The Fall of Silence

The days following the Midwinter Assembly felt like walking through a storm you couldn't see — only feel.

The kingdom had not exploded overnight. No one was executed. No thrones were toppled. But something had shifted. A crack had formed in the foundation. Small. Subtle. But real.

Whispers followed Elian everywhere.

"That’s him."

"The princess’s pet."

"He must’ve bewitched her."

He kept his head down, books hugged to his chest, pretending not to hear. But he heard. And he remembered. Every word. Every glance.

Seraphina was not spared either. The court was too careful to insult her directly, but the press was less forgiving. The Royal Bulletin printed a portrait of her with the headline: ‘Too Clever, Too Bold — Is the Crown Princess Losing Control?’ Below the image, a scathing article accused her of reckless behavior, of undermining the dignity of the monarchy.

Still, she held her head high.

And when they crossed paths in the corridor between history and strategy lectures, she brushed his hand with hers. Just enough to feel. Just enough to remember.

That evening, Elian returned to his dorm to find his room ransacked.

His mattress had been cut open. Ink soaked his textbooks. Pages torn. Clothes slashed. The curtains had been taken down entirely. A dead rat lay on the floor with a crude note pinned to its back.

"Go home, filth."

He stood in silence for a long time. Then, without a word, sat down on the floor.

A soft knock came.

He didn’t answer.

The door opened anyway.

Professor Halen stepped inside. A quiet man with steel-gray hair and eyes to match. He surveyed the wreckage without surprise.

"It begins," he said.

Elian looked up. "You knew this would happen?"

"A commoner entering the Academy is rare. A commoner touching royalty is unforgivable."

"Why are you here?"

The professor placed a wrapped bundle on the broken bedframe.

"Because I was once like you. Not in circumstance. But in spirit. I believed this place could change. And I believe you and the princess might be the ones to prove it."

He turned to leave, then paused.

"Burn the rat. Wash the ink off your hands. Then keep going."

He left without another word.

Inside the bundle were replacement clothes. New books. And a note:

“Don’t bow. Don’t break. - H”

The following week, Seraphina invited Elian to the royal gardens — publicly.

It was unheard of.

She didn’t hide. Didn’t whisper. Just walked beside him in the sunlight, her expression serene.

The noble students watched them as if witnessing a scandal unfold in slow motion.

"You’re provoking them," he said.

"Good. They’ve been comfortable too long."

"I don’t want you hurt."

She stopped beside a marble fountain, the spray catching the light.

"You don’t protect people by hiding them. You protect them by standing beside them."

They sat on the edge of the fountain. For a long moment, they said nothing.

Then she turned to him.

"I want you to come to the palace. Officially. As part of the academic delegation."

Elian froze. "That’s—"

"Scandalous. Revolutionary. Dangerous. Yes. But necessary. They need to see you not as a rumor... but as real."

He looked at her.

"Will they let me in?"

"Not quietly. But they’ll try to pretend it’s their idea."

He exhaled slowly. "Then I’ll come."

And so the invitation was sent.

The palace was a city unto itself. Corridors of glass and gold. Walls lined with ancestral paintings. Everywhere he stepped, Elian felt small.

But he didn’t show it.

He was greeted by a steward with narrowed eyes, escorted through four checkpoints, and brought into the Hall of Justice, where the royal family received scholars, judges, and petitioners.

Queen Lavinia sat at the head, her expression carved from ice. Her crown glistened like a cage of stars.

Seraphina sat beside her, calm as a winter lake, every movement measured, every breath rehearsed.

The queen regarded Elian like one might study a speck on a mirror.

"Elian Thorne," she said. "You have been invited as a guest of the Crown Princess. Do you understand what that implies?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And yet you came."

"Because she asked. And because I believe in what she stands for."

A pause. Then, "You are bold."

He met her gaze. "She taught me to be."

A flicker. Maybe amusement. Maybe warning. Then the queen leaned back.

"We shall see if the world is ready for what you both intend to build."

And with that, he was dismissed.

But as he left, Seraphina brushed his hand once more.

And he knew: the silence was beginning to fall. The change had already started.

What came next... would define everything.

The next day, a new article appeared in the Royal Bulletin.

“Palace Opens Doors to Lower-Class Student — Historic Inclusion or Dangerous Precedent?”

It featured Elian’s face — unflattering, grainy — beneath a headline meant to stir unrest.

Reactions were immediate. Some scholars celebrated it as a sign of progressive reform. Others denounced it as reckless. Nobles gathered in secret to debate whether Seraphina was still fit to inherit the throne.

But for every whisper of outrage, another voice rose in support. Letters flooded the Academy from outer provinces. Anonymous students posted flyers: “Worth is not Wealth”, “Let Merit Reign”, and “One Step Forward.”

The world was watching.

And Elian? He no longer felt invisible.

But visibility came with a price.

He began receiving letters. Some praising his courage. Others... threats. Crude, angry, dripping with venom. Promises of pain. Promises of punishment.

He kept the worst in a box under his bed. Not because he was afraid — but because fear had to be acknowledged to be overcome.

On the day of his next lecture, Seraphina sat beside him in the front row.

No words. Just presence.

And that, more than any speech, was how the fall of silence truly began.