Between anger and sorrow

Zhypher's footsteps echoed like thunder through the grand dining hall, his overwhelming presence cloaked in an air of simmering danger. His normally sharp gray eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, the evidence of hours spent drowning in grief. Yet the storm within him was not grief alone—rage coiled tightly around his chest, ready to burst free at any moment. His disheveled hair and crumpled shirt betrayed a man unraveling. Behind him, Martin followed in silence, his usual composed demeanor giving way to a visible tension.

The air thickened as Zhypher's gaze locked onto Celeste, and his voice emerged in a low, venomous growl that seemed to reverberate through the room. "Why are you still here?" Each word was sharp, a lash that stung far more than its simplicity suggested.

Celeste froze mid-breath, her hands trembling as she clutched the back of a dining chair for support. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words tangled in her throat, unable to break free in the oppressive atmosphere of his fury.

Martin, sensing her struggle, stepped forward with a steady but firm voice. "It was Niana who hired her, Zhypher," he said, the calmness of his tone a desperate anchor against the rising tide of tension.

Zhypher's lips curled into a sardonic sneer, the sound of his bitter laugh cutting through the room like a blade. "For what purpose, Martin? To babysit me?" His fists clenched, veins straining under his skin as though holding back an explosion. "She was supposed to care for my mother. Now she's gone. Tell me, Martin—what good is she to me now?"

The words rang out like thunder, but Martin remained unshaken, his steady gaze meeting Zhypher's blazing eyes. "She wasn't hired just for your mother," he said, his voice softening with the weight of unspoken truths. "She was hired for you. To help you."

The storm behind Zhypher's eyes intensified, a tumultuous mixture of grief, fury, and something far darker. His jaw tightened, and a low growl rumbled in his chest, barely human. For a fleeting moment, his pupils seemed to dilate unnaturally, the storm within him threatening to unleash something far more dangerous than mere anger.

"You think I need a caretaker?" His voice dropped to a chilling whisper, laced with venom. "Do I look like some helpless child to you?" His words struck Celeste like blows, each syllable charged with unspoken agony.

"N-no, Mr. Zhypher," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're not a child. I... I'll stay out of your way."

Zhypher's body went rigid, his muscles coiled like a predator barely restrained. His breathing grew heavier, and for a fleeting second, Celeste caught something in his gaze—an unnatural gleam that sent a shiver down her spine. The faintest tremor rippled through the air, an invisible force crackling around him. Martin's hand twitched, his sharp eyes catching the same change in Zhypher's presence.

"That's enough," Martin interjected, his tone edged with warning. He stepped forward, subtly placing himself between Zhypher and Celeste. "She's not to blame, Zhypher. Don't let your grief turn you into something you'll regret."

Zhypher's head snapped toward Martin, his teeth bared in a snarl that was disturbingly feral. The growl that escaped his throat was no longer entirely human, sending a chill down Celeste's spine. His fists trembled as though restraining something primal clawing its way to the surface.

"You don't know what it's like," Zhypher hissed, his voice raw. "To lose everything because of someone else's curse."

Martin held his ground, his calm exterior masking the unease beneath. "I do know, Zhypher," he said quietly, his words a deliberate balm to the growing storm. "But this isn't about her. It's about you. Control yourself."

The room fell into an oppressive silence, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Zhypher turned his back to them both, his shoulders heaving as he fought for control. A low, guttural growl still rumbled in his chest, and his hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling into claws before relaxing.

Celeste's wide eyes darted to Martin, silently pleading for an explanation, but his attention was focused solely on Zhypher. Slowly, deliberately, Martin reached out and placed a hand on Zhypher's shoulder.

"She doesn't know," Martin murmured, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. "And she doesn't need to know. Not yet."

Zhypher flinched under Martin's touch, a flicker of something vulnerable breaking through his anger. But the moment was fleeting. He wrenched himself away and stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing like the pounding of a beast retreating into its lair. The slam of his door reverberated through the mansion, shaking the very air.

Celeste sagged against the chair, her breath finally escaping in shallow gasps. "What... what just happened?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Martin turned to her, his expression heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and resolve. "Zhypher has his demons," he said carefully, his words weighted with meaning. "And they're not just figurative."

Her eyes widened, confusion and fear warring within her. But before she could press further, Martin held up a hand.

"You'll understand in time," he said gently. "For now, you need to stay strong. He's fighting more battles than you realize, Celeste. Battles he's been losing for far too long."

As he left her alone in the vast, echoing room, Celeste couldn't shake the feeling that something far more dangerous than grief or anger resided within Zhypher Armon—a truth that would change everything she thought she knew.