Myuk closed the window with a quiet thud, the faint echoes of the town’s activities fading away as the room fell into silence. The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Myuk’s gaze lingered on the street below for a moment longer before he turned away, his thoughts swirling with the events that had just unfolded.

He took a seat on the edge of his bed, his hands resting in his lap as he stared at the floor, lost in thought. The anger that had consumed him moments ago still simmered beneath the surface, a barely contained storm that threatened to break free at any moment. He could still feel the rush of power, the dark satisfaction that had surged through him as he prepared to strike down the adventurers. They had deserved it—every last bit of it—for looking down on him, for mocking the weak.

But as much as he tried to hold on to that anger, something kept pulling him back. The image of Zyrith standing before him, her arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to stop him, lingered in his mind. Why had she intervened? Why had she risked herself for those who had hurt her?

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Myuk looked up, his expression hardening as he pushed the thoughts aside. He stood and crossed the room, his footsteps echoing in the silence. When he opened the door, he found Zyrith standing there, her violet eyes wide and uncertain.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Nyx stared at her with a cold expression, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

Zyrith hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Can I come in?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nyx’s first instinct was to turn her away, to close the door and shut out whatever it was she wanted to say. But something stopped him—perhaps a lingering sense of curiosity, or maybe it was the memory of her standing in front of him, unafraid. He took a step back, his expression unreadable as he opened the door wider to allow her inside.

Zyrith stepped into the room, her movements careful and deliberate. Nyx closed the door behind her with a soft click, the sound seeming to echo in the confined space. She glanced around the room before settling herself on the bed opposite his, her posture tense as if she were trying to hold herself together.

Nyx returned to his bed, sitting down with a sigh. He watched her closely, noting the way her fingers twisted together in her lap, a sign of her nervousness. Zyrith opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Nyx cut her off.

“I didn’t save you,” he said bluntly, his voice as cold as the expression on his face. “So don’t thank me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Zyrith’s mouth snapped shut, her gaze dropping to the floor as she took in what he said. For a moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the distant sounds of the town outside.

Zyrith sat in silence, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words. She had come here to thank him, to try and understand what had driven him to such anger, but now she wasn’t sure what to say. His words were harsh, dismissive, but she couldn’t deny that they were true. He hadn’t saved her—not out of some sense of kindness or duty. It was something else entirely that had driven him to act, something darker and more complex.

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She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The memory of his rage, the terrifying power he had unleashed, was still fresh in her mind. But so too was the memory of the boy she had seen in the forest, the boy who had chosen to walk away rather than succumb to the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Finally, Zyrith looked up, meeting his gaze. “I know,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you did stop. You could have killed them, but you didn’t. That means something.”

Nyx’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he replied sharply. “They were nothing to me—just like you.”

Zyrith flinched at the harshness of his words, but she didn’t look away. “Maybe so,” she said quietly, “but you didn’t have to stop. And yet, you did. I don’t know why, but… thank you.”

Nyx’s jaw clenched, his frustration growing. Why was she still here? Why was she trying to find meaning where there was none? He had acted on impulse, driven by his own demons, and nothing more. But as he looked into her eyes, he saw something that gave him pause—something that made him wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to it than he was willing to admit.

The silence between them stretched on, heavy with unspoken words. Nyx didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to the gratitude she was offering. He wasn’t used to it—he wasn’t used to anyone seeing him as anything other than a punching bag, a tool to be abused and discarded. And yet, here she was, seeing something in him that he couldn’t see in himself.

Zyrith watched him, her expression softening as she saw the conflict in his eyes. “You’re not alone, Nyx,” she said gently. “You don’t have to bear whatever anger you are carrying alone”

The words struck something deep within him, a place he had buried long ago. He wanted to reject them, to push her away and retreat back into the safety of his anger and pain. But something held him back—something that made him hesitate, just for a moment.

He didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge her words. Instead, he turned away, his gaze fixed on the window as he tried to regain his composure. Zyrith watched him, her heart heavy with the knowledge that there was still so much pain he was carrying, pain that she couldn’t reach.

After a long moment, she stood, the bed creaking softly as she rose to her feet. “Thank you for letting me in,” she said quietly, her voice filled with a sadness she couldn’t hide. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

She turned to go, her hand resting on the door handle. But before she could leave, Nyx spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Zyrith…”

She paused, her heart skipping a beat as she turned to look at him. He didn’t meet her gaze, his eyes still fixed on the window, but there was something different in his voice—a vulnerability she hadn’t heard before.

“Why did you stop me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

Zyrith hesitated, unsure of how to respond. She took a step closer, her hand falling to her side as she searched for the right words.

“They didn’t deserve it, plus they were right. I am useless. My entire village was destroyed, my mother died in my arms, and I was unable to do anything. I had an opportunity to kill them myself, but I was too afraid of them,” she said softly.”

Her words hung in the air, a gentle plea that cut through the silence. Nyx didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge the truth she had spoken. But something in him shifted, a small crack in the walls he had built around himself.

Zyrith waited, hoping for some sign that he had heard her, that her words had reached him. But when he remained silent, she nodded to herself, accepting that there was nothing more she could do.

“I’ll be in the other room if you need anything,” she said quietly, her voice filled with a sadness she couldn’t hide.

She turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Myuk remained where he was, staring out the window as the light continued to fade. His mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions, the anger and pain still fresh, but now tempered by something else—something he couldn’t quite name.

As the night deepened and the town below grew quiet, Myuk remained lost in thought, his heart heavy with the weight of the past and the uncertain future that lay ahead.