Silence greeted him before anything else did.
It was suffocating in its stillness, pressing against his ears so heavily that for a moment, Selion thought he had gone deaf. There were no shouts, no laughter, no footsteps echoing through stone halls—only a quiet so complete it felt unnatural, as though the world itself had decided to forget him. Slowly, painfully, his eyes opened.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—made of rough wood rather than the polished stone of the main estate. Thin cracks ran along its surface, and faint moonlight slipped through a narrow window nearby, casting pale, lifeless streaks across the room. Dust lingered in the air, drifting lazily in the silence. He wasn't in the main house. He had been moved somewhere else. Somewhere unimportant.
His body felt heavy, like it no longer belonged to him. Even the smallest movement sent dull, throbbing pain radiating through his limbs. His fingers twitched weakly against the coarse fabric beneath him, and the simple act of breathing made his chest tighten painfully. It felt as though every inch of him had been shattered and poorly pieced back together.
A faint, broken sound escaped his lips.
"…ah…"
The moment the sound left him, the memories followed. They came all at once. The shouting. The smell of liquor. The crushing force of each blow. His father's voice, filled with rage. His mother's voice, filled with desperation.
Selion's breath hitched sharply, his small body trembling as the fragments of that night flooded his mind without mercy. His hand lifted instinctively, reaching out into the empty space beside him, as though he could still find her there.
"M…mother…"
His voice was nothing more than a fragile whisper. There was no response.
Only silence.
His hand hovered there for a moment longer before slowly falling back to his side, fingers curling weakly against the fabric. The emptiness beside him felt colder than anything else in the room. For a brief moment, he thought he might break again. That the tears would come rushing out like before, uncontrollable and desperate.
But they didn't.
Only a few slipped down quietly, tracing thin, cold lines along his cheeks before disappearing into the pillow beneath him.
"…she's still alive, you know."
The voice cut through the silence without warning. Selion flinched slightly, his body tensing as pain flared through him. With effort, he turned his head toward the doorway. An old servant stood there, her posture slightly bent with age, her expression unreadable. She didn't look at him with pity… nor with cruelty. Just indifference.
"She was taken to the Valemonts Imperial Infirmary,"
she continued calmly, as though speaking of something trivial.
"Barely breathing, but alive."
Selion stared at her, his vision still hazy, struggling to process the words.
"…alive…?"
The word left him slowly, uncertain. The servant gave a small nod.
"For now."
Those two words lingered in the air, heavier than anything else.
For now.
It should have shattered him. Filled him with fear. With desperation. But instead… It settled quietly within him.
Alive.
That was enough.
"The Baron has already departed," the servant added, turning slightly as though preparing to leave. "Matters of court do not wait."
Of course they didn't. Selion's gaze dropped, his eyes dull. The world moved on.
It didn't stop for the broken. It didn't care for the weak. It didn't slow for those left behind.
"…rest, if you can," the servant said, her voice distant as she stepped out.
The door closed with a soft click.
And once again, he was alone. The silence returned, heavier than before. Selion lay still, staring blankly at the ceiling. The faint light of the moon stretched across the room, illuminating nothing but emptiness. His body still ached, every breath reminding him of his weakness, of his failure.
Weak.
The word echoed in his mind, over and over again. That was why this had happened. Because he was weak. Because he couldn't do anything. Because when it mattered most…He couldn't even protect her. His fingers slowly tightened against the rough fabric beneath him. The movement was small, barely noticeable, but it carried a weight far greater than the strength behind it.
"I…"
His voice came out hoarse, uneven.
For a moment, it trembled—fragile, on the verge of breaking just like before. But then something shifted. Deep within him.
Something that had been crushed beneath fear and pain… twisted into something colder.
His hand lifted slightly from the bed.
And then—
A faint glow flickered.
For the briefest moment, a small, unstable gray magic circle formed beneath his palm. Its lines were incomplete, uneven, barely holding their shape. It trembled as though it might shatter at any second.
Selion stared at it, his dull eyes reflecting its weak light.
The circle flickered once… twice…
And vanished.
The room fell into darkness again.
…
Even this…
Was weak.
But this time—
He didn't feel despair.
His fingers slowly curled into a fist.
If weakness was the reason for everything…
Then strength was the only answer.
Not anger.
Not screaming.
Not begging for mercy.
None of that had mattered.
None of it had saved her.
Only strength would.
His breathing steadied slightly, though the pain in his body remained. It didn't matter. Pain was nothing. Pain could be endured.
"I'll…"
His voice was quiet now.
Cold.
Different.
"I'll survive."
The words lingered in the empty room, swallowed by silence. No one heard them. No one needed to. Slowly, his gaze shifted toward the window. The full moon still hung in the sky, bright and distant, casting its pale light across the world below. But it didn't feel the same. Not anymore. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't comforting. It was cold.
Watching. Judging.
"…they made a mistake…"
His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible even to himself.
"…leaving me alive."
The moonlight rested upon him, illuminating a small, broken body lying in silence.
But within that silence—
Something had begun to change.