I Will Hold That Secret

The dream always began in silence.

Not the gentle kind, where a night breeze whispered through windows or a candle sputtered low in its wick. This was the kind that swallowed everything whole. No voices. No footsteps. No song of cicadas beyond the walls. Only silence — thick, suffocating, endless.

Rose stood in the middle of it, small hands curling into fists at her sides. She didn’t know how old she was the first time the dream came. Too young to name the terror properly, too young to understand what she was seeing. But she remembered every detail even now.

The world in ruin stretched before her. Homes with no roofs. Streets blanketed in dust. The air hung dead, like it had forgotten how to move. The sky was a pale grey dome, no sun, no moon, no stars.

She inhaled sharply, but even her breath felt stolen, as if the world had reached inside her lungs and pressed down.

The first time, she had tried to scream. No sound left her lips. She clawed at her throat, the silence cutting deeper than any blade. Tears had streamed hot down her face, but nothing reached her ears.

Rose strained to turn away, but the pull held her fast. The ruin parted further, revealing a body crumpled beneath the wreckage. Her breath caught. She knew who it was instantly, even though the features were older, worn, and sunken.

It was her.

Her body — void of life — stared back at her with hollow eyes.

And then the hand twitched.

She woke gasping. The canopy above her bed loomed dark, her sheets clinging damp to her skin. For a moment, she almost cried out for her maids. But her lips closed tight.

Rose lay there, staring at the ceiling, her little body trembling. She didn’t know why, but she understood one thing with frightening clarity. The world she had seen — empty, ruined, hushed — was not a fantasy.

It was an ending.

By morning, her face showed no traces of the dream. Her maids helped dress her as usual, soft silk layering against her skin, the white-and-gold trim of her family’s crest gleaming bright. They brushed her hair, keeping it out the way she liked it, and led her down to the dining hall.

Her parents sat waiting at the long table, as they always did. Nobles of rank A, their very presence carried weight. Her father looked up from his notes as she entered, his features softening only slightly.

“Good, you’re here,” her mother said, her voice as gentle as it was authoritative. 

“Sit. Eat.”

Rose obeyed. She picked up her spoon, stirred her porridge, and chewed dutifully.

The conversation at the table drifted to lectures, news of monster sightings near Wild Zones, and the performance of other noble houses. She nodded when spoken to, answered softly when prompted. Yet her usual vibrancy — the girl who peppered questions, who smiled too easily, who lit up the room — had dulled.

Her father glanced at her, brow furrowing faintly. “Are you unwell?”

She shook her head. “No, Father.”

“Then perhaps anxious? You’ll see Jade later, won’t you?”

The corners of her lips lifted in the smallest curve. “Yes.”

He exchanged a brief glance with her mother. Neither pressed further.

Rose lowered her gaze to her bowl, but inside her chest the dream replayed — the silence, the dust, the stillness, the body. She swallowed her food carefully, but quickly. It was the only way she could get her free time, after all.

Later that morning, she found herself in her chambers with a rare pocket of solitude. Her maid waited obediently beyond the door, but within, the room was quiet. She dove into her bed, face first into her pillow as she gripped it on both sides.

The images replayed back to her behind closed eyelids. The grey sky. The brittle streets. The absence of life.

And what unsettled her most was not the vision itself, but the understanding.

She knew, without explanation, what it meant.
This was the shape of a world without a cure.
The thought was not her own, yet it rang with certainty: casters and stabilizers, bound by tethers, one silenced, the other doomed to die. A balance cracked beyond repair.

The silence in her dreams was not random — it was the echo of that collapse.
If nothing changed, this was where it ended.

Her eyes opened to a blank stare toward her window. The curtains lightly dancing to the summer air revealing the blue sky of the world above.

I don’t want to lose this view. I must learn. I must remember.

By the afternoon, she was composed again. Her carriage rattled through the noble district, carrying her to Jade’s estate. It was her turn to make the trip as it’s normal for them to alternate hosting. One of the few houses that ranked B of the caster families — not as prestigious as Rose’s own rank, but still formidable.

Jade was waiting in the courtyard when Rose arrived. Her dark curls banged around her head revealing a lively-eyed expression of anticipation for her friend.

“Rose! Finally! I thought you’d skip on me today.”

Rose managed a smile. “I wouldn’t.”

They played as they always did — in the gardens, through the corridors, weaving small enchantments into harmless tricks. Rose laughed when Jade teased her, though her laughter rang softer than usual.

It didn’t escape Jade’s notice.

By the time they sat together in Jade’s room, a basket of sweets half-eaten between them, Jade leaned forward, frowning.

“You’re quiet today.”

Rose looked down at the treat in her hand. “…Am I?”

“Yes.” Jade crossed her arms, studying her closely. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

Rose hesitated. A voice in her chest echoed: Do not speak. Not yet.

But Jade’s gaze was steady, trusting. Rose bit her lip, then found the loophole.

“…I don’t want to tether,” she whispered.

Jade blinked. “What?”

Rose’s eyes hardened with quiet resolve. “I don’t want to tie myself down. Not the way they expect us to. I want to find… another way.”

Jade’s mouth parted. She stared at her friend, the words too heavy to fully grasp. She should have argued. She should have scolded. But instead, something softer welled in her chest — admiration, envy, fear.

Rose was already beyond her. Already carrying a weight Jade could not see.

“…That’s your secret?” Jade whispered.

Rose nodded.

Jade swallowed. She would never betray it. Never sabotage her friend. But a part of her burned with envy. Rose had always been braver, brighter, untouchable. And now she carried a truth Jade could not share.

What Jade did not realize was that they were not alone.

At the end of the hall, a shadow lingered. A tall figure, sharp-eyed, listening. Jade’s father. His expression unreadable as he turned away, vanishing before either girl knew he had overheard.

That evening, as Rose departed in her carriage, Jade stood at her window, arms hugging herself. She watched the white cloak disappear into the horizon.

Rose had confided in her. She should have felt closer. Instead, she felt the distance grow.

Her friend belonged to something larger, something unreachable. Jade had her secret, yes — but she did not have her understanding.

In the present, lying in her bed, the memory gnawed at her still.

And when she remembered seeing Rose that very day under the willow tree, speaking softly with that stabilizer boy, her hands curled into fists beneath the covers. The thought of Rose risking rumors was almost too much.

That boy again.

The splinter lodged deeper.