Chapter 12 – Closer Than Silence
Sera Valemont
Sera was the only person in this world Steven could truly talk to.
Not because he had no one else but because she listened. Not like someone trying to solve him, but like someone trying to understand him. And that made all the difference.
Sera was the kind of person who left a mark without even trying. She had a quiet strength, the type that didn't need to raise its voice to be heard. Her lithe frame moved with grace, every motion deliberate and composed. Long, dark hair framed a face that held a gentle warmth, and her eyes — a vibrant shade of green — always seemed to shimmer with empathy and unshakable resolve.
But it wasn't just her looks that stood out. It was her heart.
She believed in people, even when they didn't believe in themselves. She was kind, thoughtful, and fiercely protective of those she cared about. Where others saw broken systems or failed causes, Sera saw people — individuals worth saving, worth fighting for. She wasn't a fighter by trade, but she was brave in all the ways that mattered.
Their friendship had started from childhood. One project at a time. One quiet laugh, one shared look across the workbench. She had become his constant in a world that still felt unfamiliar.
They were in the academy workshop again, the room washed in the warm orange hues of late afternoon. Sera's sleeves were rolled up as she leaned over a crystal-powered circuit array. Steven sat across from her, his fingers smudged with ink and graphite, a partially assembled grappler prototype resting on the table beside him.
"You didn't eat lunch again," Sera said without looking up.
"I was busy calibrating the tension spool," he mumbled.
"You're going to starve before you even finish your big genius project."
"It's not starvation if I'm running on caffeine and ambition."
She looked up and gave him that look half annoyed, half fond. "You say things like that and then wonder why people think you're strange."
Steven chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't care what people think."
"You care," she said softly. "Just... not enough to let it stop you."
Her voice always surprised him in moments like this. So sure. So honest. He found himself watching her longer than he should, the way the sunlight caught in her dark hair, how her eyes reflected quiet strength.
"I care what you think," he said before he could stop himself.
That made her pause. For a second, the room felt too still.
Then she smiled small, but real. "Good. Because I think you're better than you let yourself believe."
He looked away, pretending to check a setting on his device, but his heart was suddenly louder than any ticking gear. It had been months since he arrived in this world, and Sera had been the only real light in it. The only person who saw him and not just some orphan boy chasing impossible ideas.
"Thanks," he said. "For staying around. For... this."
...
...
Sera leaned closer, elbows resting on the bench between them. "You're my friend, Steven. My only one, really. I'm not going anywhere."
Those words landed with more weight than she probably meant. Because they echoed something he hadn't let himself hope for that maybe he didn't have to face this world alone.
For a moment, he wanted to reach out. Say something more. Ask if she ever thought about them beyond friendship. But instead, he just smiled, and said the only thing that felt safe.
"Good. I'm not going anywhere either."
She nudged his shoulder gently. "Now eat something before I shove a sandwich into your face."
He laughed a soft, unguarded laugh that warmed the space between them. And for the first time in a long while, Steven didn't feel like he was surviving this world.
He felt like he was starting to live in it.