Miren did not remember walking to her quarters.
One moment she had been sitting across from Lady Aveline in the softly lit antechamber, her pulse still echoing in her ears from the lingering presence of Arkel's voice. The next, she stood alone in a narrow stone room overlooking one of the inner courtyards of the High Ring, the sound of softly flowing water drifting up through an open window.
It was not a prison.
But it was not her home, either.
The room was too clean, too carefully arranged. A single bed rested against one wall, neatly made with crisp linen that still smelled faintly of lavender. A small table stood near the window, set with a teapot and two porcelain cups that still steamed faintly. A single wooden chair waited beside it. On the far wall, a narrow shelf held a stack of blank scrolls, a fresh inkstone, and three unused brushes.
Nothing personal.
Nothing permanent.
The room felt like something prepared for a guest who might leave at any moment—or be taken away.
Temporary.
That was the word that echoed in her thoughts.
The door closed softly behind Lady Aveline. The faint hum of a sealing ward shimmered through the air as it locked into place.
"You'll be safe here for now," Aveline said. "As safe as anyone can be under these circumstances."
Miren clasped her hands together, trying to stop them from shaking. "Am I going to be… punished?"
Aveline studied her for a long moment. The severity in her eyes softened just slightly. "No. Not unless you give someone a reason."
Miren released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Rest," Aveline continued. "Tomorrow will be… complicated. Try not to wander."
Then she turned and left, her footsteps fading down the hall.
Silence settled around Miren like a heavy blanket.
She stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door, half-expecting it to open again and reveal something worse. When it did not, she finally turned toward the window.
Outside, the High Ring glowed softly beneath the falling dusk. White stone pathways curved through carefully tended gardens, where luminous flowers and floating lantern-seeds drifted in slow, lazy spirals. Small fountains murmured quietly, their waters shimmering with cultivated energy.
Beyond the walls of the High Ring lay the rest of Lyrien—layers of tiled rooftops and glowing windows stretching out like a living constellation.
So many lives.
So many people who had no idea what had just been awakened beneath their feet.
Miren pressed her forehead against the cool glass.
You should not be alone right now.
She jumped so badly that the teacup she had just lifted rattled against its saucer.
"Arkel," she whispered.
You said my name without fear, he observed. There was something like quiet wonder in his voice.
"I don't know why," Miren admitted. "But when you speak, it feels… familiar. Like I'm hearing something I lost a long time ago."
You did.
The warmth in her chest deepened, spreading slowly through her ribs and into her limbs. It was not overwhelming—just steady, comforting, like sitting near a hearth on a cold night.
She set the cup down, hands still trembling slightly. "You said they were afraid of what we were."
Yes.
"What were we?"
There was a long pause.
Something the world could not control.
Miren frowned. "That doesn't sound like an answer."
It is the only one that is safe.
She leaned against the window frame, fatigue beginning to seep into her bones. "I don't understand any of this. This morning I was copying scrolls. I was nobody."
You have never been nobody to me.
Heat spread beneath her skin. Her heart fluttered in a way she did not quite recognize.
"You don't even know me," she whispered.
I know the way your soul feels, Arkel replied. I would know it anywhere.
Her breath caught.
There was something dangerously intimate in that—a closeness that went beyond sight or sound.
A knock came at the door.
Miren startled. "Who is it?"
"Seren," a male voice answered. "I've been told to bring you supper."
She opened the door cautiously.
A young man stood there holding a tray laden with food—steaming rice, roasted vegetables, slices of glazed fish, and a small bowl of glowing broth. He wore the pale blue robes of a junior Guardian, his dark hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck.
His eyes, however, were too sharp for someone his age.
"So you're her," he said, offering a crooked smile.
"Her?"
"The girl who woke the impossible sword," Seren said. "No pressure."
Miren flushed. "I didn't mean to."
"None of the interesting things ever happen on purpose," Seren replied lightly. He handed her the tray. "Eat. You look like you might collapse."
"Thank you," she said quietly.
He hesitated in the doorway. "Are you afraid?"
Miren considered the question carefully.
"Yes," she said. "But also… not."
Seren laughed softly. "That sounds about right."
As he turned to leave, Arkel's voice murmured in her mind.
He is watching you.
Miren stiffened. "Watching me?"
They all are.
The door closed.
Miren set the tray on the table, suddenly acutely aware of how alone she truly was—surrounded by powerful people, bound to a relic older than the empire itself.
"Arkel," she whispered, "are you going to hurt anyone?"
There was a pause, heavier than before.
Only those who try to take you from me.
Her heart skipped.
That should have frightened her.
Instead, it made her feel strangely… protected.
And in the glowing silence of her temporary room, Miren realized something terrifying:
For the first time in her life, something in this world belonged to her.
And it would not let her go.