The mansion was silent. Too silent. The echo of laughter, once warm and constant, had vanished. The grand halls that had smelled of roses and fresh pastries now reeked of stillness, heavy with an invisible weight.
Three-year-old Aiden stood in the center of the vast drawing room, small fingers clutching the corner of a velvet curtain. His wide, dark eyes scanned the empty space—the place that had once been filled with the voices of his parents, his sister, and even the soft giggles of the nursery maid. All gone.
A fire had taken them. Or perhaps it was something else—no one explained clearly. There were whispers in hushed tones among the servants, but to Aiden, words were meaningless. The warmth of hands that had held him, the voices that had sung him to sleep—they were gone.
Gone.
Yet he lived.
He had survived.
The doctors said he was lucky. The servants said it was a miracle. Aiden didn't feel lucky. He felt… empty. A hollow little boy with no one left, wandering through a mansion too big for one child, where every shadow seemed to mock him with memories he couldn't forget.
But there was one thing that remained. One thing that no tragedy could touch. The family fortune. Gold, jewels, lands stretching beyond sight—everything his parents had built now rested solely in his tiny hands. To anyone else, it would be a blessing. To Aiden, it was a cage.
He had nothing to lose.
And yet… everything was still so fragile.
Aiden walked slowly to the window overlooking the sprawling estate. The sun hung low, casting a red glow over the gardens, as if the world itself had mourned with him. The fountains were still, the marble paths pristine, but there was no laughter. No voices. No family.
Just him.
A faint sound drew his attention—a creak of the floorboards behind him. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing, though no one should have been there. The servants had been told to leave him alone, to give him space to grieve. And yet… the mansion felt alive, almost aware. Watching him. Testing him.
Aiden smiled faintly, a small, bitter curve of lips that carried no warmth.
"Then I guess it's just you and me now," he whispered to the empty room, "Nothing to lose at all."
From that day,the boy who had survived the unimaginable began a life that no one could understand. He would learn to use the wealth, the power, and the loneliness as tools… and perhaps, someday, weapons.
Because a boy who has lost everything… has nothing left to fear.