Chapter 25:

  "The Year Passes"

  Arc 3: Chapter 4

  POV: "???"

  A year had passed since the silence in the white room. Time, like a river of murky waters, had dragged the days along, but deposited the pain as a solid, immutable layer at the bottom of everyone's soul.

  In the training chamber high in the Tower of Light, the air trembled. No longer with the funereal quiet of waiting, but with the sonic vibration of pure energy in motion. Bursts of compact golden light sliced through the space. At the epicenter, a figure moved with a graceful aggression that had not existed before.

  Luna Lighting now had her hair cut to chin length, an abrupt and practical decision, as if she had cut away a weight. And, in a touch that caused whispers in the corridors, the tips dyed a vibrant green, like the grass that sprouted on the cliff that night. She did not care about the murmurs. It was a private reminder, a tribute only she understood.

  A figure emerged from the luminous mist like a ghost. Alfredo Lighting—his movement the antithesis of hers: economical, silent, without waste. His sword, the legendary "Dawn's Edge," did not shine. It was a silver streak in the air, so fast it seemed to teleport from one point to another.

  Luna smiled, a fierce and focused gesture. From her hand, the Definitive Light did not expand in a wave but coagulated, solidified, forging a blade of pure solar energy in her palm. The impact of the two blades—one of ancestral metal, the other of concentrated will—did not produce a metallic sound, but a deep crack that made the chamber's very stone vibrate. She held the blow, her muscles trembling under the strain, but she held. The smile widened on her lips.

  It was then that a lateral projectile of light, a cunning creation from Alfredo, launched seconds earlier and left hovering, struck her in the flank. Not with enough force to seriously injure, but enough to break her concentration and knock her to the ground with a thud.

  "You still lack a bit of peripheral attention," Alfredo said, his voice calm as he extended a hand to help her up.

  Luna took the hand, rubbing her side, but the smile did not leave her face. It was a different smile—less of joy, more of satisfaction at having been challenged and knowing exactly where she failed.

  "You're right, Uncle. A simple trick. I should have seen it."

  They sat at the edge of the training mat. Luna raised a water bottle, drinking thirstily. Alfredo watched her, a rare hint of pride in his soldier's eyes.

  "You've improved a lot these months, honestly," he admitted, cleaning the blade with a cloth. "You should be proud. You're already capable, alone, of catalyzing the healing of a significant portion of the Infernal Zone. Your control is something else now."

  Luna lowered the bottle, a trickle of water running down her chin.

  "You overestimate me, Uncle. I still get tripped up by phantom lights." She said it, but the gleam in her green eyes betrayed her satisfaction. It was measurable progress, a purpose she could cling to. She rose, cracking her neck. "Council meeting. Let's go."

  The path to the Council Chamber was traveled in companionable silence. Upon entering the circular hall, Alfredo took his post as guardian behind the House of Light's chair, while Luna sat. The chair no longer felt like an oppressive throne, but a tool, a tactical position.

  "Is Theodora getting better, Uncle?" Luna asked in a low voice, without turning. Her grandmother's health, weakened by grief and age, was a constant concern.

  "We'll talk about that later, Luna," Alfredo replied, his voice equally low but firm. It was code: show no weakness here.

  The room's dynamic had subtly changed. Aldert entered first, his Expedition commanders with more restrained, less challenging gazes. He himself seemed less expansive, as if the incident with Alfredo's sword a year ago had left a scar on his arrogance.

  "Good afternoon, lords," Luna greeted, her voice clear and neutral.

  "Good afternoon, Definitive," Ver?nica replied, with her usual precision, sitting down. Her purple eyes scanned Luna, registering the hair, the posture, storing data.

  "Good afternoon! Damn, it's infernal heat out there, isn't it?" Aldert exclaimed.

  Luka arrived next, slightly out of breath, his mage vassals forming an orderly block behind him.

  "Sorry for the delay! The northern sector inspection portal was unstable," he said, sitting with a sigh. His eyes met Luna's and lingered on her hair. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Hi, Luna. How are you? Your… haircut is… different. It suits you."

  "Hm. I'm fine! You think so? Thanks!" Luna replied. The exchange was civil, almost friendly, but there was an ocean of unspoken things between them, a cordiality that was the last layer over a wound that would never properly heal.

  Bruce's entrance silenced any residual conversation. He took his seat with his usual authority, but his eyes, as they passed over Luna, lingered on her for a second longer. There was a tacit recognition there. She was no longer the emotional granddaughter. She was a piece on the board he respected, even without fully understanding.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Let us begin," he said, and the machinery of government set itself in motion.

  Reports flowed. Ver?nica cited numbers, percentages of increased agricultural productivity, "thanks to the 5% reduction in the contaminated area of the Infernal Zone this annual cycle." The words were technical, aseptic. No one mentioned how that reduction had happened, or the hidden cost behind each percentage.

  Aldert complained about expedition difficulties and mineral shortages. Bruce, with contained impatience, ordered a 5% increase in allocated resources. The transaction was cold, efficient.

  "Well, Luna," Bruce finally turned to her.

  She straightened her shoulders. "Yes. Efforts to refine secondary light-bearer training are intense. And my own control advances. I believe in the next cycle we can achieve a more efficient recovery rate. I am trying."

  It was a queen's speech. Impersonal. Focused on results.

  "Excellent," Bruce replied, and the vague praise was, in that room, great recognition.

  The meeting dragged on for hours, a bureaucratic nightmare of numbers and strategies. At the end, Luna left quickly, trying to escape the labyrinth of commitments, when Luka caught up with her in the corridor.

  "Luna, about our dinner…" he began, adjusting the sleeves of his robe.

  "Today is Juliet's birthday," she cut in, without slowing. "We'll leave it for another day, then."

  "It would be great," he agreed, walking beside her. There was an uncomfortable pause. "You know, since you… Since things changed, it's been hard to coordinate our efforts. But… we'll keep working together, right? For the kingdom."

  Luna stopped and finally looked him in the eyes. In him, she saw the reflection of her own exhaustion, the same golden prison.

  "Don't worry about that, Luka," she said, and her voice was neither kind nor cruel. It was simply final. "See you later."

  She quickened her pace, leaving him behind in the stone corridor.

  Amanda's house was an atypical joyful chaos. Balloons, ribbons, and the smell of cake baking. Flávio, sweating profusely, tried to tie an awning that stubbornly refused to stay up.

  "Luna!" he shouted, his face genuinely lighting up. "You came! I'm so happy!"

  "Of course I came. Here, the gift," she said, handing over an elegantly wrapped box.

  Juliet, a whirlwind of pink dress and ribbons, ran to her.

  "Aunt Luna! So cool! Thank you!" the girl shouted, grabbing the box eagerly.

  Luna knelt, her severe face softening for an instant.

  "You're welcome, flower. Happy birthday."

  She then approached Amanda, who watched the scene from her wheelchair in a shaded corner of the room.

  "Hello, good afternoon, Amanda."

  Amanda raised her eyes to her. There was a tired acceptance in her gaze now.

  "Hi, Luna. I'm glad you came."

  Luna leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.

  "How has the divorce with my cousin Luka been?" Amanda's question was direct, without preamble.

  Luna grew slightly more serious, but did not look away.

  "It's been… civilized. Friendly, you know. We focus on practical matters."

  Amanda watched Flávio, now fighting with a balloon, and then turned back to Luna.

  "Yes," she said, her voice flat. "Divorces can be difficult. But Luka will be a… good listener to that. He's a good man."

  Luna heard the words, the subtext clear as day. He's a good man. You should have loved him. She merely smiled, a smile that did not reach her eyes.

  "Yes. He is."

  The party truly began with the arrival of Amanda's extended family, people from the House of Mages whom Luna barely knew. Luka appeared, greeting everyone with his impeccable courtesy. Flávio was radiant, almost incredulous, seeing his modest house full of people, laughter, and life. It was a glimpse of the dream he had always nurtured.

  It was when Luna, circulating with a glass of juice she did not drink, approached Flávio.

  "Fencer isn't coming?"

  Flávio looked at her, and a quick shadow passed over his face.

  "You know, my brother is quite busy with science. I heard Ver?nica has been… quite demanding lately."

  Luna frowned. "Really? I see." She looked around. "And Raphadun is late. He doesn't answer my calls."

  The concern in Flávio became clearer.

  "I think he won't come today…"

  "Why?"

  "You know, he's been… recovering. From everything." Flávio chose his words carefully. "And earlier today… he kind of tried to fight with me. Over something stupid. I think you'd better go see him."

  A chill ran down Luna's spine. She set the glass on a table.

  "I'll go then. I'll come back for the cake, Flávio. I promise."

  Flávio smiled. "Agreed."

  Raphadun's house was only a few streets away, but it seemed to belong to another world. It was too silent. The door was unlocked. Luna entered and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, in the dimness, exactly as she had left him a year before, the night after the execution. Empty's breastplate armor, clean and polished, rested on his knees, his hands caressing it with an almost religious gesture.

  "Sister…" his voice came out hoarse, without turning.

  Luna approached, sitting beside him, the bed creaking softly.

  "I heard you had an argument with Flávio today…" she began, trying a light tone. "But it's his daughter's party, Rapha. You should go. It would do you good."

  "It was…" he choked, fingers tightening on the cold metal. "It was a very stupid argument. It was about you."

  Luna felt a knot form in her stomach.

  "About me?"

  Then he turned. His eyes, the same green as hers, were bloodshot, full of accumulated and seething fury.

  "You obey them now!" he exploded, the shout coming out like a bark in the room's silence. "That renunciation was a farce, wasn't it?! A performance so they would lower their guard and you'd go back to their lap!"

  Luna recoiled, struck. "Rapha… What do you mean? What are you saying?"

  "They killed him!" he shouted, leaping to his feet, the armor falling to the floor with a metallic thud that made Luna flinch. "All of them! Bruce, Ver?nica, Aldert… Luka! He had five more months, Luna! FIVE MONTHS! He could have lived longer, could have woken up, we could have found a way! And you… You supported it. You voted in favor. And then you went back to them, sat at the same table, smiled at them, commanded expeditions for them!"

  He was trembling with hatred and pain, tears now rolling freely.

  "I understand!" Luna stood too, her voice rising to meet his. "But do you think it was easy for me? That it doesn't tear me apart every time I enter that room? I had to do it, Rapha! I need to be there, I need the power, I need to ensure… that his sacrifice isn't in vain! This is what I am now! Why can't you understand that?"

  "I… I understand!" he shouted back, a desperate sound. "But… but forget! Forget everything!"

  He turned his back, shoulders hunched under the weight.

  Luna took a deep breath, fury giving way to infinite exhaustion. She approached him, her voice lowering to a hoarse, broken whisper.

  "Rapha… I tell you… I know how much it hurts. I feel it here,"—she brought her clenched fist to her own chest, striking hard. "Every day, every hour. But this pain… it will never cease. You know that. It only changes, hides, but it's always there. The difference isn't who suffers more. It's…" her voice failed, and the tears she had not allowed in the Tower finally erupted, silent and hot. "It's who needs to be strong enough to carry it and still walk forward."

  She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that was both a desperate plea and a refuge.

  "Please, brother…" she cried against his shoulder, her body shaking. "Don't leave me. You're the only real strength I have now… after he was gone. The only thing that still reminds me of who I was before I had to become… this."

  Raphadun stiffened for a moment, then all the fight left him. His arms rose, and he enveloped her, squeezing her with a force that almost crushed her. His own crying returned, a deep and muffled sound from a wound that had never closed.

  They remained like that, in the dark room, amid memories and the ghost of an empty armor on the floor. Grief was there, a silent third occupant in the room. It always would be. The difference, Luna realized with a clarity that cut her inside, was not in who suffered more. It was in who could hide the tears so the world saw only the crown, and in who had the luxury of letting them fall in the dark, clinging to the only tangible remnants of a man who never knew what it was to be loved until it was too late.