that boy is gone

that night , somewhere in storm watch city bar

The Velvet Serpent was alive with drunken revelry.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in warm, flickering light, reflecting off half-empty goblets and the glistening sweat of intoxicated nobles. The air was thick with the scent of wine, cheap perfume, and roasted meat, mingling with the laughter of men who had never known suffering.

At the center of it all sat Roadie.

His boots were propped up on the table, a woman nestled on each side, her fingers lazily tracing the scar across his jaw. His goblet, filled to the brim with rich crimson wine, sloshed slightly as he laughed at another noble's crude joke.

Tonight, they celebrated the death of Sir Jaeger.

"A toast!" Baron Ulrich bellowed, raising his glass high. His greedy eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a man who had just secured his fortune. "To Sir Jaeger's rotting corpse!"

" His damn stubbornness finally meeting the blade!" another noble jeered, tipping his drink back in one swift gulp.

The room erupted into laughter, their voices thick with self-satisfaction.

Roadie smirked, swirling his drink lazily. "That bastard really thought he could protect those brats forever."

At the head of the table, Viscount Reynard, a man with oily blond hair and a snake-like grin, leaned forward. His rings clinked against his goblet, his voice a whisper filled with venom.

"Sir Jaeger was a thorn in our plans for years. With him gone, it's finally time to rid ourselves of those Ravenhart orphans and claim what's rightfully ours."

Across from him, Baron Ulrich—a stout man with a permanent sneer—slammed his goblet down, sending red wine splashing onto the silk tablecloth. He laughed, deep and guttural.

"The land, the wealth—everything will fall into our hands. No more meddling knights to get in our way!"

Another noble snorted, swirling his drink. "Those brats should've learned their place. Sir Jaeger protected them, but without him? Tch. They're nothing."

Reynard smirked. "Once we get rid of the rest, there won't be a single Ravenhart left to challenge us."

A noblewoman, draped in deep crimson silk, leaned in with a sly smile. "So, what's the plan? Shall we poison them? Something slow, something… poetic?"

Ulrich waved a dismissive hand. "Who cares? Killing them now is like snapping a twig." He ran a fat finger along the rim of his goblet. "We just need to know where to apply pressure."

More laughter. More gluttonous indulgence.

The music swelled, the lute's melody drowned beneath their schemes.

Between them, the dancers twirled, their movements elegant but lifeless. Their painted smiles masked their hollow gazes.

A young woman—no older than twenty—perched herself onto Viscount Reynard's lap, draping an arm around his shoulder. She offered a practiced smile, her fingers tracing the gold embroidery of his doublet.

The music played on, the wine flowed freely, and the nobles feasted as if they were kings.

Yet—

For a brief moment, in between the raucous laughter and the clinking of goblets, Roadie felt it again.

That unsettling heaviness.

The flicker of a shadow where there should be none.

A chill ran down his spine, but he pushed it aside.

He was imagining things.

Sir Jaeger was dead.

The Ravenhart orphans were as good as dead.

And Zed?

That little brat had probably run off to some filthy corner of the world, too scared to even show his face.

Nothing would stop them now.

Absolutely nothing.

few days later 

The dining hall was unusually silent, the usual clatter of dishes and idle chatter replaced by an uneasy stillness. Aurora sat at the grand table, poking at her barely touched meal, her mind elsewhere.

Her blue eyes flickered with worry as she turned to one of the maids standing by.

"Has Zed eaten anything today?"

The maid hesitated before lowering her head. "No, my lady. Not since he returned from Highvale."

Aurora sighed softly, her brows furrowing.

"He hasn't eaten for days."

Even she was devastated by Sir Jaeger's death. The loss felt like a deep, gaping wound—one that refused to close. But unlike Zed, she couldn't allow herself to break.

What's gone is gone. Mourning won't bring back the dead. But we must protect what we still have.

Instead of letting sorrow consume her, she kept herself busy—overseeing the estate, handling affairs, and, most importantly, looking after Zed.

She pushed back her chair and stood. "Bring some food. I'll take it to him myself."

The maid bowed quickly and hurried to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, the maid returned, carefully balancing a silver tray with a steaming bowl of stew, fresh bread, and a small cup of tea.

Aurora took the tray from her without a word and made her way down the dimly lit halls toward Zed's room. The estate was eerily quiet—too quiet.

Arriving at his door, she knocked gently.

"Zed, it's me."

No response.

She waited, then knocked again—harder this time.

Still, nothing.

Aurora's grip on the tray tightened. Without hesitation, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn back just enough for the moonlight to spill in. The air was heavy, suffocating.

Zed stood by the window, his silhouette outlined against the pale light. His back was turned to her, shoulders slightly tense.

Aurora's breath hitched.

Something about him felt… different.

Why does he feel like a stranger?

She had known him all her life—her little brother, the boy who used to smile so brightly. But the person standing before her now…

There was no warmth in him.

His long black hair was pulled back, though a few strands had fallen loose over his face. His posture was rigid, unreadable.

Aurora hesitated before calling out softly, "Zed."

Finally, he turned.

His red eyes were dull—lifeless.

His gaze flickered to the tray in her hands.

"I'm not hungry," he said.

His voice was cold.

Detached.

Aurora's fingers tensed around the tray.

She had never heard him speak like that before.

Aurora didn't move.

She stood there, gripping the tray, her golden eyes set with quiet determination.

"I don't care if you're not hungry," she said firmly, stepping forward. "You're going to eat."

Zed's jaw clenched, but he didn't reply. He simply turned back toward the window, ignoring her.

Aurora exhaled sharply.

I won't let him do this to himself.

Without hesitation, she placed the tray on the small table beside his bed, pulled out a chair, and sat down. Crossing her arms, she stared at him expectantly.

"If you won't eat on your own, then I'll sit here until you do."

Zed let out a slow breath, his shoulders stiffening. "Aurora—"

"Eat."

Silence stretched between them. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating.

Zed didn't want to fight her.

Not right now.

He turned away from the window and walked toward the table. He moved like a ghost, his footsteps light, his face unreadable. Taking a seat, he picked up the spoon with his gloved right hand and silently began eating.

Aurora watched closely, and when he took the first bite, a small wave of relief washed over her.

For the first time in days, Zed was eating.

She leaned back slightly, her expression softening.

"See?" she said, trying to lighten the mood. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Zed didn't respond.

He just kept eating, his movements slow and mechanical, like he was only doing it because he had no other choice.

Aurora's heart ached.

This wasn't the Zed she knew.

The boy who once laughed, who teased her, who argued with her.

That boy is gone… isn't he?

She took a deep breath, her voice lowering.

"What's gone is gone, Zed," she murmured. "We can't do anything about it."

Zed's spoon stilled in the bowl.

Aurora pushed forward, her voice gentle but firm.

"If we let ourselves stay trapped in this misery, we'll lose what we still have left." Her fingers clenched on her lap. "I won't let that happen. I won't lose you too."

Zed's eyes flickered.

"I know you're hurting," she continued, her voice almost breaking. "I know how much you loved Sir Jaeger. I loved him too."

Zed's fingers tightened around the spoon.

"But he's gone, Zed," Aurora whispered. "And no matter how much we grieve, it won't bring him back."

She leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm.

"So please… come back to us." Her voice was almost pleading. "I can't stand seeing you like this."

Zed sat there, silent.

His blue eyes dimmed, shadows lingering beneath them. He didn't answer.

But he didn't pull away either.

Aurora hesitated, then took a deep breath.

"In a few days, we'll hold the funeral for Sir Jaeger," she said softly. "The knights, the servants, everyone will be there to honor him."

Zed's fingers tensed around the spoon.

"You have to pick yourself up before then," she continued, her voice gentle but firm. "Sir Jaeger wouldn't want to see you like this."

Zed didn't move. He simply stared at his half-eaten meal, his expression unreadable.

Aurora bit her lip, searching his face for any reaction. Anything at all.

"You were the closest to him, Zed," she murmured. "If you don't stand strong for him, who will?"

The room fell into silence.

Aurora waited, hoping—praying—he would say something.

But Zed only lowered his gaze, shadows darkening his expression.

Defeated, Aurora sighed and stood up. "Just… think about it."

She turned toward the door but stopped.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw him still sitting there, unmoving. A lonely, broken figure against the dim candlelight.

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to leave.

I just hope… you can come back to us before it's too late.