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They didn’t summon her to the chambers this time. Instead, Councilor Hayes waited for her in a small garden behind the archives, where she spent most of her leisure time under the soft glow of the lanterns and the smell of wet stone wafting through the air. Councilor Hayes was a good friend of hers, one of the few who didn’t fall easily under her resonance, notorious for choosing gentle places for difficult conversations.
That was what sparked the uneasiness bloom under her skin.
She saw him before he did. His brown hair caught the golden streaks of light, painting his face in serenity as he looked through the scroll in his hand. His head shot up as a twig snaps under her feet, meeting her eyes.
“Liane,” he spoke, not with the authority of his position, with something like apology, “you came.” His voice carried the warmth of a friend, though sorrow tugged at the corners of his eyes.
Silence stretched the space between them, and somehow the space felt wider than the garden itself.
“We need you,” he said, and those words should’ve comforted her, yet they pressed against her ribcage like a tightening band. Lanternlights flickered across his features, softening the worry lines carved by months of war. Hayes had always believed in peace. He believed in her. And that only made it harder.
Liane remembered the stories he would tell her when nights were young, and steam curled softly from their tea. He spoke of quiet, peaceful lives untouched by politics or conflict. He spoke of the life he might have chosen if duty hadn’t claimed him first.
She had listened with admiration, with a touch of pity, knowing how little of a chance he had to live his dream. Yet, his hope had always warmed her.
Now she saw none of that hope in him– only a silent anguish.
“You want me to negotiate,” she murmured, though they both knew negotiation wasn’t what he meant. Her resonance stirred beneath her skin, a faint hum as if it understood before she did. “But… Hayes, if they agree with it just because I said so, then is it really peace, or are they just puppets on a string?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence was enough to tell her he had asked himself the same question and turned away.
Hayes exhaled, a slow, uneven breath that fogged in the cool air. “Liane… Do you think I haven’t asked myself that?” He sounded soft, tired, and quiet enough to be almost swallowed by the rustling of the leaves as the wind picked up its pace. “Sometimes– No, every day I wonder whether we crossed the line even before you came. Whether we ever drew a line at all.”
He stepped closer– close enough to see the exhaustion in his eyes, one that came with many sacrifices in the name of survival.
“We’re losing children,” he said quietly, his tone broken beyond repair. “They are too. Villages burned. Supplies cut. Families scattered. Every day the war grows hungrier. If this continues, there won’t be anything to negotiate.”
He dragged his hands over his face, rubbing it as if he was ashamed of what he was going to admit. “Your resonance… is the strongest one we’ve ever seen. It’s the only one strong enough to make them listen– not obey– long enough for us to find another way forward. That’s all we need– a moment where they aren’t blinded by rage.”
He looked at her then– really looked– and the guilt in his expression was almost tender. “I know it’s not fair to ask you. I know it’s not clean. But tell me, Liane, what other choice do we have? How else can we save them?”
His voice cracked on the last word. She couldn’t tell what he meant– citizens, soldiers, the council, or the people he swore to protect. Maybe all of them. Maybe none.
For a long moment Liane didn’t say anything. The garden felt too small for the weight settling in her chest. Her resonance pulsed faintly.
“Hayes…” her voice was barely a whisper, “do you hear yourself? You’re asking me to take away their anger, their fear, their right to choose! Even if it’s for a moment… it’s still taking.”
He flinched, just slightly. Enough for her to glimpse the man beneath the councilor.
She looked away, tracing the dark outline of the city beyond the garden walls. “I never asked for this,” she said. “I didn’t ask to be the strongest, nor did I ask to serve the country.”
Hayes’ breath hitched, but he stayed silent.
“And yet… fate is as cruel as ever.” Her fingers curled on her sides, “And if I did nothing, innocent people would die. If I did something, then they might live, but not the reason they chose peace.”
Finally, she met his eyes. “I’ll go,” she droned. “Not because the council asked me to. And, not because you asked me to.”
Relief, guilt, and gratitude flickered through his grey eyes.
“I’ll go,” she repeated. “Because I can’t watch the world burn when I know I can help stop it. But understand something, Hayes…,” her voice sharpened, steadied, “If I– When I cross that line, I don’t know if I’ll ever come back.”
But beneath that fear, a small, stubborn hope flickers– hope that maybe she could help without losing herself. She didn’t know if she would return unchanged, but she would return fighting for something real.
Her resonance pulsed, faint but steadfast– a quiet echo of the choice she made.