Eira
The morning after the Warden's inspection felt tight with tension, despite Milla's efforts with the hot chocolate.
The bakery was open, and while Milla stood upstairs charming customers, Eira descended into the cellar with a stack of her father's heavy, leather-bound journals tucked under her arm.
Soren was already awake, sitting on a crate with his back against the cool stone. He was wearing the grey sweater again.
The violet lantern sat on the floor between them, its pulse sluggish and dark.
"We can't just hide anymore, Soren," Eira said, dropping the books onto the small wooden crate he used as a desk. "Kaelen is hunting you.' As long as this light reacts to your fear, you're like a beacon for every Warden in the Tier."
Soren looked at the bruised glass. "I can't stop it, Eira. It's like a second heartbeat. When I hear boots on the stairs, it just... happens."
"Then we'll change it," Eira replied firmly.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, opening the first journal to a page filled with gold-inked diagrams. "Think of your lantern as a mirror. If the flame is violet, it's because the person holding it is trapped in a loop of their own trauma."
She gestured for him to sit closer. For a moment, the space between them felt charged with the memory of the river, but Eira forced herself to stay grounded. "Close your eyes. Don't let any thoughts from the past invade your mind."
"Is this... meditation?" he asked, his voice tinging with embarrassment. "Because I'm not good at that. I tried it once at the docks. I just ended up thinking about how much my back ached and what I was going to eat for dinner."
Eira looked up, a small, ghost of a smile on her lips. "No, Soren. We aren't doing meditation. I only deal in heart rates and lung capacity."
"We are just trying to calm your nervous system," she explained. "When you're scared, your blood runs hot and your breath gets shallow. The lantern picks up on that physical friction. We're going to trick your body into thinking it's safe, even if your mind doesn't believe it yet."
"How?"
"Place your hand on the glass," she instructed. She waited until his large, calloused hand cupped the violet sphere. Then, she placed her own hand directly over his.
His skin was warm. "Now focus on the weight of my hand on yours. Feel the texture of the wool of your sweater. Listen to the sound of the furnace in the corner."
They sat in silence for a long time. Eira focused on the rhythm of her own breathing, trying to project a sense of calm she didn't entirely feel.
Beneath their hands, the violet light began to shift. The harsh indigo faded into a soft, misty lavender.
"I feel... heavy," Soren whispered, his eyes still closed. "Like I'm sinking, but it doesn't hurt."
"That's the first step," Eira murmured. "If you fight the violet, it burns brighter. But if you sit with it… just really sit with it, it'll soften."