The room was dimly lit by a single lantern, casting long shadows across the cold stone walls. Athena stepped inside quietly, careful not to startle the small figure curled up in the corner.
The little prince sat with his back against the wall, his golden hair ssy and unkempt, his frail fra barely covered by the thin fabric draped over his shoulders.
His eyes, bright, piercing blue, locked onto her the mont she entered. There was no curiosity in them, no hint of fear or anticipation. Just emptiness.
Athena’s heart clenched.
She knew that look. She had seen it countless tis in the mirror as a child, in the eyes of orphans who had long since given up on the idea of kindness.
She took a step closer, moving slowly. "Hello."
The child didn’t respond.
She crouched down, making herself smaller, less threatening. Her voice softened. "I brought food."
Still, no reaction.
Athena unwrapped the small al she had carefully prepared, a warm bowl of stew with soft bread on the side.
The scent filled the room, a stark contrast to the damp, cold air. She placed it in front of him without pushing, knowing that force would only make him retreat further into himself.
Minutes passed.
The boy’s eyes flickered to the bowl, just for a second.
It was the first real movent he had made since she arrived.
Athena waited, patient. She knew what hunger did to a person. It clawed at the stomach and weakened the body, but pride, pride was sothing that didn’t break easily.
He had spent his entire life imprisoned, surviving in whatever way he could. If he thought this was a trick, he wouldn’t take it.
So she took a piece of the bread, tore it, and took a slow bite.
"It’s good," she said simply. "Warm, too."
She ate another piece, making sure he saw her chew and swallow. Then, she sat back, keeping the distance between them.
The little prince stared at the bowl. His fingers twitched, and hesitated.
Then, finally, he reached out.
Athena hid her relief as he pulled the bowl toward him, his small hands shaking slightly as he picked up the spoon.
He was slow at first, cautious, as if expecting the food to be snatched away. But when nothing happened, when Athena didn’t move, he took his first bite.
Then another.
And another.
He didn’t speak, but that was okay. Words could co later. Right now, trust was being built in silence.
She let him finish his al, watching quietly as he ate every last bite. When he was done, he placed the bowl aside and looked at her again.
This ti, the emptiness in his gaze was less profound.
Athena gave him a small smile. "Do you want more?"
He shook his head, the movent barely noticeable.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, soft towel. "Then let’s clean your face."
The boy flinched slightly when she moved forward, his entire body stiffening as if expecting pain. Athena’s chest ached at the reaction, but she didn’t stop.
She moved gently, carefully wiping away the traces of stew from the corner of his mouth. He didn’t resist, though his posture remained tense.
"You don’t have a na, do you?" she asked softly.
The boy stared at her, silent.
Athena set the towel aside and leaned back on her heels. "Then I’ll give you one."
His fingers clenched into the fabric of his sleeves. He still didn’t speak, but his eyes searched hers, waiting.
She thought for a mont and rembered his mother.
A na had aning. It was an identity, a sense of belonging. This child, who had been stripped of everything, deserved sothing of his own.
Athena exhaled softly. "How about… Noctis?"
The boy blinked.
"It ans night sky," she explained. "Sothing wide, sothing free. No matter how far you are, the sky will always be there, watching over you."
Still, no words. But sothing in his expression shifted, sothing so small yet profound.
Athena reached out, slowly, and placed a hand over his. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Noctis."
He didn’t pull away.
For the first ti since she entered the room, she saw sothing flicker in his eyes, sothing fragile, sothing hesitant, but real.
Hope.
It would take ti. She knew that.
But she would wait.
And one day, he would believe her words.
The silence between them stretched, but it no longer felt suffocating. Athena remained by his side, not pushing him to speak, not forcing him to react.
She knew trust wasn’t built in a single night. It was sothing fragile, sothing earned through patience and consistency.
Noctis’s fingers twitched slightly beneath hers, and for a brief mont, she thought he might pull away.
But instead, he let his hand rest beneath her touch, unmoving but not rejecting it either.
Progress.
Athena withdrew her hand slowly, giving him space. "I’ll co back tomorrow," she said gently. "I’ll bring you sothing warm again."
Noctis didn’t respond, but he also didn’t look away. That was enough for now.
Standing, she adjusted the thin blanket draped over his frail shoulders. He was so small, so weightless, as if the wind could carry him away at any mont.
She wanted to change that.
Turning toward the door, she hesitated before glancing back. "Goodnight, Noctis."
This ti, sothing barely above a whisper reached her ears.
"...Goodnight."
It was so soft she almost thought she imagined it. But the way his lips barely parted, the faintest sound escaping, it was real.
Athena smiled.
She left the secret chamber with a newfound determination.
She had endured pain, suffering, and loneliness in her own life, but she had survived. And now, she would make sure Noctis did too.
Even if the world had abandoned him, she never would.
As Athena stepped out of the hidden chamber, she took a deep breath, steadying herself.
The air was cold against her skin, but her heart felt warm. Noctis had spoken, just a single word, but it was a crack in the wall he had built around himself.
She would return tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. She would bring him warmth, kindness, and the promise that he was not alone.
Walking down the dimly lit hallway, she clenched her fists with quiet resolve.
No matter what it took, she would give Noctis the life he deserved.
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