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The soft tick of the clock echoed in the quiet house, a sound that had grown louder and louder with each passing mont.
My hands, rough and aged from years of work, trembled as they clutched the edges of my shawl.
I sat by the window, staring out into the dark, rain-soaked streets, the storm casting ghastly reflections on the glass.
Where was he?
It was past midnight, and Noah still hadn't co ho.
I had tried calling the group of boys I'd seen him with in the past, my voice shaky but firm as I demanded for answers.
Instead of reassurance, I'd been t with cruel laughter.
One of them had even cut off mid-sentence, his snide chuckle echoing in my ears long after the call had ended.
"Brats," I muttered under my breath, gripping the edge of my chair so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
But the anger was fleeting. It dissolved into a wave of worry that settled heavily in my chest. Today wasn't just any day—it was the 24th of December.
Noah's birthday.
I sighed, clutching the shawl around my shoulders tighter. Noah never celebrated his birthday. He hadn't for years.
Instead of joy, the day brought him pain—a stark reminder of the accident that had taken his parents' lives.
I ran my fingers over the worn edge of the velvet couch, my mind wandering back to his birth. It had been a stormy night, much like tonight.
The world outside had been dark and cold, but in my arms, Noah had been warm, fragile, and perfect.
I had gazed at his tiny face, marvelling at the miracle he was.
But even miracles can co with shadows.
Noah wasn't like other children. From the mont he ca into this world, he had been different.
Diagnosed with an empty physique, he had been born with no elental affinity toward mana. It was unheard of.
Even beasts had an affinity—fire, water, wind, earth, sothing. But Noah? Nothing.
The healers had explained it as a rare condition, their words were clinical and detached.
To , it had felt like a curse. Not for myself, but for Noah. I had seen the pitying looks, and heard the whispered conversations.
"As if he's not a child of this universe," soone had said, their words cut deeper than they knew.
Mana was the lifeblood of this world, and without it, Noah had been set apart, struggling to find his place in a world that seed determined to reject him.
Becoming an Awakened was his only hope, but integrating with a hollow was a privilege reserved only for the wealthy and powerful. The cost was astronomical.
Even though we belonged to the direct lineage of the Roro clan itself, since the boy's parents died.
He had been stripped of his inherited wealth and the only thing left with him was an old book my son and daughter-in-law had left him.
And since I had sided with the boy, those prideful brats of the Roro clan had started listening to less and less.
And so, Noah had struggled.
A creak at the door yanked from my thoughts. My heart leapt as I turned toward the sound.
"Noah?"
He stood in the doorway, rainwater pooling at his feet. His suit, once shining and carefully ironed, hung off him like a wet rag.
But it wasn't the state of his clothes that froze in place.
It was him.
Bruises covered his pale skin, one of his eyes was even swollen.
His lip was split, dried blood caking the corner of his mouth. His hands, scraped and raw, trembled as he clutched the doorfra for support.
And his eyes—those beautiful, haunted eyes—were empty?
"Noah!" I gasped, rushing forward. My heart pounded as I reached for him, my fingers trembling as I cupped his face.
"What happened to you?" I demanded, my voice breaking as I scanned him for more injuries. "Who did this to you?"
He flinched at my touch but didn't pull away. His gaze drifted past , unfocused, as if he wasn't really here.
"Nothing," he mumbled, his voice so soft I almost didn't hear him. "It's fine, Grandma."
"Fine?" I echoed, my voice rising. "You call this fine? Look at you! You're hurt, Noah! You're—"
My throat tightened, cutting off my words. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes as I guided him inside, ignoring the water dripping onto the floor.
"Sit down," I ordered gently, leading him to the couch. He collapsed onto it, his body sagging as though all the strength had left him.
I fetched a towel and the first aid kit, my movents frantic as I tried to steady my hands. Returning to his side, I began dabbing at the blood on his face, my fingers trembling as I cleaned his wounds.
He flinched but didn't say a word. His gaze remained fixed on his lap, his hands resting limply by his sides.
"Noah," I said softly, my voice wavering. "Talk to . Please."
He didn't respond. The silence between us was heavy and oppressive, broken only by the soft patter of rain against the window.
"Today's your birthday," I tried, my voice cracking. "Do you rember? You were supposed to co ho so we could celebrate."
A bitter laugh escaped him, sharp and hollow.
"Celebrate what?" he muttered, his voice filled with disdain. "Another year of being a failure? Another year of being...this?"
His words struck like a physical blow. I froze, the towel slipping from my fingers.
"You are not a failure," I said firmly, my voice trembling with emotion.
"You are my grandson, Noah. And you are worth more than you could ever imagine."
He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching into fists.
His shoulders hunched forward, and for a mont, he looked so small, so fragile, that it broke my heart.
"I'm tired, Grandma," he whispered;
I don't think I can live like this any longer-
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