Crash.
The sound reaches him before meaning does.
Ares blinks, slow and unfocused. For a brief moment, he does not know where he is, only that his body has already begun to correct itself. His back straightens. His shoulders square. Habit moves faster than thought.
He must have fallen asleep.
He does not recall when.
The bed is empty.
That registers next. The absence is wrong enough that his gaze halts there, lingering a beat longer than necessary. The sheets are undisturbed, cool. The matriarch is not where she should be.
His attention shifts.
The lyrebird is awake. Entirely so. It's head is angled toward him, eyes bright, alert in a way that feels deliberate. It does not stir when he moves. After a moment, it turns its head, slow and measured, toward the far side of the chamber.
Ares follows its gaze.
Ett stands near the table.
The vase is broken.
Porcelain fragments lie scattered the floor, unevenly spaced, some larger pieces near her feet, smaller shards farther out. It looks less like something flung in anger and more like something that slipped from careless fingers.
Ares rises at once.
"Sit."
Her voice is level. No edge to it. No command, either, just a word placed where resistance would feel unnecessary.
"Matriarch—"
"Then leave."
He stops.
Leave?
The word does not settle easily. It feels premature. Incomplete.
"I will see to it," he says quickly, stepping forward before he can consider. "Lest your be harmed."
"Why."
The word lands without weight, and that is what unsettles him. It is not sharp. It's not curious. It does not rise at the end.
"So that no harm comes of it," he answers.
"Why."
"For your well-being."
"Why."
Ares draws a breath. "So you need not to be confined."
Again.
"Why."
Again.
"Why."
The repetition is exact. Same tone. Same pace. No indication that any answer has been accepted or rejected.
"To spare you from harm," he says, more carefully now.
"Why."
The word comes again, unchanged.
He has nothing left that feels sufficient. Any answer he gives will lead back here. He understands that now. Whatever she is asking, it is not something he can answer with reason.
It is not the vase. Not the shards. Not the floor.
Ett looks at him.
Ares adjust his posture at once. He is aware of the set of his shoulders, the placement of his hands. His expression smooths into something polite, familiar. He smiles. A faint smile.
Ares has been looked at like this before.
Not precisely so, but close enough to awaken the same instincts. Looks that measure. That appraise. That do not expect explanation, only obey.
Still, there is something in her gaze that unsettles him more than he would like to admit. Not fear. Not anger. Something quieter. Like standing where he does not belong, and realizing it too late.
"Why."
"I…" His voice thins. He does not force it.
He cannot guess what answers she seeks. He is not certain there is one.
"Leave."
Relief comes first, unbidden. Then a faint disorientation follows it, as though he has been dismissed mid-task.
"T-The broken—"
She looks at him again.
No words accompany it.
His gaze drops of its own accord.
"It is my charge," he says quietly. "It is mine to answer for."
That should be enough. Duty always has been. Duty has explained worse things than this.
For fleeting instant, a thought intrudes.
Does she knows something? Is this caution? A warning, given obliquely?
No. That makes little sense. He has done nothing that would warrant such concern.
The knock interrupts him.
"Your Grace," Lia's voice comes from beyond the door, carefully pitched. "We heard a crash. Are you and Sire Akan unharmed?"
Concern? This maid has a tone of concern? Still Ett ignored to think deeper.
"Leave."
She orders.
Ett passes Ares, lifting the lyrebird into her arms. Her touch is gentle, unhurried, as though nothing note has occurred. "After you see to it."
"Understood. Thank you, Matriarch."
Ares admits the maids and turns at once to the task. He does not watch her retreat. There is no benefit in doing so.
His hands move steadily. He gathers shards, instructs quietly, ensures no fragment is overlooked. This, at least, is familiar. Tangible. Whatever unease lingers within him is set aside, folded inward where it will not interfere.
When the room is restored, order returns as it always does.
Ett remains where he is.
She does not watch them. She does not avert her gaze either. She simply exists in the space, still and unremarkable.
Time passes.
"….Matriarch. Your meal."
Ares sets the tray beside her. He bows and withdraws. The door closes behind him with careful softness.
Ett does not look after him.
Eru settles against her lap, warm and quiet. She lays a hand upon the bird's feathers, smoothing them without attention.
Why did she do that?
The question arrives late, without urgency, as though it has been waiting its turn.
Why did she presses him so?
She is weary. Not in body, not entirely. The sensation is duller than exhaustion, less insistent. It makes thought feel optional, as though nothing requires resolution at present.
Her dream surfaces again. Earth.
To clear. Too detailed to dismiss outright. It lingers in fragments, rooms, light, herself, without demanding emotion. Still, it brings back her melancholic, forlorn emotion. How she tried to reach the unattainable.
Perhaps that is all this is.
Ett opens the balcony doors with empty heart. Cool air drifts inward. Ett draws a slow breath.
Her thoughts wander, then lose direction. Her eyes lost its focus. They do not settle into anything useful. They do not need to.
Eru shifts slightly. The sound is small, grounding.
She sits, allowing the silence to remain as it is. The guard keep their distance. No footsteps pass nearby. No voices intrude. For once, nothing presses upon her attention.
Ett sneezes and wipes her nose. When she looks at her hand, there is blood.
"…Tch."
Her stomach tightens faintly. Hunger follows, distant but present.
She watches a drop fall onto the marble floor. Touches it without thinking. Smears it lightly, tracing a simple face with fingers as another drop of blood falls down. The lines are crude. The blood darkens, then dries.
Not very well done.
Eru nudges with her beak, insistent.
"Oh. It is you."
Ett allows herself a small, tired smile. "Forgive me. I am a little unsettled."
Her behavior has affected Ares.
The bird turns its gaze ahead, and so did she. The world stretches wide. She recalls watching city lights daily, long ago, blurred when she removed her glasses.
Now, she can see clearly.
And this place is perilous. Temporary.
Still.
Before everything comes to its close, she would like to see it as much as possible. Well, let's just say, properly.
"Eru," Ett uttered softly, "when this is finished, let us go and see a few places."
She is unsure if she can return anyway.
"Alright, let us eat first."
After that, she will return to herself.
This will suffice for today.