The Silent Tides

The Itharis Estate - Central Continent

Her father's office door had always been a threshold marking the territory of a man difficult to read. She wasn't afraid to cross it, but she did so with the certainty that every word she spoke would be measured, weighed, and analyzed on more than one level.

She knocked gently with her knuckles, and after a brief silence, Theron's voice was heard from the other side.

"Come in," Theron said.

She pushed the door open calmly, crossing the threshold with the same serenity with which she entered a classroom. Her father looked up from some documents, observing her with his usual precision, without any surprise or gesture that betrayed his thoughts.

Even seated, he carried a presence that commanded the room. When he stood, his tall frame—easily surpassing most men—only reinforced the quiet authority he exuded. His build, though refined, bore the marks of disciplined training, a strength subdued beneath the elegance of his movements.

His skin, pale to the point of translucence under certain angles of light, created a striking contrast with his jet-black, curly hair that framed his face and reached his neck. But it was his eyes that defined him most—cold and analytical, a pale lilac that seemed to strip away pretense with a single glance. Every movement, every word, was deliberate. His finely sculpted features, with their androgynous elegance, carried a distinction that never undermined his masculinity.

His desk, extremely tidy, was illuminated by the dim light of the lamps. On the polished wood rested rolled-up parchments, neatly arranged quills, and a still-wet inkwell, proof that he had been writing until recently.

"I wasn't expecting to see you at this hour," Theron said.

Gwen advanced with the same composure she had been raised with. Her posture was straight, her walk confident. She sat down in front of him naturally, without showing the slight unease that pulsed within her.

"Classes ended early. I thought it was a good time to talk to you," Gwen said.

Theron set the documents aside with the same precision with which he measured his words. He interlaced his hands on the table, his elbows barely resting on the wood.

"Anything in particular?" Theron asked.

She took a deep breath, aware that this moment was more important than it seemed.

"I wanted to talk to you about university," Gwen said.

A slight nod. No obvious reaction.

"Good. Have you considered your options?" Theron asked.

She knew this was a formality. Her father already had a clear idea of what she was going to say.

"History," Gwen said.

Theron leaned slightly back in his chair. His expression remained neutral, but there was something in his gaze that made her feel as if she were being evaluated.

"Not an unexpected choice," Theron said.

It wasn't disapproval, but it wasn't endorsement either.

"Aren't you surprised?" Gwen asked.

"You've always been surrounded by old books. It's not hard to see where your interests lie," Theron said.

Gwen crossed her legs calmly. The conversation was still on her ground.

"So, what do you think?" Gwen asked.

Theron tilted his head with slight curiosity. He didn't answer immediately. Silence. A weapon he used with more precision than any word.

"Why are you asking me?" Theron asked.

Gwen raised an eyebrow.

"Because I value your opinion," Gwen said.

A subtle change in his expression. His eyes sharpened slightly, as if measuring something beyond her words.

"Just my opinion?" Theron asked.

He didn't blink or look away.

"And your advice," Gwen said.

Theron exhaled slowly, interlacing his fingers precisely.

"History is a broad field. Do you have a specific direction in mind?" Theron asked.

The atmosphere in the room changed slightly. Gwen felt the weight in the air before answering.

"I don't want to focus only on conventional records. I want to understand the patterns behind what is omitted, what isn't told," Gwen said. A moment of pause. Not long, but enough to know that her words had touched an invisible threshold.

"History isn't omitted by oversight, Gwendolyn," Theron said. His voice was neutral, but his posture had adjusted, as if the conversation had taken on another nuance. "It is omitted by decision," Theron said.

Gwen felt a shiver run down her spine, but ignored it. «By whose decision? And with what purpose?».

"If someone decided to erase it, then it had enough weight to be a problem," Gwen said.

Theron's eyes studied her more closely.

"Relevant... or dangerous," Theron said.

Gwen tilted her head slightly.

"It's not the same thing," Gwen said.

"To those who buried it, it is," Theron said.

«He's not speaking in theoretical terms. The certainty hit her harder than she expected. Her father knew more than he was saying». She leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair, maintaining a serene expression. «She wouldn't challenge him directly».

"I don't want to challenge anything. I just want to understand," Gwen said.

Theron leaned slightly forward.

"The problem isn't what you understand. It's what you'll do when you understand too much," Theron said.

The warning was clear, but Gwen didn't allow herself to waver. "If the truth has been erased, how fragile can the system that hides it be?" Gwen asked.

Her father's gaze hardened. "There are no fragile systems. There are only people who believe they can topple them without being crushed in the process," Theron said.

For the first time in the entire conversation, Gwen felt that the response carried a personal weight. «He's not warning me. He's telling me something».

"Is that what you think I want to do?" Gwen asked.

Theron lowered his tone, his voice more calculating. "Not yet. But it's the path those who ask the wrong questions begin on," Theron said.

The silence that followed was dense. Gwen narrowed her eyes. "So, are you telling me not to do it?" Gwen asked.

Theron inhaled slowly, measuring each word.

"I'm telling you that if you follow this path, there will be no turning back," Theron said.

She crossed her arms, her chin held high.

"There's always a way back," Gwen said.

The answer didn't make him waver.

"For some, yes. For others, the only way out is to keep moving forward until they can no longer stop," Theron said.

A slight shiver ran down her skin. Not from fear, but because her father never spoke vaguely. «How much does he really know? What has he seen?». She didn't respond immediately. For the first time, her mind worked faster than her mouth dared to follow.

Theron observed her for a moment longer before nodding, as if her silence had given him a clearer answer than any word.

"If you decide to continue, be careful who notices you're doing it," Theron said.

Gwen nodded slowly.

"I'm always careful," Gwen said.

A second of stillness. Then, her father let out a whisper softer than the crackling of a candle.

"Tell me again in a few years," Theron said.

Her jaw tightened slightly. Not because she doubted her own intentions, but because, for the first time, she felt her father saw her as more than just his daughter. The conversation was over. For now.

Gwen maintained her serene expression as she rose, calmly smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. Without haste, she walked to the door and opened it with the same elegance with which she had entered. She didn't look back.

The sound of the closing door echoed softly in the office.

Theron didn't move. For a long moment, the room was silent. His fingers remained interlaced on the desk, his posture impeccable, but his gaze was fixed on the documents that no longer mattered to him. He exhaled slowly.

«Since Gwendolyn was a child, I knew her curiosity would take her far, but I didn't expect this moment to come so soon». He pressed his lips slightly, feeling a growing tension in his jaw. «This was no ordinary conversation. These were not harmless questions from a student lost in her studies. Today, she did not ask—she spoke with the clarity of someone who had glimpsed what should have remained buried.».

His gaze shifted to the lamp lit on the desk. The light flickered slightly, casting irregular shadows on the polished stone of the walls. «I've seen that same flicker in the eyes of many people before. It wasn't just the brightness of intelligence. It was the spark of those who begin to question too much», he murmured.

He moved his hand slowly to the side drawer of the desk. He turned the key without hurrying, the metal making a dry click before opening. Inside, carefully stored among other documents, rested a book with thick covers, worn by years and use. Theron took it calmly and placed it on the table.

The sound of leather against wood echoed in the room. His index finger traced the cover before opening it. He turned the pages with the familiarity of someone who has read the same content too many times. « Here lay the names of those who crossed a line they should have never reached», he whispered. His eyes scanned the list. Strategists. Academics. Nobles. Men and women who asked the wrong questions and were clever enough to find answers. Some simply disappeared. Others were betrayed. The most unfortunate... are still alive, trapped in the shadow of what they discovered.

Theron stopped the movement of his hand when he found a particular name. One that, in the official records, never existed. His expression hardened. «I don't want Gwendolyn to end up like them», he thought with a grave voice. He closed the book with a measured movement and slid it to the side. The weight of his thoughts seemed to reflect in that inert object. «I had seen it unfold too many times—people who thought they were uncovering the truth, chasing after every whisper of something greater. I knew how easily the search for the forbidden could become the very thing that destroyed them», he murmured.

«The nobility ignores the curious. Until they cease to be so. Until they begin to understand too much». Theron brought a hand to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. «I could prevent her from searching. I could close the doors before she went any further. But stopping her now would be a mistake. Nothing fuels curiosity more than an imposed limit. Stopping her abruptly would make her want to know more. If I revealed too much too soon, she would fixate on what she wasn't yet meant to grasp».

When he opened his eyes again, his expression was one of absolute calm. «I had made difficult decisions before. But this... this was different». He took a deep breath and let his gaze return to the door through which Gwendolyn had left minutes before.

"I must talk to my wife" he said in a low voice.

«This wasn't something I could decide on my own.». With a precise movement, he moved the book away and leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked slightly under his weight. «Gwendolyn hasn't crossed the threshold yet. But if she keeps going, the day will come when she does. And when that day comes... I'll have to be prepared».

The flame of the lamp flickered slightly as he exhaled a final sigh. When he opened his eyes again, his expression had returned to its usual state: calculating, impenetrable. «The conversation was over, but the consequences had only just begun. », he murmured.