5. Correction
Correction
The night the Resh'Agar returned from his Campaign was heavy with memory. The very first time the Sokar had looked at her was vivid in Lu’ma’s mind. That silver gaze had seen her—not as an Attendant, not as Hands, but as someone worth noticing. Worth knowing.
'This Nameless is honored to serve', Lu’ma had signed when she first met her Host.
But the Sokar had only tilted her head, stepped closer, and said, “Everyone deserves a name. There was a time when I had none, and it was lonely.”
Her Radiance had leaned down, her silver hair falling forward—un-oiled, unbraided, vulnerable—and whispered against her new Attendant’s cheek.
“Lu…ma…”
A sound that could be made without a voice; a sound that could be shaped with breath alone.
One Lu'ma often made when she was alone to remind herself that she was known.
That she was more than Hands. More than servitude.
It meant nothing in the old tongue. And everything in what it altered inside of her.
From that moment on, something split within her mind.
Reflection: Choir Mother’s orders are to report on the Sokar’s actions. Her health. Her mental state. Her choices. Her worries. Her fixations.
Conflict: But not all is safe to report. This Nameless will choose. Some things are safe. Needed. Other things are unsafe. Trivial. Will not report.
This Nameless will protect the Host.
The woman who touched her ruined hand without flinching. The woman who left secret notes on her tea tray. The woman who saw what should have been unseen. Named the Hands that served her.
This Nameless will protect Her Radiance.
Now, nearly two decades after meeting her Host, Lu’ma did not falter.
She protected. She observed.
Day and night.
In light and darkness.
Now, the Arm of the Void had returned.
To duty. To the Shields. But also to his sacred consort.
Lu'ma did not know what to expect from His Quintessence in light of what Her Radiance had said about the Rite of Scars and the price of it.
From birth, she had been taught a single truth: the Resh'Agar carries the Shields, and when he finds the Sokar, he will bring her to the city to be his counterpart.
She will carry the Shields with him and guide the city to new light.
Just like he protected Krystopolis and its People, he protected his Sokar.
However, the legends had never mentioned the Rite of Scars.
The records had no reference for what happened if His Quintessence did not remember his consort.
If he did not know her, would he harm her?
His grip on the Sokar's arm had looked too tight.
His gait had been hurried as he took her down the hall to his quarters.
Reflection: This Nameless is concerned for the Host's safety. This is inappropriate. If the Resh'Agar has chosen to consummate Estar with Her Radiance, it is not for This Nameless to interfere.
The Resh'Agar taking the Sokar to his wing was not protocol. Not Doctrine. This was dangerous. Unexpected. But Attendants could not follow if they were not bid to do so. Her Radiance hadn’t called for her.
Not since the day before. Yet Lu’ma now prowled the edges of the Resh’Agar’s abode.
Restless. Rubbing the ring on her thumb against her palm.
Scraping flesh.
Hoping the pain would be enough to subdue her racing heart.
Observation: This behavior is unseemly. Hands do not feel. Hands only serve.
Correction: Focus on duty. On necessity. How can This Nameless serve Her Radiance? Bring a meal from the Servitor. Set the tray by the wards. Sweep the hall for hair.
Wait.
Wait all night if that is what duty demands.
But night passed, and still there was no sign of Her Radiance. Lu’ma did not dare to wait too close to the Resh’Agar’s wing. If other Attendants passed through and saw her, they would guess Her Radiance was within. And none could know. None could suspect.
Lu’ma had witnessed the look on the face of His Quintessence when he led Her Radiance through the corridor.
The Void was not impartial then.
Far from it.
Rubbing the ring on her thumb against her palm, Lu’ma made another loop around the tower. As she approached the Resh’Agar’s abode near the first hours of morning, Lu’ma heard the padding of footsteps on crystal in the corridors between his wing and the Companions’ Hall.
Her breath stilled.
A flash of silver in the darkness.
Immediately and without a single wasted motion, Lu'ma set down her tray and rushed towards the sound.
As she ran, she removed her shoes and tied the straps to her belt.
Once, Her Radiance had taught her how to move silently through the crystal with magic at her heels.
She’d used the knowledge to escape notice many times, avoiding unnecessary conflict with the more vicious of Companions who enjoyed disciplining other Attendants for the sake of entertainment.
Lu’ma rounded a corner and saw Her Radiance.
Barefoot.
Large silver eyes open and unseeing.
Her lips moving in a silent chant.
Some of it was the Litany of Silence. Other parts…
Safe to report: Her Radiance still walks at night. Unchanged.
Not safe to report: The Sokar speaks in strange tongues. Not the language of the Polis. Something else. Foreign. This remains unchanged.
Her Radiance walked like a puppet with broken strings. Stumbling. Halting. Looping around then circling back. Lu’ma slowed her pace. If she approached too quickly, she might snap her out of her trance.
Her Radiance will fall, and This Nameless will need to carry her.
Observation: Distance is too great to Her Radiance's chambers. Cannot return to the Resh'Agar's wing without clearance.
Approach slowly.
Do not startle.
Do not frighten Her Radiance.
Sometimes she screamed, too, if awakened too suddenly. Other times, magic jumped from her fingers and created something out of nothing. No conduit. No sigil. No rune.
Another secret.
Another thing the Solutus would have honored their chosen of the Choir for uncovering.
But Lu’ma would never reveal it.
Not even if they threatened to cut off her fingers.
When Her Radiance rounded another corner, Lu’ma followed.
Up ahead loomed the Vesper Stair, the steep crystalline staircase that led both downwards to the Axis Hall and upwards to the Vesper Seat. Her Radiance hovered on the edge of it, poised as though unsure.
From the right, a silk-clad figure emerged from the shadows. Midnight black hair, voluminous and oiled. Eyes green like venom. Painted lips twisted in a sneer of disgust.
Zeera, the Chosen Companion. The one who despised Her Radiance the most. She walked up behind the Sokar and reached out, shoving her. Hard.
Without a single sound, Her Radiance tipped forward and fell.
Down the stairs.
Down into the darkness.
One crack.
Then another.
Lu’ma’s mouth opened on a silent scream.
She charged forward, all thoughts narrowing.
Protect the Host.
Protect Her Radiance.
It did not matter that this was the Chosen Companion. That this was Zeera.
Not authorized to harm another Host.
Not authorized to kill.
Correction: Host's safety supersedes protocol.
Even if that meant gutting this Companion where she stood.
The dagger slipped into her hand. The ring on her thumb bit into her flesh as her grip tightened on the crystalline knife. She raised her hand. Aimed for the woman’s exposed throat.
But the Companion did not flinch. Did not try to avoid it. Zeera’s emerald green eyes met Lu’ma’s, her smile growing like a spreading bloodstain. She raised her arms and cast a containment web around Lu’ma’s body.
A pressure at her throat and shoulder.
An impact to her back.
The spell pinned Lu’ma up against a wall. Around her, the Polis shrieked as it lit up from both the sound and the Companion’s mana. The thick cloying scent of perfume filled Lu’ma’s nostrils.
And still Her Radiance made no sound.
Lu’ma’s eyes rolled. Left to right.
No one to see.
No one to help.
No one to stop this highest of treasons.
She opened her mouth. Screamed and screamed and screamed.
But, as always, none could hear her.