Zane slamd the door shut and twisted the lock. His chest burned, his ears rang, but all he could hear was the laughter and whispers echoing in his head.
He pressed his back against the wood, sliding down until he sat on the floor. His hands shook. "Why ... why always ..." he muttered. His reflection in the crystal still haunted him—blank, empty, like he wasn’t even there.
Knocks ca. First soft, then firm. His cousins. His mother’s voice. Even his father once.
"Zane," Selena called, her tone sharp but trembling beneath.
He said nothing. Not a word.
He refused them all.
The curtains stayed shut. He didn’t want to see daylight, didn’t want the warmth of the sun. He felt like he didn’t deserve it. als were left at his door, but most went cold. The sll would eventually drift into the hallway until a servant carried them away.
Ti blurred. Days into weeks.
Sotis he would wake to his own voice whispering in the dark: "Maybe they were right." Sotis he’d laugh bitterly at his own shadow, stretching long across the wall, the only thing that never left him.
And outside his locked room, the world was louder than ever.
"Did you hear? The Caelum boy... nothing ca out when he touched the crystal."
"A Hollow... in the bloodline of stars?"
"Even the slums are laughing. They say House Caelum raised a ghost."
The rumors crawled through markets, taverns, noble banquets. So whispered with pity, most with scorn. Zane’s na was spoken not with awe, but like a curse.
And within his darkened room, he curled tighter into himself. The world was moving on, but he couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
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