The Weight of Silence

Valeforth Academy – Outer Courtyard Ruins

7:44 PM – Two Hours After the Battle

The shattered cobblestones still reeked of blood and scorched magic. The air was heavy—too heavy to breathe.

Wind passed through the broken pillars of the courtyard, dragging ashes and torn fabric across the stone like mourning ghosts. Silence had fallen, but it wasn't peace. It was the quiet of death.

Alyss stood there—alone—her boots soaked in dried blood.

Her hand was still trembling.

Not from fear.

From rage. From grief.

Callyn Vire's broken body had already been taken away. No ceremony. No farewell. Just an empty patch of ground where a best friend used to be. Where laughter used to echo. Where memories used to matter.

Now it was a graveyard with no marker.

Her voice cracked as she stared into the ruins.

"You said nothing…"

The words fell like broken glass.

"You watched her die, and you said NOTHING."

Behind her, standing in the shadow of the stone arch, was Noven.

Unmoving. Unblinking. That same blank expression carved into his face like he was sculpted from apathy itself.

He said nothing.

"Say something!" Alyss screamed, spinning on him.

Her aura flared, unbalanced—violent.

"You knew they were coming, didn't you?! That woman… she wasn't after anyone—she was after YOU! And Callyn got caught in it. Because of you!"

Noven's eyes didn't change.

"You should've warned us," she shouted again. "You could've told me. Told her. Anything!"

Still, nothing.

His silence wasn't guilt—it was indifference.

She stepped closer, trembling.

"My best friend DIED, and you just stood there… like none of this matters to you. Like none of us do."

Her voice cracked. Her throat burned. She raised her hand—tears boiling behind her eyes.

"You heartless bastard!"

She swung—

But before her hand could strike, Noven moved.

Not violently.

Just fast.

He caught her wrist mid-swing, and in the same breath, slapped her hand away, not with anger—but with finality. Her body twisted slightly with the force, stumbling back.

She stared at him in disbelief, hand stinging—not from the impact, but from the meaning.

He finally spoke.

His voice was ice, smooth and slow and cruel.

"I didn't kill her. She died because she wasn't strong enough to survive."

The words pierced deeper than any blade.

Alyss froze.

Noven didn't look at her.

But behind the stillness in his eyes, memory leaked in—quiet as blood beneath a bandage.

Unit IX.

Even now, the name tasted metallic. Like blood on a bitten tongue.

There were no hallways. No windows. Only cold white rooms and voices behind glass.

And silence.

The kind of silence that eats you.

I remember the act of crying, not the feeling behind it.

It came to him like a whisper from someone else's life. Detached. Distant. Like recalling the face of someone already buried.

I don't even know who I missed. Maybe someone I made up. My mother? I don't remember her face. Just a feeling. Something warm that used to exist.

He didn't resist when they injected him.

Didn't speak when they studied him.

No one came.

Not the first time.

Not the hundredth.

That's when I stopped crying.

Not because he learned to be strong.

Because he learned it was useless.

No one cared.

No one was coming.

No one even knew he existed.

The crying turned into silence. The silence into instinct. And the instinct into something cold and monstrous that learned how to survive by not feeling anything at all.

⸻

I didn't become strong because I wanted to be.

I became strong because I had to crawl over corpses just to live another day.

Because they taught me that empathy gets you killed.

I didn't lose my humanity.

I was never given it.

The flashback faded like smoke behind his eyes.

"You mourn the dead. I buried myself a long time ago."

His eyes, empty and merciless, met hers.

"You can mourn her if it makes you feel better. But don't pretend her death was meaningful. She was a casualty—nothing more."

Alyss's lips parted, but no sound came out.

"And you… you're too emotional to see the truth. That's why you'll never understand anything."

Her legs gave out.

She collapsed to her knees, gasping for air like she'd been punched in the stomach.

"Why… why are you like this?" she whispered, eyes wide and unfocused. "Why are you so… cruel?"

Her voice broke.

Her breath shook.

Her shoulders trembled—and then, finally, the dam cracked.

Alyss sobbed.

Not like a warrior.

Not like a noble.

But like a child who'd just lost the only light left in the world.

She clutched at her chest like she was trying to rip something out.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, staining her dirt-covered face. Her screams became muffled sobs—long, broken, hopeless cries that echoed in the hollow courtyard.

Noven didn't move.

He stood there like a ghost.

Not reaching for her. Not speaking. Just watching. Like her breakdown was a performance he didn't care to applaud.

Alyss's voice finally returned—choked, weak, shattered.

"You could've stopped her… I saw what you did in our duel. You're strong—stronger than any of us. You… you just watched her die."

Silence.

"Why do people die around you…?"

Still nothing.

She buried her face in her hands, knees pressed against the cold stone, heart breaking in full.

"I hate you…" she whispered. "I hate you so much."

But her voice wasn't convincing.

Because beneath that hatred… was confusion. And sorrow. And that cursed sense of connection she could never explain.

The same quiet she once admired in him…

Now it was unbearable.

He turned.

Without a word, Noven walked away—boots echoing through the ruins like the ticking of a heart growing colder with every step.

He left her there.

On her knees.

Among the ashes of what used to matter.

Drowning in silence.

And no one came for her, either.