The moon still loomed overhead, casting a cold, detached light over the desolate alley where Wynn had crumbled in silence. The festival's sounds faded, and in their place, the quiet echoed, suffocating and lonely. Wynn moved as if in a trance, his mind a numb blur as he stumbled through the winding backstreets of Grimhaven. He didn't care where he was going; it didn't matter.

But then, out of the silence, rough voices interrupted his thoughts.

"Well, look what we have here. A stray little mouse," sneered a voice, thick with contempt.

Wynn barely registered the group of men closing in around him. There were three of them, faces obscured by shadows and smirks as they approached, looking him up and down with predatory grins. His heart might have leapt in his chest on any other day. Tonight, he almost felt relieved. If these men wanted to hurt him, it might finally drown out the pain clawing at his chest.

One of the bandits stepped forward, drawing a jagged knife and waving it casually in front of Wynn's face. "Not so fast," he taunted, tilting Wynn's chin up with the blade. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be out here alone."

Wynn barely reacted. His eyes were distant, focused somewhere past the man's shoulder.

"Are you even listening?" Another bandit shoved him against the wall. His body hit the rough stone with a force that made him gasp, but he still didn't struggle.

The bandits exchanged glances, amused. "Looks like he doesn't mind a little pain," one of them laughed, bringing his fist down on Wynn's stomach, doubling him over. The air left his lungs in a strained gasp, but even that seemed distant, like it was happening to someone else.

And then, from behind the group, came a cool, composed voice.

"Are you done?"

The bandits spun around, finding a figure cloaked in shadows at the alley's entrance—a young woman, face hidden beneath a sleek black mask, her stance cold and unyielding. She wore a dark attire, and her hands held twin pistols that glimmered with a faint, ominous glow. She didn't seem to belong here—the darkness around her seemed to bend in her favor, as if the alley itself feared her presence.

One of the bandits, clearly unsettled but attempting bravado, scoffed. "What's this? A noble lady here to play vigilante?"

He barely finished his sentence before a shot echoed through the alley, silenced yet deadly. A glowing mana bullet hit him squarely in the shoulder, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping in pain. The other bandits tensed, gripping their weapons, but her hand was steady as she aimed again, the faint blue gleam of mana humming at the barrel.

"Leave," she commanded, her voice a frigid whisper. "Or I'll make sure you never lift a finger again."

The bandits hesitated, exchanging nervous glances, but Wynn hardly noticed. In his numb, broken state, the sight of mana—a force he'd only heard of from Liora—barely registered. He stood there, hollow and unfeeling, as if he were a ghost passing through the moment.

The bandits cursed under their breath, casting one last wary glance at their fallen comrade and the masked woman's unblinking guns. Then, without another word, they bolted, disappearing into the night.

When the alley fell silent once more, she turned her head toward Wynn, lowering her weapons slightly. Her eyes, visible through the mask, lingered on him with a detached, almost clinical assessment, as if she could see right through the despair hollowing out his soul.

"You're lucky I came when I did," she said, her voice flat, with not an ounce of sympathy.

Wynn gave a shallow nod, though his mind was miles away. She watched him for another heartbeat, then without a word, turned and disappeared back into the labyrinth of the city, as quietly and suddenly as she'd arrived.

As she left, Wynn's legs buckled, and he slid down the wall, closing his eyes to steady his breath. He could still hear the echoes of her gunfire, see the faint shimmer of mana left hanging in the air. But it meant nothing to him. His heart, his very being, felt as empty as the night itself.

*******

It was nearly dawn when Wynn finally dragged himself back to their small, dimly lit home. Exhaustion weighed down his steps, but all he could think about was seeing his mother—hoping that maybe, somehow, her presence would bring him even a moment of comfort.

"Mom…" he muttered under his breath, longing to be near her, to feel her familiar warmth.

He approached the door, though a strange sight made him pause. Lantern light flickered through the cracks, and murmured voices reached his ears, tense and unsettling.

Wynn pushed open the door, and the scene that greeted him made his blood run cold.

In the middle of the room, Maris stood with her back against the wall, her eyes wide with terror. A well-dressed man loomed over her, a twisted smile on his face. Wynn's gaze dropped to the embroidered crest on the man's sleeve—a baron's insignia. Off to the side, half-hidden in the shadows, stood Fiona, her expression blank, almost indifferent.

Maris's gaze flicked to Wynn, and fear flashed in her eyes. "Wynn…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

The baron's son turned, his lips curling into a sneer as his gaze settled on Wynn. "Well, well. The little urchin she's kept hidden away. Quite the pitiful sight, aren't you?"

A spark of fury flared in Wynn's hollow chest, and he took a step forward, fists clenched. But Fiona's voice cut through the air like ice.

"Maris," she said, her tone cold. "The deal's still up, Stop being so stubborn and heed this needless conflict."

Maris shook her head, pleading, her voice breaking. "Fiona, please… you don't understand. I can't leave him. I won't!"

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The baron's son chuckled lasciviously, seizing Maris's arm in a painful grip that made her wince. "You think you have a choice?" he sneered.

Seeing his mother in pain broke something inside Wynn.

Without a second thought, he lunged at the man, throwing all his strength into a desperate punch. But he was small, weak, barely more than skin and bone—the Baron's son caught his fist effortlessly, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him to the floor. Wynn cried out, his vision blurring from the pain.

"Let him go!" Maris screamed, "He's just a boy!"

The baron's son laughed, his voice dripping with contempt, oozing with hatred. "This boy? You chose him over being my concubine? I've already tasted and marked your body, yet you still refuse you whore! and all of that over leaving this filthy gutter behind?"

He kicked Wynn viciously in the ribs, sending a jolt of pain through his whole body. Wynn gasped, struggling to breathe, but every breath brought fresh agony. He forced himself up, despite the fire burning in his limbs, only to be struck down again.

[WYNN]

Maris's arms wrapped around me, a shield of warmth and love against the cold, brutal world bearing down on us. Her hold was desperate, fierce, and I could feel the tremor in her body, the faint quiver in her voice as she begged,

"STOP! "

I felt her chest rise and fall against me, the thundering of her heart echoing my own fear, as if we were bound together in this terrifying moment.

The baron's son just looked at her with that sick, twisted sneer, his eyes glinting with contempt. "You're willing to die for him?" he taunted, his words dripping with a cruelty that made my blood run cold.

And then, she looked down at me. Her fingers brushed through my hair, gentle and steady, and in that single touch, I felt everything: her pride, her pain, her fierce determination,

She cradled my head against her, holding me as if I were the most precious thing in the world.

The room blurred as my own tears filled my eyes. I wanted to speak, to say something, anything, to tell her how much I needed her, how much I loved her.

But the words tangled in my throat, choked by the terror pressing down on me. I was so small, so helpless, clinging to her, wanting to believe that somehow she'd make this all go away, that somehow she could protect me from this.

I was a coward

She tightened her arms around me, her whole body a shield against the cruelty threatening to crush us both. For a moment, it was just her and me, a fragile sanctuary in a world gone dark. But then she looked up at him, at the man who held our lives in his hands, her face etched with a defiance so fierce it was almost heartbreaking. Her voice shook, but it was steady, filled with a strength I didn't know she had.

And then it happened. His face twisted with fury, and before I could even process what was happening, he drove the blade forward. The world seemed to stop, a single, frozen heartbeat as the blade plunged into her side. I felt her shudder, her body jerking as the life she had fought so hard to protect drained away.

"Mom!" I cried, clutching at her as she began to sag, her strength slipping away like sand through my fingers. I held her tighter, as if I could somehow keep her here, keep her with me. But she only looked up at me, her gaze filled with affection so deep, so overwhelming, it nearly destroyed me. "I love you… Wynn…" she whispered, her voice barely a breath, a final, desperate confession.

"NO!"

I screamed, my voice raw and desperate, my hand reaching out, but it was too late.

I had failed her

I had failed me.

The blade was already buried in her, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Her dress turned dark where the blood seeped through, hot and sticky against my hands as I tried to press down, to stop the bleeding, to do something—anything—to keep her here with me. She gasped, her breath hitching, her eyes wide, filled with shock and pain. Her lips moved, but all that escaped was a trembling whisper, fragile and fading.

"Mom…" I choked, my voice barely a whisper. "Please... just hold on... please…" I could feel her slipping, feel the warmth leeching from her skin, and a helplessness I had never known tore through me, a hollow ache that swallowed everything else.

Her hand, weak and shaking, lifted to touch my cheek. She tried to smile, but it was broken, strained, her eyes clouded with tears she couldn't hold back. "W….ynn.," she whispered, her voice shivering, barely holding onto the words.

"M….y s…..on…"

I clung to her as she started to slump, my arms tightening, as if I could somehow anchor her here, as if holding her close could keep her safe. She was all I had, all I needed—and she was slipping away.

Her weight suddenly felt too heavy, too still. My mind screamed in protest, my whole being refusing to accept it. This couldn't be real. She couldn't be gone, not her, not my mother. Trembling, I clung to her, shaking her lifeless body, the words spilling out in broken sobs, "No… Mom… please, wake up… please… don't leave me… don't leave me here alone…"

My chest felt like it was caving in, my whole world splintering around me, I tightened my grip, pressing my cheek against hers, desperate to feel even a spark of life. But there was nothing. Just… nothing.

"Please… don't leave me… I won't come home late… I promise I won't leave…. Mom please…..I don't know what to do without you…"

The room blurred, the edges of reality dulling under the weight of my despair. But then I heard her – Fiona's scream, her voice sharp and horrified, cutting through the fog around me. I looked up, dazed, and saw her shrinking back, covering her mouth as she stared at Maris's lifeless form.

The betrayal hit me like a kick to the liver, twisting the knife of grief even deeper.

Fiona…

the woman who had been with us for years, who knew our pain, who'd shared our moments of laughter and hope, was standing there, horrified by what she had let happen. She did this. She let him take her. She let him hurt my mom. And now, she was pretending to be shocked, as if her hands weren't as bloody as his.

How could she? How could she sell us out, sell her out? My mother trusted her. I trusted her.

A hollow, bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, and I choked on it, tasting the raw sting of betrayal. Was it worth it, Fiona? I wanted to scream at her. Did you get what you wanted? Are you happy now?

I looked down at my mother's face, pale and soft, her eyes closed as if she were merely sleeping. A tear slid down her cheek, frozen in that final moment of fear and love. I brushed it away, but my fingers only smeared the warmth she'd left behind, fading so quickly it was like she'd never been here at all.

Footsteps pounded up the steps, loud and urgent, and the baron's son snarled, shooting a look toward the door before slinking into the shadows. I spotted a white cloaked figure with a creature-like mask from the corner of my eye.

But I didn't care. I didn't care about him, or the Baron or Fiona, or any of it. I only cared about the emptiness she left behind.

I wrapped my arms around her, buried my face in her shoulder, and wept, calling out to her over and over, to make this nightmare go away.

But the night had turned cold, leaving only the echo of my mother's love – a love that had fought so hard to survive, only to be snuffed out in front of me, leaving me more alone than I'd ever been.

For the first time ever,

I felt my brain chemistry shift