Poor Mortal Boy

Questions, still bugging them altogether, the wisps decided to latch on the boy. Days went by, and they found him to be quite an ordinary boy with no ordinary identity. This boy was a young master, the son of a marquis, yet worked his ass off most of the time like a slave. On mornings, he would wake earlier before cocks crowed, light on his feet, carrying buckets of hot water in his tiny arms. He would then bring buckets of water to a chamber. A well-decorated chamber that becoming of a real young master.

This young master was his younger brother. Yet, the two lived completely different. While that young brother slept, Aiden worked his ass off. The wisps scrutinized his expressions. It had always been blank, devoid of anything. Envy? Anger? Sadness?

There had always been nothing. As if he'd been long accustomed to his duties. As if he'd been living his entire life as a slave. Even when he was blatantly humiliated during breakfast, he maintained his calm, earnestly taking his soup with no pause. He looked thankful to be eating, turning blind ears to his father's deliberate praises to his younger brother. Well, the wisps expected this.

Besides, he can't understand anything from whatever everyone was saying. It was curse for mortals, of course. But for him, it was a blessing. Who wouldn't want to drown out nasty voices and rude remarks. Better put out, this kid was immune to any provocations. Because he was too fortunately unfortunate not to understand anything.

"Ignorance really is bliss."

Of all the people in that huge mansion, only Butler Stan, the same butler who rescued Aiden on the verge of death, showed care for the boy. They had long learned the fact that he was the one who assigned Aiden to kitchen duty. The boy used to always starve but after being assigned to the kitchen, he had found it easier to take whips of food. At first the kitchen staff forbade him from taking even a bittiest of scrap. They would slap his hands, punish him with a few whips until his hands had been branded with several red streaks. Eventually, he learned nothing. Not even pain could stop an empty stomach. They soon let him be.

However, the wisps knew, when they looked at the old butler, that his life was at its end. He was bound to depart from this world soon.

When the butler did pass away, a brown skinned maid barged inside Aiden's room. It was still a few hours before the wee of dawn, but the insolent maid such haste as if this was the last minute of the world before its destruction.

With leering eyes, she gazed at Aiden with contempt, a look resembling that of a small child looking at a disgusting pile of worms. "Hey, you!" In her hands were neatly folded pieces of clothing which she balled to gusot and tossed right on Aiden who was startled awake, rubbing the sleepiness off of his eyes. "Your uniform."

The boy pushed his bleary eyes open, confusion apparent on the look he gave the maid. The maid, as rude as she was, obliged.

"That old bulter of yours died last night," she said with the most hateful tone, even the wisps couldn't stop themselves from wincing at her words. "No one's on your side now, you little piece of shit. Better make sure you keep your face off my sights."

The made exited the room, and at last, the boy looked up to the three balls of light in the room. He must have sensed a great deal of her visit, so for the first time, he looked up to the three wisps. "What did she say?"

Riven hushed the two wisps, and took on the conversation. They were unruly, but decorum was neccessary for this kind of conversation--which the two would struggle to hold.

"Butler Stan," Riven's core drew a faint glow, expressing its condolence. He needed not to continue, as the boy's eyes gazed at his dimmed light, he had a vague idea of what about to come. Still, he continued with a solemn voice. "That old butler who saved you. He died last night."

Caelum and Riven fought every urge to make any sound. The room was in still silence. The boy, as he had always been, remainedsteadfast on his stoic expression. With a single oh, his bony fingers brushed the clothes in his arms. He did not look sad, nor grieving. He appeared like it didn't mean anything to him but they knew he felt a tug at his heart strings. The boy was sad, perhaps, he just didn't know how to express it. Or perhaps, his neutral expression had always been sad, not it seemed too ordinary.

The wisps joined the boy in his silence.

"Did he have any words?" He asked them, and at once, the silence Lucius had been striving to maintain popped.

"What do you mean? You think we're ghosts? So think we can talk to ghosts?" Lucius blazed. "How insolent!"

The room filled with tension. "Oh, I see," the boy took no offense at his explosion. "You're not ghosts. Then... what are you balls of lights?"

An even graver expression place it gleam on Caelum's core. "B-balls of light?!""You do have some poor vocabulary." Lucius said. "We're gods! The strongest gods the Heavenly Realm had every produced!"