Isaac had never really had to deal with death before. He hadn’t been the closest to Steven, Henry, or Jeremy. Their deaths had been sad, yes. Tragic, even. But he hadn’t known them well enough to truly ‘grieve’ them.

Ali was a different story.

It felt almost wrong for Isaac to say that he considered Ali his best friend. He’d known everybody else longer. But he and Ali just seemed to click. They would go to the café, park, shops, and more together. Isaac hung out with Ali more than he did with anybody else.

As he had never ‘grieved’ before, Isaac wasn’t exactly sure how to do it. Ali did not yet have a grave as he had only died two days beforehand, so Isaac could not visit it as he knew Albert did to his grandfather’s, Henry’s, and Jeremy’s.

Isaac vowed that he would be the first person to visit Ali’s grave once it was established. He had to be. He wanted to be the one to first pay his respects.

Isaac’s way of ‘grieving’ was strange. He simply found himself lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling in complete silence. No tears came into his eyes. No overwhelming feeling of sadness seemed to be encompassing his entire body. He merely stared at the ceiling blinking a lot less frequently than usual feeling…empty.

He knew he wasn’t the only one feeling this way about Ali, but he was certain that he was ‘grieving’ the most. Not that it was a competition.

At school, everyone seemed quieter and slower. Wrapped up in their own thoughts. Albert hadn’t even shown up to school since the fight in Paris. Nobody other than Cecilia had even seen him, and it was up to her to assure the rest of the group that he was okay.

Isaac knew that Albert would be blaming himself. In his eyes, he had failed to protect Ali. His job had been to keep Ali alive and he had failed. Everyone’s initial reactions had been to question or state that Albert should’ve been protecting him.

He wondered for a moment whether Albert was dealing more so with grief or whether it was disappointment directed at himself. He was the most powerful person in the friend group. He took it upon himself to protect them all and, in his eyes, he had failed.

In his mind, Isaac replayed everyone’s reactions for the umpteenth time that evening. After he had pulled the bloody spearhead from his pocket, Albert had immediately fallen to the floor unconscious. Ethan’s jaw had dropped as he stared at the piece of the spear in Isaac’s hand. Asbel’s eyes had merely widened slightly. Peter had not moved at all, but Isaac knew that that was his way of showing he was destroyed. Charlotte had clasped her hand to her mouth. Cecilia, who had been rolling Albert so that he would be lying on his back, had froze and stared, aghast, at the spearhead. Jay had turned his back. Stephen had balled his fists.

When Harvey found out after regaining consciousness, he had simply stared at Isaac blankly before saying, ‘You’re kidding’. Upon finding out that Isaac was, in fact, not kidding, he patted Isaac on the shoulder and took himself away.

Everyone didn’t seem to know how to cope.

When those memories stopped replaying, another one did, and it was Isaac’s least favourite.

As the dust storm had taken over Isaac’s vision, he found it incredibly difficult to reach Albert and Ali. He could only barely make out the pair of them through the mess of it all. But he had seen it happen.

As though he had been watching shadow puppets, Isaac had seen the silhouette of a chunk of metal fly into one of the two silhouettes he could see, and it was clear that it was Ali who had been struck. He saw Ali’s figure drop to the ground immediately, unbeknownst to Albert.

Isaac had tried to call his name. He really had. But dust flew into his mouth, rubbing his throat so dry that he simply could not form words.

He ran his hand through his hair, still staring at the ceiling.

Was it normal that he wasn’t crying? Cecilia had cried when Jeremy had died. Even Albert had let a few tears loose when his grandfather died. Was it disrespectful to not do so?

But Isaac simply couldn’t cry. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had. It was like he simply couldn’t.

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A knock at his door made his mind go blank. He didn’t even sit up as he said slowly, ‘Yeah?’

His brother, Matthew Pritchard, walked in. He was a lot taller than his younger brother, standing at around five-foot-eleven, but that was to be expected. Isaac was fourteen next month, whereas Matthew was nearly twenty-two. The two of them shared the dark brown eyes that they got from their mother, but Matthew’s hair was curly and black, like his father’s. Matthew was also a lot more muscular, and his features were more defined.

Matthew was the reason Isaac even lived in RoCity. He was a son of Hermes. Unlike Isaac, who had no magical or Godly blood whatsoever.

‘Knew you’d be here,’ Matthew said quietly in his deep voice. ‘You all good?’

Isaac didn’t look at him. He didn’t have the energy. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

He felt his older brother roll his eyes. ‘Listen, man, I know everything’s hard on you right now, but talk to me. Mom and Dad hate seeing you like this.’

‘And you don’t?’

‘Don’t try and be cheeky with me, either,’ his brother retorted, but Isaac could tell that he really did care. ‘I’m here to talk to you because you’re obviously not okay.’

‘I don’t need to talk.’

‘Everyone would need to talk after seeing one of their friends be crushed by the Eiffel Tower, dipshit.’

Isaac didn’t say a word.

‘You said it was ‘Ali’, right?’ he said the name as though it were sacred and he was scared to say it. ‘He was your best mate, right?’

Isaac nodded, but only slightly.

Matthew sighed. ‘Yeah, that’d be tough on ya, wouldn’t it?’

‘Obviously it is,’ Isaac said quietly, not willing to truly spill his feelings to his older brother. ‘He died right in front of me, man.’

Neither of the brothers said a word for a moment. Isaac knew that it would be hard for Matthew to formulate a response to anything he said. How would you even begin to comfort someone who had watched their best friend die?

You couldn’t.

‘You spoke to any of your friends about it?’ Matthew tried after a few moments of crushing silence.

‘It’s been mentioned a few times,’ Isaac grumbled in response. ‘It has to be. We can’t just ignore it.’

‘We’re not gonna get any more out of you, are we?’ Matthew sighed, clearly giving up.

‘No. I just want to think.’

After a few seconds of silence, Isaac heard his older brother make his way towards the bedroom door. The door creaked, but Matthew had one more thing to say before leaving.

‘Just talk to me if thinking gets too hard, Isaac. Please.’

He left.

A new feeling arose in Isaac’s chest, but he was unsure as to what it was. His brother cared about him. He was worried.

Disappointment. That feeling had also risen in his chest and it was rapidly taking control and covering any other emotion.

Ali had been a grandson of Wethra. He had been the grandson of a Primordial, for Titan’s sake. Matthew was a son of Hermes. Albert, Ethan, and Harvey were descended from Titan, another Primordial. Everyone he knew was descended from a God or had magical capabilities at the very least.

Isaac didn’t.

He wasn’t powerful. He wasn’t special.

If he had even just one power, he might have been able to save Ali. Peter would have been able to block the debris with the wind. Quinn could’ve used the ground. Maltor had the dark energy.

Even his weapon was useless with him. Anyone else would be a killing machine with it. Isaac was far too clumsy and afraid to take risks. He couldn’t use the sword at nearly its full potential.

Gods, even Stephen could’ve saved Ali. He could’ve thrown his trident and blocked the debris.

But no. He had gotten his best friend killed. Isaac found that he blamed himself. He didn’t blame Albert in the slightest. All of the responsibility fell on him.

Is this how Albert felt every time someone died? Did he get this crushing feeling? It felt to Isaac as though an anvil were pressing against his empty chest, weighing him down against his bed and making it impossible to even rise.

And yet he still felt as though he couldn’t cry. He was just empty. It felt strange. How could someone be such a heavy burden while being so completely hollow?

His breaths became shaky.

Ali was dead. Isaac would never have the luxury of seeing his smile again. Hearing his voice.

He balled his fists around his blanket. Even his hands were shaking. Was this ‘grief’? Was this what it felt like?

He was useless. If this was ‘grief’ that he was experiencing, it was definitely being overshadowed by his complete sense of self-hatred and worthlessness.

What use was he on the battlefield? They were at war and he was just a simple thirteen-year-old boy with no special features. He wasn’t book-, street-, or battle-smart. He wasn’t the greatest physically. And he had no special powers. Everyone else did. Everyone else had something.

He ran his hand through his hair again. A new feeling was rising in his chest. A feeling that he had not felt in a long time.

Ali was dead. He had been killed. The moment flashed through Isaac’s mind rapidly multiple times in quick succession and he didn’t even try to stop it.

Isaac gripped the bedsheets so hard that his hands began to throb with pain.

His best friend. Dead. Killed. Right there. In front of him.

He was gone. Forever. No coming back.

Isaac gritted his teeth with such force that it hurt. A single tear made its way out of his right eye and slowly began to fall down his cheek.

And it wasn’t long before that single drop became a heavily flowing stream of emotions that he had been bottling in since it had happened.

He had to fight to keep his sobs quiet as he didn’t want anybody to know that he was crying. Nobody could ever find out.

‘Ali…’ he choked quietly under his breath between sobs. ‘I’m…I…I’m so sorry…’