Chapter 127: The Price of Silence

What if the lizard thought he was exaggerating?

What if he decided Riley was just being dramatic and took out the barrier?

He was okay with being known as weird and dramatic, but it would be another thing if the lizard took out that barrier that was saving him from blowing up because of it.

But Kael wasn’t dismissing him.

No, he knew better.

The dragon lord’s gaze had shifted into something contemplative, the kind of look Riley had come to associate with ancient, horrible truths about the world. Or anger. Not like Kael had a wide range of expressions. Tics, yes, but his gaze? Not exactly as diverse.

But apparently the first guess was correct. Because it was something most ancients had dealt with.

Back before civilization had crammed everyone into tight spaces, when isolation was still possible, beings with heightened senses could get by. They could live far from others, away from the constant flood of stimuli that grated on their nerves.

But as the world advanced, the noise only grew. Chatter, clamor, bells, beeps, buzzing, and those godforsaken cars with horns—every sound piled on top of the next, and their heightened senses started feeling like a curse.

And for those cursed with sharp ears, there was no escape, just occasional relief.

Riley blinked as Kael’s lips curved in something like a grimace. It’s one reason beings like him were irritable. Who would be happy hearing the breathing of everyone in a building?

Dragonlings were even forced to stay together like that, yet also divided because the earlier they started getting used to all the stimuli, the less irritable they would be.

The ancients, though, weren’t as fortunate, especially those who hadn’t left their lairs in thousands of years.

So, it was relatively trainable across different races. But just because it was, didn’t mean it could be properly turned off unless one was willing to be left completely vulnerable.

In most cases, most beings would lessen the stimuli by dampening their senses with magic; however, for someone in Kael’s position, that would be impossible, not to mention idiotic. Therefore, he’d just learned through the years how to focus on a grounding sound. And that’s what he was trying to describe to Riley.

Riley frowned, uneasy.

“You have to pick one sound from everything you hear and focus only on that,” Kael instructed.

“Hyperfixation won’t be good for you long-term, but it’s the first step until you can isolate what you actually want to hear.”

Riley’s eyes went wide. Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

By that logic… was Kael planning to take down the barrier?

His horror must have been obvious, because Kael’s expression shifted ever so slightly. With that look, how could the dragon lord not know what he was thinking?

“Earlier, you said the whispers eventually went away,” Kael reminded him.

“So it might be temporary. But if it lasts longer, we’ll need a solution. Unless you’re fine with being deaf for a time.”

In this place? Isn’t that just suicide?

But also—brain split in half from noise? Definitely also not!

Kael continued smoothly, utterly unfazed by his growing panic. “Focus on your breathing. Or your heartbeat.”

Riley tried. He really did. He inhaled shakily, counted. Exhaled. Counted.

The golden lizard clicked his tongue. “No. Never mind. Your vitals sound worse than blaring horns right now.”

How could it not, Riley wanted to retort, especially as the dragon lord’s hand itched toward the barrier, as if preparing to unravel it.

Riley’s expression said it all: Sir, if you remove that, I might actually die!

There was a pause. A moment of hesitation, then resignation, before Kael reached forward and replaced Riley’s trembling hands with his own.

Large palms, warm and steady, covered Riley’s ears.

Riley almost flinched away. Instinct, really. Because Kael’s hands were huge, heavy, warm. But when they fully covered his ears, Riley froze.

Oh.

This was… better.

The coverage was perfect, no gaps, no room for sound to stab through. Maybe it was the size? Or maybe it was just how tight Kael pressed down, like a shield.

And then—there it was.

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump.

A pulse. A steady clock, calm and unfaltering. Definitely steadier than Riley’s nervous, panicked, breakdancing heart.

Was that… Kael’s?

“I will take out the barrier gradually. In that time, pick a consistent sound.”

“Don’t wait for the sounds to overwhelm you,” Kael instructed. His voice was low, muffled by his own hands.

“Look for one. If the sound you fixate on isn’t there, then shift. Choose another.”

“When many come at once, carve out a space for each one in your mind. Anticipate. Anticipation makes it bearable.”

It was good advice. Grounded, practiced. But Kael wasn’t sure if Riley was even listening anymore. The twig’s eyes had slipped shut, his lashes still damp from tears. He looked almost peaceful, except for the faint twitch in his brows.

Kael watched him closely, golden eyes narrowing. Was he even listening?

Probably not.

Kael’s hands stayed firm over his ears, sealing him in. His gaze lingered on Riley’s tearful face, sharp irritation cutting through him.

He shouldn’t cry in front of anyone.

Tsk.

If he looked that weak in front of anyone else, who knew how many would try snapping him in half… or worse, scoop him up like some toy to play with.

Kael’s thoughts drifted, dark and annoyed, until a sudden shift pulled him back. Riley’s head slumped sideways, his face brushing against Kael’s wrist.

The aide was practically nuzzling him.

Riley’s cheek pressed against Kael’s skin, his lips dangerously close to that steady pulse he’d been listening to the whole time.

Kael stilled, realization dawning.

The twig had actually fallen asleep.

Not because Kael’s barrier blocked every sound. No. Riley had been listening to him. To his pulse. Long enough, steady enough, that the rhythm lulled him into slumber even as Kael lowered the sound-blocking barrier bit by bit.

Just as promised. But not all the way.

He said he would. But he didn’t because the twig was fragile.

What if his ears bled again?

So he grumbled, but stayed where he was, keeping his palms cupped around Riley’s head, adjusting only enough to keep Riley comfortable.

When he was certain the aide was fully out, Kael eased him down against the bed. They were close enough that he didn’t even need to extend his arms far.

The infamous pillow divider sat squashed between them, half-collapsed and pitiful. The irony wasn’t lost on Kael. Riley had been the one fussing about borders, and now he was the one who had broken it, inching closer as though unconsciously seeking him out.

Kael stared at the ruined divider, then at Riley’s sleeping face nestled against his wrist.

Ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

And yet, he didn’t pull away.

__

Thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump.

Even in his sleep, Riley could hear it. A deep, steady rhythm, strong enough to drown out everything else. The sound tugged at him, pulled him in, a lifeline amid the chaos of every other noise he had been drowning in.

His unconscious body reacted before his mind could. Inch by inch, he gravitated toward it, pulled closer by the simple comfort of that heartbeat.

And so it happened that Kael, the sacrificial dragon lord, ended up with a twig slinking his way across the bed and trying to weasel right into his chest.

Kael stilled. Golden eyes opened in the dark, his arms hovering as if he were deciding between tossing Riley back to his side of the bed or incinerating the pillow fort completely.

A long, heavy sigh left him instead. “If you complain tomorrow, I will deduct vacation time,” he muttered flatly.

But his arms settled anyway.

Riley burrowed instinctively, ears pressed closer, his body finally stilling as that rhythm filled him. Thump. Thump-thump. Steady and grounding, more pleasant than anything else he could have picked out.

It was nice, Riley thought in his dreams. Nice enough that he didn’t have to hear anything else.

No chirps, no buzzing, no whispers.

And most importantly, none of the wailing that had pressed on him earlier.

The sounds faded.

All but one.

“My son… How could they do that to you…”

The words bled through faintly, sorrowful and heavy.

The faint echo of grief threaded the edges of his subconscious. But Riley’s ears stayed locked on the heartbeat, the one sound that drowned out everything else.

And he slept.

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