The heavy silence in the room had become almost suffocating.
Astria still held one of Len's hands in a firm, grounding grip.
While his other hand remained anchored to the bedsheets.
Clenching the fabric so tightly that his small knuckles had turned white.
He sat there, a portrait of frozen dejection.
His gaze pinned to the floor as if absorbing the very weight of the air.
For a long minute, not a single word was uttered.
Astria watched him, her sharp eyes tracing the contours of his face.
The stubborn fire that usually burned in his eyes had been replaced by a lingering mist of sadness.
His slumped shoulders and the way he avoided her gaze spoke louder than any protest.
Her resolve, once as hard as stone, began to fracture at the sight of his quiet grief.
She softened her grip slightly, though she didn't let go.
"Len?" she prompted softly.
Her voice no longer an emerald blade of command but a low murmur of concern.
"Do you not like being here with me? Does my presence not bring you peace?"
Len remained motionless for a few heartbeats.
The only sound in the vast room was the rhythmic, shallow pull of his breath.
Finally, he lifted his head with agonizing slowness.
His eyes, though weary, held a haunting clarity.
"No, Astria," he whispered.
And this time, there was no rebellion in his tone, only a raw, blunt honesty.
"I like being with you. I always want to be near you."
He let his gaze wander toward the towering stone walls and the heavy, ornate drapes that shielded the room from the world.
He looked back at her, his voice dropping to a vulnerable depth.
"But I don't like being locked away in this room. I don't want to be alone behind these walls."
"I want to go outside... I want to walk in the open air with you."
The plea in his voice was that of a caged creature.
One who loved its master but hated the bars.
He wanted her companionship, but not at the cost of his freedom.
Len didn't lift his gaze.
His eyelashes remained lowered, and he began to absentmindedly fray a loose thread on the bedsheet with his fingers.
As if that single thread was his entire world.
The grandeur of the room had become meaningless to him.
"I don't want to stay here... like this, alone," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
There was a weight in his tone that felt far too heavy for his age.
"Do you not like it when I go outside? Does it bother you when I leave these walls behind?"
Astria exhaled a long, weary breath.
She tightened her grip on his hand, as if afraid he might slip through her fingers.
Her expression hardened, but her eyes were clouded with an ocean of worry.
"Len, the world outside isn't like the stories in your books," Astria interjected, her voice turning grave and resonant.
"There is a hunter hidden in every shadow out there."
"You are still a small child... small and innocent. There is danger at every turn for someone like you."
She placed her other palm against his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze.
"I cannot afford to lose you."
"These walls aren't meant to imprison you; they are meant to keep you safe."
"Do you not understand how precious you are to me?"
A flash of bitterness flickered in Len's downcast eyes.
He looked directly into her gaze—there was pain there, but no surrender.
He hated being called a 'small child,' especially when he felt his spirit was far larger than the confines of these stone walls.
Len's lowered lashes finally fluttered upward.
He saw the profound fear in Astria's eyes—the fear she kept labeling as 'protection.'
He didn't try to pull away; instead, he squeezed her hand slightly, anchoring himself to her.
"If there is danger..." Len paused, his voice turning more steady and analytical than before.
"Then you can send the guards with me. They will protect me, won't they?"
There was a glint in his eyes—not of a child's innocence, but of a clever hunter's strategy.
He had offered a solution that was difficult for Astria to dismiss outright.
A faint, fleeting smile touched Astria's lips before vanishing.
She shook her head slowly, her eyes drifting toward the heavy chamber doors as if looking right through the sentries standing watch.
"Len, it isn't just about the guards," Astria said, her voice dropping to a low, resonant depth.
"Security doesn't just come from shields and steel."
"In the world outside, there are eyes that will recognize you... forces that can pierce through any circle of guards."
She tightened her grip, a slight tremor in her tone betraying her growing anxiety.
"Guards can protect you from blades, but they cannot shield you from the destiny waiting for you out there."
"You are still too small, Len... far too small."
The air in the room turned cold once more.
Len realized that Astria's arguments weren't just about safety anymore.
They were rooted in her terror of losing him.
She wasn't just protecting him from the world—she was keeping him from drifting away from her.
A stony silence washed over Astria's features.
She had no more words for Len's logic, or perhaps, she had simply lost the strength to argue further.
Slowly, she released his hand—the same hand she had been gripping so tightly just moments before.
Without a single word, without casting a single backward glance, Astria rose from the bed.
The rustle of her heavy silk gown was the only sound slicing through the quiet of the room.
She walked toward the massive, ornate doors with measured, deliberate steps.
Her back remained turned to him, as cold and unyielding as a stone wall.
Len remained seated on the bed, his eyes tracking her every movement.
He waited for her to turn around, to scold him, or perhaps to try explaining once more, but she did none of those things.
At the threshold, she paused for a heartbeat, but her head did not turn.
In the next second, the heavy doors groaned open, and she stepped out.
The doors clicked shut with a soft, final thud, leaving the room reclaimed by a suffocating silence.
Len was now completely alone in the vast chamber.
He fixed his gaze on the empty spot where she had been sitting just moments ago.
Her silent departure left a strange, gnawing ache in his chest.
As if his plea for freedom had just dug a deep trench between him and the only person he wanted to be near.
The final echo of the closing door had long since solidified into a cold silence.
Len remained perched on the edge of the bed, though his fingers had finally stopped clutching the sheets.
He slowly turned his head, fixing his gaze on the rectangular frame of the window.
Where the outside world looked like an unfinished painting.
The soft, golden rays of early morning began to sharpen, turning into the harsh, white glare of noon.
The intense sunlight crawled across the floorboards, yet Len didn't move an inch.
His eyes were vacant, occasionally darting toward the heavy, ornate door with a faint flicker of hope.
He expected it to groan open, expected a familiar footfall... but there was only the unyielding wall.
As the hours bled into one another, the sky beyond the glass began to bleed as well.
Staining with shades of saffron and deep crimson.
The heat of the afternoon faded, and the long shadows of dusk started to reclaim the corners of the room.
The stubborn fire in Len's eyes had dimmed, replaced by a hollow, aching exhaustion.
Eventually, the last of the daylight surrendered.
Darkness draped itself over the horizon.
Inside, the artificial glow of the room remained as static and lifeless as it had been at dawn.
But the view through the window had transformed.
Len shifted his gaze toward the sky one more time.
There was no sun now—only a vast expanse of midnight velvet, studded with a thousand shimmering stars.
They looked like silver needles piercing through the dark, just as Astria had described.
He stared at those brilliant specks of light, searching among them for the truth of her words.
Words that had calmed his fears, yet had somehow left him more alone than ever.