The Century War: First Song of Silence

Sunny gently, yet insistently, pulled me by the hand — as if trying not only to lead me out of the water. Her palm trembled like the wing of a frightened bird. I obediently walked across the wet grass, feeling my soaked shoes squelch and leave prints on the stone floor of the training courtyard.

"Miss Biana," she said in almost a whisper, "I told you... it's better not to leave the building. Better to follow the instructions."

I squinted, tilting my head slightly.

"Has he always been such... an ass?" I said with lazy irritation.

Sunny flinched — as if my words had wounded her. She covered her mouth with her fingers and widened her eyes.

"Please... don't say that. He might hear..." she hissed, glancing nervously toward the gate, where the silhouette of that flawless tyrant had just vanished.

"Oh, come on. What is this — a dictatorship? You can't even say a word against him?"

"No... it's not like that." Sunny hesitated, then nodded, as if brushing away an invisible fear. "Let's go quickly. You need to dry your feet. You might get sick..."

Her voice carried a motherly concern, but beneath it, I could sense a taut wire of anxiety stretched to its limit. We walked back.

The wind still danced in my hair, but now it felt colder.

Sunny led me across the silent training field — step by step, as if through a dream. Then, as if making up her mind, she spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, staring at her feet:

"Mister Blake is a great mage and warrior. It's not right to speak ill of him. He's done a lot... for the kingdom, and for the entire continent."

There was no admiration in her voice — only precise neutrality, like a well-memorized lesson. I couldn't see her face, but there was no offense, no pride in her tone. Only restraint.

"He gave up the throne," she continued, "to lead the army and defend our borders. Even the structure and hierarchy — he built them himself, on respect and support. Maybe his actions seem strange... but he is worthy. Of power. And of respect."

We had already reached the spiral staircase when I allowed myself some skepticism:

"And does your great mage grab people without asking?"

Sunny froze. She turned. Her brows drew together in confused surprise.

"Grab?"

I shrugged, looking somewhere up above.

"Well... he lifted my chin. Maybe to examine me, maybe to see how I'd react. Or to make me look him in the eyes..."

Sunny stepped closer. Her voice became almost conspiratorial:

"They say he can see lies. If you look him in the eyes — he sees everything. I think... he was just reading you."

Once again, she took my hand — gently, but insistently — and led me forward.

"Besides... he's the only one who..."

The phrase hung in the air. As if the wind had torn it from her lips.

"That's enough talking. You'll ask him your questions yourself."

I squinted at her in surprise. Her shoulders had tensed — she was clearly holding something back.

"When would that be?" I muttered. "If I'm always sitting alone between four walls?"

Sunny stopped at the door. She smiled slightly — for the first time that morning.

"He'll visit you. I'm sure of it."

And without waiting for a reply, she disappeared behind the wooden door, leaving me alone with myself.

"My favorite room," I muttered, staring at the familiar grey silence.

Over the past two days, a few things had appeared here: a chest of drawers under the window, filled with snow-white shirts, nearly weightless servant's robes, and underwear. All identical — as if I weren't a person, but another figure in the system.

I glanced at the bed. No. Its smooth linens still triggered a sharp pain in the back of my head. I would sleep on the rug again, leaning against the wall. Silence here was my only ally.

Kicking off my wet shoes, I slowly sat on the edge of the dresser and stared out the window. Beyond it — the world, where the river still shimmered in the sunlight, flowers swayed in the wind, and near the left wing, figures flitted about — children or teenagers.

Today felt unusually quiet. I let myself freeze in that stillness. Just to remember: the touch of water, the gentle breeze... and that fleeting feeling that I was still alive.

The whole day drifted in silence. Only the rare footsteps of soldiers broke the sleepy weave of stone corridors — they came and went, dissolving into the evening twilight. Later, in the distance beyond the windows, lights flared — bright, as if for a celebration.

And again — that feeling. Strange, as if foreign, but rooted deep inside me.

I knew what a celebration was. I knew what wine and bread looked like. What laughter sounded like. I knew how to drink, how to walk, how to laugh — but I didn't know who I was. No name. No past. Not even a sense of myself — beyond these grey walls.

This knowledge — like a jagged splinter in my consciousness — brought no relief. I didn't remember. I only felt increasingly estranged from myself. And, as always, that feeling burned a hole inside — not painful, just hollow.

I dozed off on the floor, leaning against the dresser — barely noticing when night fell over the city.

When I awoke, I scanned the room. Through the high window, a few lanterns still burned — it must have been well past midnight. My body ached from the awkward position, and I stretched, stirring the stagnant blood.

I stepped toward the small door — the one that hid the bathroom. The stone-carved tub looked like a deep basin. Stone levers controlled the water: enchantments on them changed the temperature depending on the angle — hot or cold.

I filled the bath, adding a bit of soap Sunny had left. The water embraced me. I closed my eyes and let myself drift.

When I emerged — in a thin nightgown — the night had grown denser.

A rumble echoed inside me.

Hunger stirred. My stomach reminded me of its existence. I'd hardly eaten — neither at lunch nor dinner.

Maybe, if I went downstairs, I'd find something in the kitchen... anything to satisfy this strange, living hunger.

I hesitated for a long time — wondering whether to go down like this.

But I was almost certain: Ada must have left something for me under a towel. As always, if I missed dinner.

Downstairs, silence reigned.

The city breathed in celebration, but within these stone walls, there was an unfamiliar stillness.

I peeked out the door — not a single guard.

Perhaps there hadn't been any yesterday either. It was as if they'd forgotten about me.

Or... stopped considering me important.

I folded my arms over my chest, trying to cover the thin fabric of the nightgown, and began my descent slowly.

The lantern light outside poured through the stained glass, casting shadows on the floor.

If I don't get too close, you can barely see how transparent it is — I told myself.

The steps were stone, cool under my bare feet.

I reached the kitchen. Inside, a lone lamp glowed.

And just as I'd guessed — in the corner, on the table, beneath a towel, a plate was waiting for me.

"I knew it," I whispered in gratitude, as if Ada could hear me.

I reached for the spoon —

And suddenly, something moved in the half-light.

I turned at the soft creak — in the doorway stood a soldier.

In the dimness, he seemed taller, heavier. The shadow of his figure stretched across the wall, and the sword at his hip glinted in the lamp's weak light.

A sly half-smile played on his lips. Every step he took rang with warning in my chest.

"Is the Blessed One free tonight?" he said in a near-whisper, but his voice was far too confident.

I pressed myself into the corner, clutching the warm plate wrapped in a towel, as if it could shield me.

"I... I'm not the Blessed One," I stammered. But my voice betrayed me — it trembled.

He came closer.

His gaze slid over me with lazy appraisal.

One hand rested on the hilt of his sword — not threateningly, more... playfully.

"Really? You look like one of them. Maybe I just didn't catch your eye," he smirked. "Honestly, there are a lot of soldiers here now. And not everyone gets... healing. Or love."

Those words stabbed at my chest. A knot of fear tightened around my throat.

"I... I serve here," I whispered. But he was already close.

"I think you're lying. Just scared. And I happen to need a little... healing," he hissed, reaching out and touching my still-damp hair.

My body froze. I couldn't pull away. Couldn't scream.

Only my heart pounded — as if sounding the alarm through the entire castle.

Fear — not just a feeling, but something alive, real. It began to consume me — filling my chest, choking my throat, merging with the shadow of this soldier, with the hand that had touched my hair.

And suddenly — the creak of a door.

The soldier turned. I looked over his shoulder, heart hammering. In the doorway stood Ada — sleepy, yawning, as if everything were perfectly ordinary.

"What's going on here?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"You weren't supposed to be here," he hissed.

Those words. That "supposed to" — like a blow of realization. And before I could even think, he drew his sword.

The world froze.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Ada screamed, backing away.

Fear overwhelmed me. It paralyzed my body, constricted my breath. But seeing that sword — sharp, merciless — raised toward her was unbearable.

No.

No. No. No.

And I struck. Instinctively. Desperately. Stupidly.

I smashed the dinner plate against his head.

The crash rang out. Pieces scattered like frightened thoughts. Food smeared into his thick hair. He growled — but didn't fall.

Of course not. He was a soldier. A plate wasn't a weapon.

Then Ada, without a moment's hesitation, grabbed the lantern from the table, tore out the flame, and hurled it.

A bright flash.

Fire licked at his cloak, and the soldier howled, frantically trying to beat it out.

"Run!" Ada grabbed my hand.

We dashed for the exit.

But I didn't take a step. A soft but solid obstacle slammed into my forehead. I stumbled back and looked up.

Before me — as if from another reality — stood him.

The High Mage. In snow-white armor, like a figure carved from light. But his face... his face was dark as a moonless night. He didn't move, but his entire presence screamed with rage. The air in the kitchen darkened, as if gloom had seeped in with him.

I turned to look — where was the soldier?

But he was gone. Where the body had been, only a flickering shadow remained, darting toward the window — a swirling wisp of night.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

The High Mage's voice struck like a hammer. Harsh. Menacing.

Ada lunged forward, still panting:

"Mister Blake... there was a soldier... he... he tried to attack—"

She turned, gesturing — but where she pointed, there was nothing.

"What...?" she whispered, rubbing her eyes again. "He was right here. I swear. He had his sword raised over me—"

I stood silent, nailed to the floor.

And only my eyes — trembling, locked — darted to the window, where that thin black shadow still lingered.

But the moment I heard Blake's footsteps — it vanished. As if it had never been there.

"There... was a knight," I mumbled.

My gaze dropped — to the shattered plate, the squashed food, and the fragment of terror still pulsing in my chest.

And then — like a slap — his voice broke through my stupor:

"What the hell are you wearing?" He nearly growled. Angry. Predatory. As if he saw an enemy in front of him.

The light was dim — only the outer lanterns illuminated the kitchen through the windows.

But it was enough for him. He saw. He saw everything.

I instantly wrapped my arms around myself, shielding my chest as if under a hail of fire.

"I... I just..."

My voice faltered, my tongue stumbled.

"I came to get dinner... and... and then there was the soldier..."

He wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on my nightgown — thin, nearly weightless, far too transparent in the half-light.

"What kind of clothing is this?" His voice grew even rougher, nearly a shout.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ada flinch.

I opened my mouth, but everything inside tightened.

"It's... it's what they gave me to sleep in..."

I curled in on myself even more, wanting to become small, invisible.

At that moment, the whole weight of the world, all its fury, was in one gaze — his. Blake's.

And then Ada, gathering all her courage, spoke up in my place:

"Forgive her, Mister Blake. She... she just wanted to eat. But the knight... he touched her, and then he raised his sword at me..."

I heard Ada — and still stood there, trembling, exposed.

But what burned most wasn't the clothing.

It was his gaze.

And how something inside me cracked under it.

"Why are you walking around like that? What reaction were you expecting from a soldier?" Blake's voice dripped with rage.

He looked me over with frustration and disdain, and I felt his anger wasn't just aimed at me, but at the situation itself.

"And where is this knight who attacked you?" He turned toward the now-empty kitchen.

"Mister Blake, I swear — he was here!" Ada stepped forward. "He drew his sword, he threatened—"

"He's a soldier. Not a mage," Blake snapped. "He can't vanish."

I saw him glance around the kitchen once more — but his gaze returned to me.

"What is this outfit?" he barked. "Don't you understand how you look in that?"

His voice — crude, hurtful — lashed at me like a whip. I shrank even more.

"It's a nightgown... the one they gave me..." I stammered, the words barely coming out.

"Forgive her, Mister Blake," Ada spoke again, "she just wanted to fetch some food. But the knight was really here. First, he cornered her... then raised his sword at me..."

She repeated it over and over. He wasn't listening.

He was only staring at me — as if I were the root of it all.

Everything inside me boiled. Burned. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I wouldn't.

In a burst of fury, I dropped my arms and stepped up to him — chest to chest, eyes locked to steel.

"So what if I'm naked?!" I spat like venom. "Does that give anyone the right to lay hands on me? Is that the excuse? What are you — beasts, not people?"

I raised my chin, staring straight into his eyes. Unblinking. Unflinching.

Let him see: I am no frightened captive.

He leaned in too, looming like a storm. His voice ripped through the air:

"You were told to sleep. Just. Lie down. And. Sleep. What's so damn hard about that?!"

His words hit like blows — but I didn't flinch.

I only clenched my fists harder.

"You stubborn bastard!" I yelled in his face.

"There was a soldier with a sword! He nearly attacked us! And all you say is — sleep, obey, be quiet!"

I was nearly shouting now.

His indifference, his stubbornness, his... arrogance — it hit every nerve, struck deep into my chest.

"Stubborn ass!" I snarled and turned away, not even bothering to cover myself.

Furious, I stormed up the spiral stairs.

"Ughhh, he drives me mad!" I growled under my breath, slamming the door to my room.

"Ughhhhhh!"

My heart pounded, ears rang. The room met me with silence — but I couldn't stop. I spun across the rug like a flame looking for escape.

I paced for a long time, unable to calm down, and the anger scorched me from the inside.

The empty stomach only fueled the storm — even the silence seemed soaked in irritation.

With every step across the soft rug, the anger slowly faded, exhausted, losing its strength.

And only with the first soft rays of sunlight did I let myself exhale.

"That's enough," I whispered to myself. "Enough."

Let all the weight and fear of this night dissolve with the dawn.

I curled up in a corner of the wall — where the cold stone seemed to extinguish the fire inside me.

Under the canopy of exhaustion, with a pounding heart and bruised emotions still lingering in my chest, I closed my eyes.

Silence embraced me, and with it came sleep — heavy, viscous.

And in that sleep-bound emptiness — for a moment — it felt lighter.