The Gentleman's Agony

Silas woke to silence.

Not the absence of sound, but the absence of the constant background hum of the bond. For months, he'd been connected to Elara, feeling her presence in his mind, sharing her emotions and thoughts. It had become so normal that he'd stopped noticing it.

Now it was gone.

Panic surged through him. Had the bond broken? Had the repair failed? Was Elara dead?

He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He was weak, exhausted, barely able to move.

"Easy," a voice said. The head theorist appeared in his field of vision, looking even more aged than she had during the procedure. "Don't try to move yet. You've been unconscious for three days."

"Elara—"

"She's alive. She's in the next room, also recovering. The bond held, Silas. The repair was successful."

Relief washed over him, so intense it was almost painful. "Then why can't I feel her?"

"Because we had to dampen the bond temporarily. What you did at the end—channeling all that accumulated pain into the bond—it saved you both, but it also overloaded the connection. We've put temporary blocks in place to give you both time to recover before reconnecting."

"How long will the blocks last?"

"A few more days. Then we'll remove them gradually, allowing you to reconnect slowly rather than all at once."

Silas processed this information, trying to understand what it meant. The bond was intact but blocked. He was alive but disconnected. Elara was safe but unreachable.

It felt wrong. Incomplete. Like a part of him was missing.

"I need to see her," he said.

"Not yet. You're both too weak. Give it another day, let your bodies recover, and then you can see each other."

"I need to see her now."

The theorist sighed. "You're as stubborn as she is. Fine. But you're not walking there. I'll have you carried."

They brought him to Elara's room on a stretcher, and Silas saw her lying in bed, looking as weak and exhausted as he felt. But she was alive, breathing, her eyes open and aware.

"Silas," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're awake."

"So are you."

"They told me what you did. How you saved the bond."

"We saved it. Together."

"You nearly died."

"So did you. But we didn't. We're still here."

The theorist positioned Silas's stretcher next to Elara's bed, close enough that they could hold hands. The moment their fingers touched, Silas felt a flicker of the bond, muted by the blocks but still present.

It was enough. Just knowing she was there, that they were still connected, that they'd survived.

"What happens now?" Elara asked.

"Now we recover. We let the blocks come down gradually. We learn to use the repaired bond." Silas squeezed her hand gently. "And then we get back to work. The reforms aren't going to implement themselves."

"The reforms can wait. Right now, I just want to rest."

"Then rest. I'll be right here."

They lay there in comfortable silence, holding hands, connected by the faint echo of the bond. And slowly, gradually, they began to heal.

Over the next week, the theorists carefully removed the blocks on the bond, allowing Silas and Elara to reconnect in stages. It was a strange experience, like learning to walk again after a long illness. The bond felt different now—stronger, more stable, but also more intense.

The repair had changed it somehow. Made it deeper, more fundamental. Silas could feel Elara's presence more clearly than before, could sense her thoughts and emotions with greater precision. And she could do the same with him.

It was intimate in a way that was both comforting and unsettling.

"It's like we're more connected than before," Elara said one evening, as they sat together in her quarters. "I can feel you more clearly, understand you better. It's almost like we're becoming one person."

"We're not," Silas said firmly. "We're still separate individuals. The bond connects us, but it doesn't erase who we are."

"Are you sure? Because sometimes I can't tell where my thoughts end and yours begin."

"That's because the bond is still settling. Give it time. The boundaries will become clearer."

"I hope so. Because Silas, I don't want to lose myself. I don't want to stop being me."

"You won't. I won't let that happen."

Through the bond, he felt her fear and uncertainty, and he sent back waves of reassurance and support. They would figure this out, would learn to navigate the repaired bond, would maintain their individual identities while staying connected.

It wouldn't be easy. But nothing worth doing ever was.

As they recovered, news came from the outside world. The Preservation Society had been dismantled, its leaders arrested and awaiting trial. Lady Ashford had been stripped of her title and lands, and was facing charges of treason and attempted murder.

The pilot program for the Shared Bond system was expanding rapidly. More provinces were adopting it, more Proxies were transitioning to the new system, and the reports were overwhelmingly positive. The reforms were working.

But there was also resistance. Some nobles were refusing to participate, clinging to the old system despite the evidence of its cruelty. Some Proxies were too damaged to transition, too traumatized to trust that anything could change. And some people were actively working to undermine the reforms, spreading misinformation and fear.

"It's going to be a long fight," General Blackwood reported during one of his visits. "The Preservation Society might be gone, but the attitudes that created it are still there. We're fighting centuries of tradition and privilege."

"Then we keep fighting," Elara said. "For as long as it takes."

"Yes, Your Majesty. But you need to be careful. The assassination attempts might have stopped for now, but your enemies are still out there. They're just being more subtle about it."

"We'll be careful," Silas promised. "But we're not going to hide. The reforms require visibility, require us to be out there showing people that change is possible."

"I understand. Just... don't make it easy for them."

"We won't."

After the General left, Silas and Elara sat together, processing everything they'd learned.

"We almost died," Elara said quietly. "Multiple times. The bombing, the assassination attempts, the overload, the repair procedure. We've come so close to death so many times."

"But we didn't die. We survived. And we're going to keep surviving."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because we have to. Because too many people are depending on us. Because the reforms are too important to fail." He took her hand. "Elara, I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But we can't let fear stop us. We have to keep moving forward."

"Even if it kills us?"

"Even then. Because some things are worth dying for."

Through the bond, he felt her processing his words, weighing them against her own fears and doubts.

"All right," she said finally. "We keep fighting. But Silas, promise me something."

"What?"

"Promise me that if it comes down to a choice between the reforms and our lives, you'll choose our lives. Promise me you won't sacrifice yourself for the cause."

It was a promise Silas couldn't make. Because he knew, deep down, that if it came to that choice, he would choose the reforms. He would sacrifice himself if it meant saving the system that could prevent thousands of other Proxies from suffering the way he had suffered.

But he also knew that Elara needed to hear the promise, needed to believe that he valued his own life.

"I promise," he lied.

Through the bond, he felt her relief, her gratitude, her trust in his words.

And he felt his own guilt at the deception.

But some lies were necessary. Some promises had to be made, even if they couldn't be kept.

Because sometimes, protecting the people you cared about meant lying to them.

Even if it hurt.

Especially if it hurt.

End of Chapter 20