The Price of Being Seen
By dawn, Lumi's name was no longer whispered.
It was spoken aloud.
Painted in chalk along alley walls. Murmured in markets. Etched into scraps of prayer left at shuttered doors.
Truth Bearer.
The title felt heavier than any crown.
At twenty-two, Lumi learned the cost of visibility—not from prophecy, but from the way people looked at her now. With hope sharpened by fear. With expectation that bordered on desperation.
"They're turning you into a symbol," Blake said as they moved through the lower districts, cloaks drawn tight. "Symbols don't get to be human for long."
"At least symbols are harder to erase," Lumi replied.
The truth pulsed uneasily.
Both statements are correct.
By midday, the first attempt came.
A crossbow bolt shattered against the stone inches from Lumi's head.
Blake reacted instantly—shadow snapping outward, the Dreadsword half-drawn as he dragged her behind a collapsed archway. The shooter fled before Blake could give chase, melting into the maze of streets.
"They're testing reach," Blake said, breath tight. "Measuring reaction time."
"They want to see if I bleed," Lumi said quietly.
The truth did not deny it.
That night, the council chambers burned.
Not fully—just enough to send smoke coiling into the sky, a signal visible from every quarter of Noctyrrh.
The message was unmistakable:
No authority stands untouched.
Lumi stood at the watchhouse window, hands braced against the sill as ash drifted like dark snow. "They're not trying to win," she said. "They're trying to unravel."
Blake watched the flames with a soldier's clarity. "They're daring us to respond publicly."
The truth pressed close, urgent.
If you speak now, the city will listen. If you stay silent, the Remnant will speak for you.
Lumi closed her eyes.
She had never wanted a voice that carried this far.
But wanting had never been part of truth's contract.
They chose the old bell tower.
Its bronze throat had not rung since the curse first fell, shadows nesting in its hollow like memory. Blake climbed ahead, clearing the stair as Lumi followed, heart hammering with more than fear.
When she reached the platform, the city spread out beneath her—rooftops stitched together by lamplight and star-glow, thousands of lives holding their breath.
Blake took her hand once. A reminder. A promise.
Lumi stepped forward.
She did not shout.
Truth carried her voice.
"People of Noctyrrh," she said, the words rolling outward like tide against stone. "You are being told that silence is safety."
The truth burned, bright and clean.
"It is not."
Faces tilted upward. Windows opened. Even the shadows seemed to still.
"They will tell you that night demands sacrifice," Lumi continued. "That love weakens the realm. That fear is the price of survival."
Her voice trembled—but did not break.
"That is a lie."
The truth surged—undeniable.
"I cannot promise you peace," Lumi said. "I cannot promise you safety. I can promise you this: the night is listening, and it is changing. Do not let anyone decide what it becomes without you."
A hush fell so complete it felt like standing inside a held breath.
Then—movement.
Lights flared across the city. Doors opened. People stepped into the streets, not with weapons, but with presence.
Blake exhaled slowly, awe threading through the tension in his chest.
"You've made them visible," he murmured.
The truth whispered its warning.
And so have you.
As they descended the tower, Lumi's legs shook—not from fear, but from the understanding that nothing could be taken back now.
In the distance, a horn answered the bell that never rang.
The Remnant had heard her.
And they were coming.