7. The Arm’s Decree #2
The Companion Hall and Resh’Agar’s Wing were carved in three ring structures.
Two thresholds and a core suite of chambers, including a sitting room and bathing pool.
Lu’ma had never been permitted past the outer threshold of the Resh’Agar’s wing.
No Attendant had. None wanted to go there.
It was said to be a place of endings, heavy with shadow and death—where mana writhed in pain and the walls bled from the Runesgram’s madness.
But this…
This was not shadow.
As the grand double doors opened at his gesture, light spilled through in soft silver threads.
The chamber beyond breathed serenity and power all at once.
Crystalline panels curved upward into a dome etched with ancient runes, and beneath them, a sprawling atrium shimmered with suspended lanterns, their light reflecting on marble floors veined with precious stone.
A low fountain trickled in the distance, the air cool but not unkind.
Lu’ma stood still. Stunned. Her sandals squeaked on the polished floor.
“Take the spare chamber,” His Quintessence said, voice clipped. “It’s yours.”
He turned to face her, arms cradling Her Radiance. His voice was strong and steady, as though her weight hadn’t burdened him at all as they’d walked through corridors and up a flight of stairs.
'The Resh’Agar wishes this Nameless to prepare it', she signed, confused.
“No. It is yours. That room belongs to you now. You serve no one else.”
Lu’ma blinked rapidly, unsure how to reply.
His Quintessence has given a command. This Nameless is to stay here. In the Resh'Agar's wing.
Reflection: This is good. Efficient. This Nameless can serve Her Radiance with ease.
Concern: This is not proper. Attendants stay in the Servitor. This defies Doctrine.
His Quintessence, oblivious to Lu'ma's inner conflict, walked past her toward the black marble archway leading into the heart of the wing.
As His Quintessence approached, the curved arch lit up in lines of sigils, meant to grant passage only to those tied to his will.
Before him, the magic parted with an azure pulse.
His steps slowed just before crossing it.
Lu’ma stumbled after him but didn’t follow through the archway. Beyond was his private chamber, and she didn’t dare step foot inside without permission.
'Where should this Nameless place Her Radiance’s things?' Lu’ma asked when he glanced at her.
"Anywhere they will please her,” he replied. “This is her home now. And yours.”
The word was unfamiliar, something she’d heard a few times in passing from Her Radiance.
Home.
"I live in Krystopolis," Her Radiance had once said, "but it is not my home."
It meant a place of belonging.
A place where one didn’t check for sabotage before laying down to sleep.
A place where one could live.
A place like this.
Lu’ma didn’t move for a long moment, too overwhelmed to step forward.
Then, with halting steps, she padded across the marbled floor toward the massive bedchamber beyond the arch.
She still paused at the threshold, respectful.
The room was dim, lit only by soft wall sconces and the ambient lure of a welcoming fluxhearth.
His Quintessence spoke from the far side of the room.
Her Radiance said something, too.
“Don’t go.”
“It’s alright, starlight,” he murmured. “There’s nothing else to fear. Not tonight.”
A rustle of sheets. The creak of the mattress. His Quintessence spoke again.
“You’re in my wing, by my hearth. Nothing that would harm you can reach you here.” A pause, then softer, “I will never look away again. I swear it.”
Lu’ma’s chest ached, and she pressed her knuckles to her skin to dull the strange pain. No one had ever spoken to Her Radiance like this. At least, not that she’d heard.
She turned away from the doorway, giving them privacy, and began arranging Her Radiance’s things on the shelves and window ledge. A trinket here, her favorite balm there. Her glowshawl, now freshly folded. And a crystal orb Lu’ma always tucked under her Host’s pillow when her nightmares worsened.
Behind her, the runed arch shimmered again.
She turned as His Quintessence emerged, now fully dressed in his terrifying armor, Morvaneblack and gleaming, spikes on his pauldrons, aethersteel covered with intricate channels of silver-blue light.
A thick cloak shimmering with a series of Runesgrams glided behind him, brushing along the marble floor.
A ruthless blade was sheathed at his waist, the scabbard sporting symbols of serpents devouring each other.
He'd tied his hair up in a high war binding; the ends tumbling down his back in waves. With each of his steps, his heavy boots shook the floor. Mana sparked around him like a thick, dense mist. He looked bigger now. Much bigger.
On reflex, Lu’ma took a step back, her knees bending, and her fingers brushing against the dagger at her wrist.
“She’s resting,” he decreed, sharp eyes noting her discomfort. “I’ve summoned the Council. Don’t let her roam too far, and ensure she has something to eat.”
Lu’ma nodded understanding, signing, 'Yes, Your Quintessence.'
She stepped aside to let him pass.
He paused, his gaze moving over Her Radiance’s belongings where Lu’ma had arranged them.
“…You’ve done well,” he murmured.
And then he was gone.