Envoys of the Unafraid
They arrived without banners raised.
That, Lumi learned quickly, was the first warning.
The envoys crossed the western bridge at an unhurried pace, boots striking stone in a rhythm too measured to be accidental. Their cloaks bore no sigils of faith or crown—only finely worked clasps shaped like open eyes.
Observers.
At twenty-two, Lumi had stood before executioners and rulers alike, but this was different. These men and women did not look at her as a threat.
They looked at her as a resource.
Blake walked at her side, posture relaxed but alert. The Dreadsword remained sheathed, its presence muted yet undeniable, like a storm choosing patience.
The lead envoy bowed—not deeply enough to be respect, not shallow enough to be insult.
"I am Maelor of the Open Concord," he said. "We thank Noctyrrh for allowing us to witness its… emergence."
Lumi tilted her head. "You felt it from beyond the realm."
Maelor smiled. "Everything that stores grief eventually becomes loud."
The truth stirred uneasily.
They were not ignorant.
They were unafraid.
"We did not invite you," Blake said evenly.
"No," Maelor agreed. "But you announced yourselves." His gaze flicked briefly to the sky, where the night shimmered with slow-moving stars beneath shadow. "Such things ripple."
The envoys were led into the council chamber—once a place of decrees and distance, now stripped bare. No dais. No throne. Only a wide circle of stone benches, already filled with representatives chosen not for power, but for memory.
Maelor took this in with interest. "Decentralization," he murmured. "How inefficient."
"How humane," Lumi corrected.
He studied her openly. "You are the truth-bearer."
"I am Lumi Reyes."
"A distinction without difference," Maelor said gently. "Your realm has altered a foundational balance. Other nations will wish to understand the cost."
Blake's jaw tightened. "The cost was already paid."
Maelor finally looked at him fully. "Ah. The Dreadsword Prince. You are… less broken than expected."
The blade stirred, displeased.
Lumi felt it then—the subtle pressure beneath the envoy's words. Consent framed as inevitability.
"You want access," she said.
Maelor did not deny it. "We want assurance. That what you've awakened will not spread unchecked."
The night answered first.
Shadows pooled along the chamber walls—not threatening, not submissive. Present.
Lumi spoke calmly. "Grief does not spread like fire. It spreads like water. It flows where it is allowed."
"And if another realm demands the same awakening?" Maelor pressed.
"Then they must be willing to remember," Lumi said. "Not extract."
Silence stretched.
For the first time, uncertainty flickered across the envoy's face.
Blake stepped forward. "Noctyrrh will not become a weapon. Or a model. Or a resource."
Maelor exhaled slowly. "That may disappoint some very powerful people."
Lumi met his gaze, truth steady and unyielding. "Then they should learn disappointment."
The envoys rose as one.
"This conversation will continue," Maelor said. "Whether you wish it to or not."
After they departed, the chamber felt smaller—and stronger.
Blake released a breath. "They're testing boundaries."
"Yes," Lumi said. "And they won't stop."
She felt the night coil closer—not possessive, but protective.
"Good," Blake added quietly. "Neither will we."
Outside, Noctyrrh held its ground.
The world had come unafraid.
It would not leave unchanged.