7. The Arm’s Decree
The Arm's Decree
The corridor was quiet, save for the occasional echo of distant footsteps from higher tiers.
Lu’ma lingered near Her Radiance’s door, fingers curled at her sides.
She would keep watch. Ensure no one disturbed them.
Stone and silence filled the space, lit by only a single flickering Polis-lantern that caught her shadow and stretched it wide across the floor.
Lu’ma didn’t pace. That would draw attention. Instead, she stood still; hands clasped before her in quiet watchfulness. The Resh’Agar and his Sokar had much to discuss after everything Lu’ma had revealed.
Reflection: Being truthful with His Quintessence was essential to protecting the Host.
Training of the Hands does not allow lies.
Reminder: Choir Mother's orders allow lies in circumstance of need. Her Radiance requires protection This Nameless cannot give.
Lying to Her Radiance was justified to counter mental distress.
Giving the truth to His Quintessence was required to ensure Her Radiance's protection.
Concern: Can His Quintessence be trusted to protect Her Radiance? The Void must be impartial.
She’d heard the undertones in his voice when His Quintessence had dismissed her.
Not anger.
Resolve.
The kind of thing that spurred change—and also ruin.
Conclusion: Her Radiance is safe with His Quintessence.
His hands were gentle when he touched her.
His voice was steady and free of deceit.
The thought bolstered her courage and her faith.
Finally, His Quintessence knew what was being done to Her Radiance. Finally, somebody knew the truth and could make a difference. Change things. Her Radiance had always insisted that he be kept in the dark, saying he couldn’t take the risk, couldn’t help her against the Companions’ abuse.
But Lu’ma didn’t believe it.
Not for a moment.
He was the Resh’Agar.
The Arm of the Void.
If a man like him—a god—could not help his Sokar, then who could?
The Companions fear the Resh'Agar. If he claims Her Radiance publicly, they will hesitate to attack the Sokar again.
They will still burn her things. Still push and hex. But This Nameless can protect the Host from minor things.
Reminder: Except for words. This Nameless cannot cover the Host's ears…
Every time they slurred ‘ornament’ or signed ‘shapeless’ as Her Radiance passed, Lu’ma’s fingers brushed the hilt of the hidden dagger in her robes.
Carved from bits of stone, iron, and crystal, it was a crude thing, but reliable.
Something to use when silence was needed.
When a throat was better off slit than whole.
Her Radiance would worry if she knew Lu’ma still carried it. But such a thing wouldn’t stop her. Nothing would. Her Radiance worried needlessly for Lu'ma's safety, but it was Her Radiance that needed protection.
She didn’t walk anywhere without a ward focus and mana sand hidden in her robes in case of traps or other petty pranks. And there was only so much an Attendant could do to get in their way. Her Radiance had commanded Lu’ma not to interfere. That it was too dangerous.
Reminder: Host has instructed This Nameless not to interfere.
The Hand must obey. The Hand must bow.
Correction: Her Radiance does not need to know. If one does not know, one does not worry.
A sound caught her attention.
Faint at first. A shift. A breath.
Then—
“—Kail…”
Her Radiance’s voice. Soft. Lilting. Lu’ma froze, heart stuttering. Was she in pain again? Did the Fever return after the fall? Did she require water? Had her injuries been slow to heal? There were a few times when her strange magical healing seemed to slow for reasons neither of them could name.
She crept a little closer to the door, knowing better than to knock. She’d been firmly dismissed. But if Her Radiance called out again, she would risk the Resh’Agar’s wrath to tend to her.
Another sound followed. Not a cry. Not anguish.
A moan. And then, unmistakably:
“Please…more…”
Lu’ma’s eyes widened. She took a careful step back, pressing herself to the stone wall. Her breath trembled.
Silence lingered for a beat. Then another low voice—deep, rough as aged stone.
“Sweetfire…”
That word. She’d never heard it before, nor did she know its meaning. But the way he said it—like a prayer given shape—made her throat tighten.
Lu’ma pressed the ring on her thumb against her palm.
This was not pain. Not sorrow. This was Estar.
She had heard the Companions crying out in pleasure before during their performances, their rituals in the past when the Estar still took place in the Vox Ring before witnesses.
Theirs had been sharp sounds—calculated, twisted with intention. Bent to please. Hollow at the core.
But this?
This was truth.
Her Radiance’s voice rose again, small and sweet, so unlike the brashness of the others. Lu’ma's cheeks burned, and she touched her hands to her face.
Reflection: Choir Mother's orders instruct no interference. Estar is sacred.
She remembered the look in the eyes of His Quintessence when he’d looked down at Her Radiance, when he found her broken on the Vesper Stair and held her against him.
Like a man afraid of being disarmed in battle. Of an enemy taking what is his.
But Her Radiance is not a weapon. Not a Companion.
His Quintessence would not harm her intentionally, but what if he does not know the depth of her fragility? Her health is delicate. She hardly eats. Hardly sleeps. If it wasn't for the tea This Nameless makes…
Decision: If the Resh'Agar hurts Her Radiance, priorities must shift. Estar is mana transfer and will harm the Host. Her Radiance does not have mana to spare for His Quintessence.
More voices came, but what she heard now was not cruelty. It was neither claiming nor possession. feeling Lu’ma couldn’t name, but one she prayed Her Radiance had found at last. She backed away from the door, careful not to make a sound.
Conclusion: His Quintessence will not harm Her Radiance. This is Estar, but not the same as what the Resh'Agar does with his Companions.
Safe to report: Her Radiance was pushed and fell down the Vesper Stair. This Nameless assisted. Her Radiance recovered with minor injuries.
Not safe to report: His Quintessence stayed with Her Radiance in her chamber, and mana was exchanged.
Lu’ma wandered no farther than the nearest corridor turn. Still afraid to go far. Still afraid to wander out of sight in case Her Radiance needed her.
She didn’t know how long such things lasted, but her legs ached from standing.
She knelt beside a bench etched with outdated Doctrine phrases, tracing them with a finger.
Her Radiance had taught her how to read the symbols over the years.
The Choir trained their Hands to read many different languages, but not ancient Krystopolitan.
None in the Choir knew it, not even the Mother, for the Solutus had come from the Commons, not the Lattice.
When a new sound came—shifting stone and bare feet shuffling—Lu'ma rose quickly and turned the corner back to Her Radiance’s chambers.
His Quintessence emerged, shadowed in the flickering light.
His dark hair was unbound and wild as it meandered down his back.
His anger cloaked him like a shroud, bold in the tension of his arms and shoulders.
But his eyes had quieted. Storm-dark and glowing, but controlled. Calm.
In his arms was Her Radiance. Blankets covered her small form. Her skin glistened with sweat, hair loose across her shoulders, her braid barely woven together. A pink flush brushed over her cheeks, but not from the Fever. The tiny freckles on her nose and cheekbones shimmered silver.
She was asleep, but there was no tension in her brow. No strain in her limbs.
Her expression was soft.
Peaceful.
Lu’ma tensed, for she hadn’t seen Her Radiance so serene in all the years she’d served her.
The Resh’Agar’s gaze caught hers.
“She will stay within my wing,” he said. Not a question. Not a request. “This room is not worthy of her.”
'For how long, Your Quintessence?' Lu’ma signed.
“Indefinitely.”
'May this Nameless approach?'
He nodded, and Lu’ma didn’t hesitate. The splotching bruise on Her Radiance’s temple was healed, and as she checked her arms, she was relieved to see that her Host was once again whole.
“Lu’ma,” the Resh’Agar called.
Startled, she looked up.
“You are coming with us. You will no longer be stationed in the Servitor. You will take the spare chamber in my wing.”
She stared, uncomprehending.
“You are under my protection now. Not just my Sokar’s.”
'This Nameless does not understand',' she signed. Still reeling. Still numb.
“You don’t need to. Just follow me.”
Lu’ma looked towards the open door—to the darkness and emptiness within. One Her Radiance wouldn’t have to bear any longer. She almost smiled, but stopped herself.
Hands do not smile. Do not feel.
Attendants are tools. Only hands. Only bodies.
Yet, when she looked again at the one Her Radiance called ‘Kailorien’, her heart lurched in her chest. Squeezed.
Safe to report: His Quintessence has commanded Her Radiance to stay in the Resh'Agar's wing.
Not safe to report: This Nameless is destabilized. Consider the risk of Fraying. Once Frayed, a Hand is useless. Once Frayed, a Hand must be replaced.
Correction: This Hand will not be replaced. No other Hand can protect Her Radiance. Not like This Nameless.
Not like I can.
The walk to the Resh’Agar’s wing was silent.
The great Lattice corridors curved like veins of emerald light, coming alive to the sound of their footsteps as they passed.
Lu’ma trailed behind His Quintessence, arms full with the belongings she had so carefully gathered from Her Radiance’s sparse, unloved room.
Trinkets. Journals. A half-mended glowshawl. The pillow Her Radiance always favored. Each item tucked with care into a woven satchel the Sokar carried with her on her walks.