The wind blew crooked along the trail back.
Bruno walked slowly, like a man in no hurry to arrive. The echoes of the tower hadn't gone silent inside him. They wouldn't. Not anytime soon.
And then he saw her.
Seralyne.
Sitting on a rock at the edge of the path, legs crossed, wiping one of her daggers with the hem of her cloak. Her red hair was tied in a messy knot, her face half-shadowed by the rising morning light.
She didn't notice Bruno.
Or pretended not to.
He stopped a few steps away. Just watched. The way she moved the blade—calm, but not at peace.
The dagger gleamed. So did her eyes.
"You gonna keep stalking me like a silent shadow?" she said, without turning.
Bruno didn't answer. He took two more steps and sat on a thick root on the other side of the trail.
"Was expecting someone from the tower. Not you."
"I left first."
A low sound came from her—maybe a laugh, maybe just tired breath.
"Where I come from, nobody walks away from places like that."
Bruno stayed quiet. The trees whispered to each other. A crow screamed in the distance—not hers.
"Why are you following me, Bruno?"
"Instinct."
"Instinct or guilt?"
He turned his head toward her.
Her eyes met his for the first time that day. And there was something in them… something new. Less venom. More emptiness.
"You fought me to see if you were ready to kill someone."
"No." Her fingers gripped the dagger tighter. "I fought to see if I'd survive when the time came."
"And what did you find out?"
She didn't answer. Just stared at the ground.
Then she stood, letting out a breath that sounded heavier than air.
"He's still alive."
"The man who destroyed your village?"
She hesitated. Only for a second.
"I don't like talking about him. But I dream of his death almost every night. And in most of them… I'm not the one who wins."
"You think I could?"
She looked at him again. Eyes half-sad, half-angered.
"You dodged my daggers like you were dancing."
"And you almost killed me with one of them."
"Almost isn't enough."
Silence returned. But this one… thicker. Heavier. Almost intimate.
Seralyne started walking down the path. Stopped beside Bruno. Stood there for a moment.
"You still gonna follow me?"
Bruno raised an eyebrow.
"As far as it's safe."
"It won't be."
"I know."
She walked. He followed.
The forest closed in, but the space between them… maybe was starting to open.
"You gonna tell me who we're killing?"
"We?" Seralyne arched a brow, like the word tasted strange on her tongue.
Bruno just looked ahead.
"Don't think I don't know… what happened with the elves. Seven years ago."
Her body stiffened. Fingers dug into the leather-wrapped hilt. And for an instant… the world around grew colder.
She closed her eyes.
The sound of church bells was harsh—not calling for prayer, but for war.
Inside the temple, men shouted hatred in the name of a god who no longer listened.
"Filthy races will ruin this world!" roared one of the paladins.
None of them spoke of redemption. Only cleansing.
Torches lit polished armor and hollow eyes. No honor, no faith. Only iron and fanaticism.
Across the world, a village hidden among ancient roots.
The forest held it like an embrace.
Two elf sisters walked along leaf-covered paths. One of them, Miraí, smiled nervously.
Beside her, a human. Tall, handsome… gentle—or so it seemed.
"Hi, I'm Veder," he said, extending his hand.
"Hm. Seralyne," the younger replied, not touching.
"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Seralyne whispered, pulling her sister away.
"A human, Miraí? Here?"
"He's not like the others, Sera. He treats me well, really…"
Seralyne wanted to believe. For love of her sister, she wanted to.
That night, the moon hung high. Cicadas sang. Miraí laughed with shining eyes.
"You're leaving already?" she asked, hugging the human as he left.
"I'll be back soon, promise," he said.
But he came back with others. With torches. With blades.
He came back without the smile.
The fire came before the scream.
Seralyne woke to the stench of burned flesh and elven blood.
Her sister's house was already embers.
And Veder… stood in the middle of the square, sword in hand, the same calm face as before.
As if he'd never lied. As if he'd never loved.
And Seralyne was never the same after.
---
Seralyne had always run to the trees when she was upset.
Sometimes for something silly—a bad joke at the dinner table, or a scolding for training too much with the daggers her uncle insisted on calling "dangerous toys."
She was fast, but not lethal.
Clever, but still dreaming of justice.
Her smile was rare, but real.
She only used magic to light campfires or make shadows dance on the walls of her sister's room.
"See, Miraí? It's a serpent dancing with a dragon. They're not enemies, just… testing their steps."
That was how she saw the world.
Shadows were part of light.
Pain was part of learning.
Humans… could be good. She thought. Maybe.
Until that night. The night of the attack.
Miraí laughed for the last time before the blood.
Veder held her hand like someone in love—and that's why she didn't pull away when he whispered to the men hiding in the trees.
When the paladins appeared, Seralyne was the first to notice.
She felt the cold blade on her spine before she saw them.
And that was where the first fracture was born.
She ran.
Grabbed her sister's hand.
Tried to flee.
"Seralyne, wait—he's not like that—" Miraí still said.
"He's exactly like that."
But it was too late.
When Miraí fell, trying to shield Veder from a dagger Seralyne herself had thrown… Seralyne screamed.
Screamed like never before.
And the shadow behind her answered.
The first surge of dark magic came by accident.
Not summoned.
Just a scream, a void trying to fill another.
A black mass erupted from the ground, throwing the enemies back, choking the torchlight, making holy words die in the throats of paladins.
She ran.
The tattoos appeared the same night, like burns that didn't hurt.
First the raven, then the serpents, then—days later—the dragon, curled like a living scar on her spine.
After the escape…
Seralyne was found in a clearing by a pair of assassins.
Not the cold, cliché kind.
Survivors.
They didn't train her gently—they trained her hard.
Never said, "You're safe now," but showed, over time, how never to be prey again.
And she learned.
To use the shadows. To let the tattoos speak for her.
To understand that dark magic doesn't follow books—it reacts to wounds.
Each time she relived the massacre, she grew stronger.
Each night she tried to sleep and saw Miraí smiling in dreams, a new ability was born at dawn—made of pain, guilt, and protection.
She learned to control what was born of rage.
But never healed it.
Bruno saw that fracture—this duality.
She pretended not to care.
But carried the weight of someone who lived when she didn't want to.
The shadows still danced, but not for fun.
The daggers still gleamed, but with hunger.
And Seralyne's eyes… no longer reflected the girl who made shapes on walls to help her sister sleep.
But sometimes…
Very rarely…
When she was distracted…
She still looked at the sky as if waiting for someone to say:
"It's all right now. You can stop fighting."
And that's why Bruno kept following.
---
Seralyne opened her eyes. Now. Present.
Bruno was there, standing, silent. Asking for no explanations.
She walked slowly to the edge of the trail, shoulders tight. Spoke without looking at him:
"Seven years… and I still hear my sister's scream."
"You never forget," Bruno murmured.
"Don't want to."
"Then let's make sure he hears it back."
She breathed deep, like someone holding the whole world in her lungs.
"If you die because of me…"
"I wouldn't die for something like that " Bruno said.
Seralyne let out a short, pained laugh.
"And terrible at staying away."
Bruno walked beside her.
No deal was made. No promise spoken.
But both knew: the next step was together.
---
And there he was—Veder—in a gang of bandits, laughing about that night like it was nothing.
The sound of laughter came before the stench of wine and burned meat.
"And then she just froze! Looking at me like I was the hero!" the rough, jagged voice cut through the air.
"Her little sister cried… the younger one. Cried like a rat." More laughter, the stench of booze, a fire crackling.
Seralyne stopped.
Body tense. Motionless.
But her fingers…
Her fingers were already on the daggers.
Bruno, at her side, watched in silence.
Then she spoke, voice low, controlled:
"You already know."
Bruno exhaled.
"He's all yours, miss."
And vanished into the brush.
The bandits saw only a blur before the first dropped, jaw shattered.
But Seralyne's focus was on one man.
Veder.
Older now.
A new scar on his chin.
But the same eyes—arrogant, mocking, rotten.
"Well, well…" He stood, pulling two short blades. "Seralyne. You grew."
"And you shrank." She was already in stance.
No more words.
The clash of blades tore the air.
Veder was fast. Surprisingly fast.
But Seralyne was fluid. Every strike of his, she answered like a distorted mirror:
Sometimes dodging, sometimes blocking, sometimes cutting—just enough.
"Personal, huh?" he said through clenched teeth. "Thought you died with your… oh. Forgot. You let them die."
She spun.
The dagger kissed his neck—blood.
First cut.
But he hit back with a kick to her ribs.
Seralyne dropped to her knees, gasping.
"You've gotten better."
"You've just gotten slower." She rose.
The second round was savage.
Kicks, elbows, blades scraping arms, sparks on steel, blood beginning to drip—dirty fighting, nothing pretty.
Seralyne's tattoos pulsed.
The serpents coiled around her arm.
The dragon rumbled faintly along her spine.
The raven whispered in her left ear.
"Stronger than your sister," he said, breath ragged. "Shame she screamed prettier."
She screamed.
Not in pain.
In rage.
The dagger drove into his thigh.
Veder fell sideways.
His leg bled out fast.
He tried to rise, but Seralyne was already on him—not like Bruno, her eyes sadder.
The blade point on his throat.
"Do it. Kill me."
"Not for me."
"For your sister then?"
She hesitated.
"No. For me."
And plunged.
But he smiled.
And pulled a pendant from his chest.
A pulsing purple crystal.
"Then take this with you."
The crystal shattered.
Purple smoke burst like a living tide, swallowing Seralyne.
Timoris.
Forbidden magic.
Forged from pain.
Fed by guilt.
Bruno, on the other side of the camp, had already dropped every bandit.
Blood and leaves on the ground.
But then he felt it.
The pressure.
The darkness.
Not the kind that comes from sky or earth.
The kind that comes from inside.
He walked.
Slow steps.
Clothes torn, ripped by thorns, magic, and memories.
Nothing magical in his presence—just the steadiness of someone who's crossed too many hells.
"Seralyne…"
"NO!"
An area blast hurled him several feet back.
Bruno hit the ground hard.
The earth swallowed the impact.
He groaned, more out of boredom than pain.
"Great…" he muttered. "Emotional magic explosion. Another Tuesday."
But there was no more screaming after.
No more smoke.
Just the faint sound of breathing—ragged, trembling.
Bruno rose slowly.
Walked toward the figure curled in the center of the purple haze.
Each step heavy. Steady.
Her body shook.
The tattoos writhed.
The dragon almost unraveled, like it was afraid to keep existing.
He knelt beside her.
Slowly.
Like someone trying not to spook a wounded animal.
And then touched her face.
Cold.
Wet with tears.
But alive.
Bruno leaned closer.
Their foreheads met.
His eyes closed.
His breath calm.
"Hey…"
"…"
"Don't worry."
"…"
"I'm not going anywhere."
The words came like an old whisper, from a life he didn't remember.
But his body still knew how to say them.
The aura of fear… stopped.
The smoke thinned.
Everything around seemed to freeze.
For an instant…
Her eyes opened.
Just enough to see his face so close.
Their breaths mingling.
Their lips almost touching.
His eyes steady.
And serene.
Seralyne held her breath.
Maybe waiting for something.
And then…
She collapsed in his arms.
Bruno held her gently, like she was made of glass.
Her warm forehead resting against his.
And then the voice came.
"I almost fainted myself, guys." Kearlin hovered beside them, arms crossed. "Thought you were gonna kiss her. Almost quit my job as helper to turn into a candle."
Bruno sighed, not moving his face.
"Shut up, Kearlin."
"Just saying, boss. If that kiss had happened, I'd cry. From emotion. And jealousy."
Bruno smirked faintly.
But said nothing.
Seralyne slept.
And for now, that was all he had to do:
Stay.
Firm.
Present.
And silent.
---
She still slept in Bruno's arms, her body finally at ease.
The purple haze had cleared, and the forest breathed again.
And then it started.
The tattoos.
Those living marks on Seralyne's body… began to change.
The dragon, once coiled tight and defensive, uncurled slightly, like it was… resting.
The entwined serpents now looked less threatening—their eyes still glowed, but without that caged venom.
And the raven, which had always stayed silent, slowly moved its wings.
The dragon spoke first. A voice deep, serene, like distant thunder.
"Bruno… thank you for this.
For giving a heart that only knew fire… a chance to calm."
Bruno tilted his head slightly, respectful—but before he could answer—
"Thanks for the abs, warrior boy," hissed one of the serpents, voice seductive, dripping mischief only living magic could pull off.
Bruno frowned and glanced down. His torn shirt left his abs exposed, slick with sweat, muscles sharply defined—and, well, that didn't help.
"That's all you see, you cheap snake?" the other hissed sharply. "Look at those shoulders! Those shoulders could carry my self-esteem."
Bruno almost blushed.
Almost.
But was saved by the raven's voice—rough, steady, echoing like a forest storm.
"Forgive them. It's their first time talking to someone. To… someone real."
Bruno smirked faintly, eyes drifting back to Seralyne's sleeping face.
"It's fine.
You're part of her.
And I'm used to weird."
The raven nodded, its shadowed wings casting for an instant over Seralyne's closed eyes.
"Thank you for the vengeance.
And for letting us see her… free. If only for a moment."
Bruno didn't answer right away.
Just shifted her gently in his arms.
And kept walking, in silence.
The forest said nothing more.
But for the first time in years, the tattoos—and the soul of the elf who bore them—were at peace Bruno walked along the trail with Seralyne in his arms.
"You could be lighter. Or at least less full of metal."
The forest didn't help. Low branches, wet ground, curious insects.
Crack!
A branch smacked his forehead.
"Thanks, nature."
The tattoos whispered among themselves, still awake, but strangely well-behaved. Only the crow commented:
"If you want, I can carry her with my beak. It'll be quick. And dramatic."
"Pass."
Farther ahead, the ground gave way slightly. Bruno slipped, did a little dance, and stabilized himself. Seralyne muttered in her sleep:
"…knife… neck…"
"Relax, I'm still on your side," he murmured.
Another hundred meters. A group of wild ducks slowly crossed the trail, as if they owned the world. Bruno waited. One duck stopped in front of him and stared.
"Buddy… please." A defeated look.
The duck let out a defiant quack and only then moved on.
Halfway there, it started to rain. Of course.
"Perfect. Wonderful. I'm gonna show up soaked, carrying an elf, and no one will believe this wasn't my idea."
A thunderclap answered him loudly. Seralyne mumbled:
"…touch me and I'll rip your fingers off…"
"Still dreaming of love, huh?"
Almost at the village gate, Bruno tripped on a rock.
Again, he fell.
Again, Seralyne on top of him.
A random old lady passing by on the road looked and said:
"Ah, youth."
Bruno stayed on the ground, eyes closed.
"I really deserve this."
He got up and went straight home, closed the door, and left Seralyne on the couch and…
"Hey, you're gonna leave us here," one of the snakes spoke.
"One thing at a time. First, let me clean up."
He went to the bathroom, took off what little clothes he still had, and turned on the shower. Someone else felt left out of the conversation; Bruno turned on the shower, letting the hot water run over his shoulders — old cuts, fresh bruises, and a comfortable silence that only the sound of water could create.
"I still don't know how you built this," murmured Kaerlin, the voice appearing near the ceiling, like a bored spirit.
"Talking about the shower?" Bruno asked, calmly rubbing his face, eyes closed.
"Talking about the body. But yes, the shower too."
Bruno opened one eye.
"The body is discipline. The shower… basic engineering, magic conversion seals, and a little stubbornness."
"Of course. Because the solution to everything is 'a little stubbornness.'"
Bruno rested his arm against the wall and explained, like someone tired of repeating it:
"The water comes straight from a crystal with water magic, with constant suction runes. The energy comes from an elemental circle bound to a magically conductive stone. The water runs through a heating coil made of copper filament and… there: hot bath. The famous workaround."
"That's literally plumbing with sorcery."
"That's comfort." Bruno turned his back to the water, letting his muscles relax. "And a good reason to stay alive at the end of the day."
Kaerlin floated above him, crossing invisible arms.
"And the body?"
Bruno answered only with a corner smile and a discreet shoulder flex.
"Functional strength. Carrying an unconscious elf through half a forest counts as training."
"Tsk. Arrogant."
"Realistic."
"...I like it."
Out of the bathroom, as if trying to follow the house's owner. His hair, still wet, fell over his eyes — eyes carrying fatigue, but no regret.
The house was silent, except for the creaks of old wood and Seralyne's slow breathing as she lay unconscious on the couch.
He passed through the living room and glanced at her. Legs curled up, daggers resting near her body, the tattoos now asleep — the crow, half-closed eyes, silently watching everything.
Bruno stopped in the hallway. For a second, he considered covering her with a blanket, but… she'd probably kill him if she woke up in the middle. Better not to push his luck.
"Still alive, at least," he murmured.
"For now," whispered Kaerlin behind him.
"If she doesn't wake up hungry, she'll wake up violent."
"I've dealt with worse." Bruno shrugged and entered the bedroom.
He put on simple pants and a dark shirt, then walked to the kitchen. Morning light was starting to seep through dusty windows, revealing particles of dust dancing in the air.
He began preparing something warm — bread, a bit of cheese, boiled roots. Moving calmly, as if cooking was a way to sort his thoughts.
From time to time, he looked toward the couch.
Nothing.
Seralyne still slept, the tattoos still quiet, like beasts in hibernation.
"You know…" Kaerlin appeared again, floating near the table. "You could just say you care."
"I'm making food, aren't I?" Bruno shot back, pushing a piece of cheese onto the plate.
"Actions don't replace words. Especially for people like her."
Bruno stayed silent for a moment.
"Words break. Actions hold."
"Poetic. Cold. Very you."
Bruno ignored him. Grabbed a wooden bowl, filled it with hot broth, and moved toward the living room. He sat in the armchair next to the couch and just waited.
Then she moved. A finger. Then a hand. Her eyes finally opened slowly — like they were used to darkness and doubted the light.
She tried to sit. Failed. Tried again. Partial success.
"Welcome back," said Bruno, offering the bowl.
She looked. Then at him.
"You cook?"
"Only when I'm afraid someone might die."
She took the bowl with a weak but hungry grumble.
"You seem… different," she murmured.
"Got out of the shower."
"No. Different from before."
Bruno looked for a moment and said, without looking away:
"Maybe because now you let me stay."
And for the first time, she didn't push him away. Just drank the broth. Slowly.
In silence. But not the same silence as before.
Bruno clapped his hands twice, making a soft echo in the stone house.
"Okay, you're kind of dirty… why don't you take a bath?"
Seralyne opened one eye on the couch, head sunk in the pillow. Her expression was a mix of disdain and challenge.
"Now? Only if you heat the water."
"Oh, right." Bruno crossed his arms. "You don't know what a shower is."
Before she could answer, a voice sounded sarcastic as always:
"I believe no one in this world does," said Kaerlin, with that 'obvious' tone.
Bruno replied automatically:
"I do."
Seralyne raised an eyebrow, suspicious.
"You know what?"
Bruno blinked. A second of awkward silence.
"…I know you'll like hot water. That, yeah."
She looked at him like she didn't buy it, but was too tired to care.
"That's it, Bruno. Joke about her trauma and then mess up talking to voices in your head," Kaerlin commented again, invisible and clearly amused.
Bruno cleared his throat.
"I already left the runes on. Right door, thing on the ceiling."
Seralyne got up slowly, still unsteady.
"If I slip and hit my head, it's your fault."
"Only if the fall's stylish," Bruno replied, already heading to the kitchen.
After a while, the bathroom door opened with a soft creak.
Bruno was in the kitchen, stirring a pot with what looked like a simple but tasty stew. He didn't even turn. Just said:
"You survived?"
Silence.
Seralyne appeared in the doorway. Wrapped in a gray towel (far too big for her), hair loose, wet and dripping. Eyes half-closed. Expression… hard to describe.
"That…" she said, staring at Bruno like he had committed a crime against the natural order. "That thing attacked me."
"The shower?" Bruno raised his brows, pretending surprise. "It does that to people who try to boss it around."
"It spat hot water in my face!"
"Well, you asked for hot water."
"I asked as a threat!" She crossed her arms, trying to keep an intimidating posture… and failing miserably. "I didn't think… that thing… would obey."
Bruno chuckled softly, serving some stew into a bowl.
"Welcome to the world of small magics with big attitudes."
She huffed, sitting on the couch carefully. The towel slid slightly off her shoulders, and she pulled it back with contained irritation.
Bruno watched from the corner of his eye, pretending to be more interested in the broth.
"Smells good," she finally said.
"Just don't look at it. I cooked with one eye and half an ear."
"Which eye?"
"The most cynical one."
Seralyne let out a sigh that could've been a laugh. Then… stayed silent for a moment, staring at the bowl in her hands.
Her fingers absentmindedly touched her arm, where one of the tattoos lay — motionless, quiet, as it always was in front of others.
"You…" she began, hesitant. "When I was unconscious. Did you… see or hear anything?"
Bruno stopped stirring his own bowl. Looked at her, expression as neutral as ever.
"Just you. Yelling. Falling. Getting back up."
Seralyne gripped the bowl tighter.
"Nothing else?"
Bruno took a sip of the broth.
"No. Why? Forgot something important?"
She shook her head slowly.
"No. Just had… strange dreams."
Bruno smiled faintly, looking back at the broth, hiding it.
"Strange… or loud?"
"Both," she replied, almost automatically.
The tattoos were silent. But Bruno could swear the serpent itched.
Kaerlin whispered just to him:
"Oh, little warrior… you won't be able to hide this forever."
"If that leaks, I kill you," Bruno thought back.
Bruno kept eating. In silence. Like nothing happened.
But the smile at the corner of his lips… was new.
"How'd you make such a tasty stew in like 20 minutes?" Seralyne asked.
"50 minutes, actually."
"What do you mean?"
"You liked the shower a little more than I expected."
Seralyne could only hide the redness in her cheeks with the bowl.
"Bruno," she called, still with her face half-hidden behind the bowl.
"Yes?" he replied, unhurried, spoon still stirring the broth.
Seralyne bit her lip for a moment, then spoke in the most casually forced way possible:
"You have… a lot of silverware."
Bruno blinked.
"…Thanks?"
"I mean, you've got plates, bowls, blankets, a couch… a house. Big. Alone." She took a deep breath. "And I lost mine… seven years ago."
Bruno looked at her now, with attention.
"And I can take care of myself," she added quickly. "I'm not asking for charity or anything. Just…"
She stared at the bowl like it held the map to courage.
"If I could… stay for a while. Until… I don't know. Until I decide."
Bruno set the spoon on the bowl's edge.
"Seralyne."
She lifted her eyes, like someone ready to be rejected.
"You can stay here as long as you want."
Her eyes widened a bit.
"You're not gonna ask how long 'a while' is?"
"You didn't ask to move in. Just said 'stay a while.' And even if it was forever…" He gave a small smile. "…the house can handle it. And so can I."
Seralyne quickly looked away, but not before Bruno saw the quick shine in her eyes.
"Fine. But if you snore, I'll stab you."
"With the dagger that's still in the bathroom?"
"I have others."
Bruno chuckled.
"Welcome, Seralyne."
She muttered something between "thanks" and "idiot," but the smile on her lips gave her away.
The next day, while it was still early,
Tila appeared with firm steps, knocking on Bruno's door with one hand and holding a basket of fruit with the other. She didn't wait to be called — just walked in, like she'd been doing for months, as if the house was partly hers too.
"Bruno?" she called, looking around.
The living room was clean, strangely neat. And empty.
Bruno came from the kitchen, drying his hands with a cloth.
"Walking in without knocking again?"
"I knocked. You're just slow to answer," she shot back quickly, but her tone was more curious than accusatory. "Where is she?"
Bruno raised an eyebrow.
"Who?"
"Seralyne. The elf full of mystery and daggers who showed up yesterday in your arms like a cheap theater scene. The one who's 'not your enemy, but not exactly a friend either.'"
He tilted his head slightly, in a gesture that could mean either "she's fine" or "I don't owe you explanations."
"Sleeping. Guest room."
Tila blinked.
"You have a guest room?"
"Sure. I use it to store junk."
"Or traumatized elves," Kaerlin commented.
Tila huffed, walking into the kitchen with him.
"Is she okay?"
"I think so."
"Damn."
"Damn?"
"And how long is she staying?"
"As long as she wants."
"You said that as calmly as someone saying 'the sky is blue.'" She crossed her arms. "And you're fine with that?"
"She needs a place. I have one. Simple."
"You… aren't scared?"
Bruno looked her in the eyes for a moment, serious.
"I am. Just not of her."
A brief silence settled between them, until it was broken by the sound of a door opening slowly.
Seralyne appeared in the hallway, hair messy, blanket draped over her shoulders, expression still half-asleep.
"Smells like bread…?"
Tila looked her up and down. Seralyne blinked, yawned — and ignored the tension, walking straight to the kitchen.
"Good morning to you too," Tila muttered.
Bruno, on the other hand, just served three mugs.
One for him.
One for Tila.
And the third… he already knew it would be accepted in silence.