The Quiet Room

Gregor trailed after Luxa through a stretch of corridors he had never walked before. The palace was full of winding halls, but this one seemed different. It was narrower, quieter. No guards posted, no servants bustling about, just the sound of their steps echoing softly on the stone. Gregor felt like he was being led into some part of the palace no one else was supposed to see.

Luxa stopped at a small wooden door tucked into an archway. Unlike the grand double doors to the council chamber, this one looked plain and ordinary—yet Luxa touched it as if it carried weight. She pressed her hand flat against the grain, and the door gave way with the faintest groan.

“This,” she said, her voice low but steady, “is The Quiet Room.”

Gregor followed her in, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the warm glow. The chamber was nothing like the cold stone halls outside. A fire smoldered quietly in a wide hearth, its flames sending soft light across the room. A single couch, broad and deep enough for three or four, sat at the center, with two armchairs angled toward it. One entire wall shimmered with life—an enormous aquarium filled with strange fish that glowed faintly blue and green as they drifted through water as dark as night. Opposite it stood shelves of books that stretched from floor to ceiling, their bindings worn smooth from use.

Gregor let out a slow breath. “Whoa. I didn’t even know a place like this was down here.”

“That is because it is now only known to me… and now you.” Luxa stepped toward the couch, her fingers brushing over its cushion before she sat down. “This room belongs only to the royal family. For generations it has been where we sought silence… or counsel… or simply peace.”

Gregor hesitated before sinking into the couch beside her. The cushion gave way in a comforting sort of way, soft and almost too welcoming compared to the stark benches and stone chairs of Regalia.

“So you’re showing me because…?” he asked.

Luxa’s violet eyes flickered toward him. “Because you are closer to me than anyone alive. You are my best advisor, the truest companion I have known since my parents passed. You are—” she stopped, then lifted her chin with resolve—“you are almost family to me. No one else will ever step into this place, not while I live. Only you.”

Gregor swallowed, the warmth of the fire matched by something twisting in his chest. “Luxa, I… thanks. I don’t really know what to say.”

“You need not say anything.” Her gaze wandered to the glowing fish. The slow, graceful swish of their fins cast rippling light over her face. “Sometimes silence says more than words could ever speak.”

They sat like that for a while, side by side. The fire cracked softly, the fish glided in their endless circle, and the hush of the room seemed to fold around them like a blanket. Gregor’s eyes drifted to the books on the wall, titles etched in faded ink—histories, poetry, stories of rulers past. He wondered how many secret conversations had been whispered here, how many heavy decisions made within these walls.

“This place feels… safe,” he said finally. “Like the world can’t reach us here.”

“That is precisely why I wanted you to see it,” Luxa replied. “Here, no councilors wait to press their demands, no guards watch our every step. Here, we may simply be ourselves.”

Gregor leaned back into the couch, allowing himself a rare moment of ease. For once, he wasn’t a warrior, or a rager, or a figure of prophecy. He was just Gregor, sitting in the firelight with Luxa, his closest friend.

After a long stretch of quiet, Luxa turned her head toward him. Her voice was gentle, but there was an edge beneath it—a sharp seriousness that cut through the warmth of the moment.

“Gregor,” she asked, “what are you seeking by staying in the Underland?”

The question struck him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His thoughts tangled: family, duty, fear, the pull he felt toward her, the weight of everything he had left behind above. None of it seemed simple enough to answer aloud.

Luxa studied him, but when he didn’t speak, she let the silence stretch. She leaned back against the couch once more, her face unreadable in the glow of the aquarium light.

Gregor shifted uncomfortably, staring into the fire. He didn’t know what to say—not yet. The flames popped softly, filling the room with a rhythm that almost disguised the pounding of his heart.

For now, he let the question hang unanswered in the quiet air.