The city of Shantel fell into mourning at the news. The streets that were once filled with laughter and life were muted with grief. Black banners draped from the manor walls, and bells tolled through the day and night. Lord Richard's death was too sudden, too strange. No poison traced in his veins. No wounds, no sickness. He had gone to bed in good health, and by morning, simply never rose again.
It was a chilling reminder to the people of how fragile life truly was.
None suffered more than Pius. He had only just begun to change, to mend the pieces of himself under the weight of his father's hand and wisdom. Now, that pillar, the only man who had kept him from falling apart was gone. His elder brother Josiah tried to shoulder the burden with him, their bond tightening through shared grief. But fate was merciless. Within a year, Josiah too was taken, claimed by a sudden illness no healer could cure.
And so Pius's fragile world, carefully being rebuilt, collapsed once more.
