I miss knowing what I used to have."
Azlin didn't reply. He simply let the silence stay. Sometimes that was more comforting than words.
Eventually, Nagara spoke again, more to himself than anyone.
"I'm not going to stay at the bottom."
Azlin looked up, and this time, his eyes were clear and sharp. "Good. Because I don't want to stay at the bottom either."
He stood, collecting the mugs. "But just a tip, Prince—here, we don't rise alone."
He started toward the kitchen, then glanced over his shoulder.
"You're not the only one with something to seek."
Then he vanished into the shadows, leaving Nagara by the window, the stars above flickering like distant truths still waiting to be claimed.