The Broken Abyss

Tanver couldn't breathe.

The weight pressing down on his body was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It wasn't just pain—it was crushing. The kind of force that shattered bones and tore apart stone.

His arms refused to move. His lungs burned. His heartbeat pounded in his ears like a war drum, but even that sound was being swallowed by the deep, eerie silence of destruction.

Alric stood above him, untouched by the chaos. His golden eyes gleamed coldly in the dim light, filled with absolute authority.

Like a god looking down on an insect.

The corridor had been obliterated. The floor beneath them had collapsed, sending cracks rippling through the marble like shattered glass. Chunks of stone and wood floated in the air—suspended, as if even gravity itself bowed to Alric's power.

And yet, despite all of this—despite the world breaking around him—his parents did nothing.

Tanver clenched his teeth, forcing his head to tilt slightly. Through his blurred vision, he could see them.

Lord Varian. Lady Seraphina.

They stood at the entrance of the ruined hall, their expressions cold.

Unmoved.

Not once had they stepped forward. Not once had they told Alric to stop.

Because in their eyes, this wasn't a tragedy.

It was justice.

Tanver's fingers trembled.

"So this is it."

His entire life—the years of training, the sleepless nights, the endless struggle to make them proud—all of it had meant nothing.

Because he was never their son to begin with.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat, but it came out as a weak, bloody cough.

Alric stepped closer.

The air around him tightened.

Another wave of crushing force slammed into Tanver's chest, forcing him flat against the ground. The floor beneath him caved further, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he would sink straight into the earth.

Alric crouched down beside him, voice quiet.

"I don't hate you," he murmured. "I just don't need you."

Tanver wanted to respond, to fight back with words if nothing else—but the pressure intensified.

The entire mansion shook.

Cracks spiderwebbed up the walls. Chandeliers swayed violently, glass shattering from the vibrations. The ceiling groaned under the weight of its own collapse.

And then—

"That's enough."

A voice cut through the destruction.

Sharp. Final.

The weight disappeared instantly.

Tanver gasped as the unbearable force lifted, his chest rising and falling in ragged, painful breaths. He could finally move, but his body felt destroyed. Every muscle screamed in agony, and when he tried to push himself up, his arms buckled beneath him.

Alric didn't move.

He merely stood, rolling his shoulders as if nothing had happened.

Lord Varian took slow steps forward, his boots crunching against the shattered marble. His expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to make the entire room feel colder.

Lady Seraphina followed, her gown untouched by the debris. She didn't look at Tanver.

She didn't acknowledge him at all.

She placed a gentle hand on Alric's shoulder, her voice soft. "There is no need to destroy the house, my son."

My son.

Not Tanver's name. Not his title.

Only Alric's.

Tanver felt something inside him crack.

Alric sighed but stepped back, as if all of this had been a mild inconvenience. His golden eyes flickered toward Tanver one last time.

Then, with effortless grace, he turned and walked toward his parents.

Tanver watched them together.

A perfect picture.

A real family.

One he had never been part of.

Lord Varian finally glanced at him, his gaze impassive. "Get up."

The words were not out of concern. Not an offer of help.

Just an order.

Tanver gritted his teeth. With trembling arms, he forced himself upright. His legs shook, but he refused to fall again.

He wiped the blood from his lips and stared at them.

The mother and father who had raised him. Who had praised him. Who had, for so many years, made him believe he was their son.

He opened his mouth—

But there were no words left to say.

Because deep down, he already knew the truth.

This was not his home.

And he had never been their son.

He turned away before they could see the pain in his eyes.

Before they could see that, even now, a part of him still ached for their approval.

But there was no approval left for him here.

Only silence.

And the weight of the past.

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