The wind whispered through the open window, its cold fingers teasing the curtains as they billowed in slow, ghostly waves. The soft rustling was the only sound in the room, a stark contrast to the tension that thickened the air, pressing against Denwen's chest like a heavy weight. The moment Varek had spoken, everyone had known what was coming.
Roy sighed and stretched, running a hand through his golden hair before offering a fist toward Denwen. "Catch you later, bud."
Denwen weakly returned the gesture, his body sluggish, aching from the battle's aftermath. He watched as Roy tucked his hands into his pockets and strode toward the door, the usual cocky energy in his steps subdued, weighed down by something unspoken.
Rachael lingered, her sharp gaze flicking toward Varek for a brief moment before she turned back to Denwen. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around him in a firm yet gentle embrace, stroking his hair with a motherly tenderness.
"Don't worry," she murmured, her voice a quiet promise. "If he gets too extreme, you can trust me to come to your rescue."
She pulled back, a teasing smile tugging at her lips, but her eyes were filled with concern.
Nicole, on the other hand, said nothing. She simply turned, her expression unreadable, and walked away, her silence carrying more weight than any words could.
Denwen swallowed hard as Rachael turned toward Varek, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Dear, don't be too hard on him," she said softly, her touch lingering for just a moment before she followed the others out.
Varek didn't respond. He only nodded, his posture rigid.
The door closed with a dull thud.
And then there was only silence.
Not the peaceful kind, but the heavy, suffocating kind that pressed against Denwen's ribs, making every second feel like an eternity. His head hung low, guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind like a relentless parasite.
Varek remained by the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He hadn't moved, hadn't spoken. The longer the silence stretched, the more unbearable it became.
Denwen clenched his fists beneath the sheets. His breathing grew uneven. He had to say something—anything.
"I'm sorry."
The words slipped from his lips, raw and unsteady. His throat felt tight, as if something was lodged there, blocking everything else he wanted to say. "I remembered what you told me—I did. But I couldn't just sit still and watch myself slowly become an invalid."
He exhaled sharply, gripping the sheets as though they were the only thing anchoring him. "I know what you're going to say. That I should have waited. That I should have been patient. That I was reckless—"
His voice cracked. His chest hurt, but not from his wounds.
"But you all… you don't understand how much I need to get stronger." His gaze lifted, desperation flickering in his eyes as he met Varek's steady, unreadable stare. "I can't stay like this. Not when I'm already at a disadvantage. My D-grade talent—" He let out a hollow laugh, one filled with self-loathing. "That was my first letdown, wasn't it? The moment I awakened, I was already fated to struggle, to fight twice as hard just to be half as good as everyone else."
His hands curled into fists. The bandages around his arms strained against his movements, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the storm raging inside him.
"The resources, the essence cores I got from the academy—they're not enough. Not enough to bridge the gap, not enough to let me catch up." His voice wavered, emotions bubbling over, threatening to drown him. "What am I supposed to do?" His tone rose, frustration bleeding into every word. "You want me to be safe, to be careful, but what other choice do I have? Beg for handouts? Hope someone pities me? Do you want me to steal, to bully others just to get what I need?"
He shook his head, scoffing bitterly. "Because that's what it comes down to, doesn't it? Either I accept my place at the bottom, or I fight for a way out."
His breathing was ragged, his entire body trembling. He had laid it all bare—his frustration, his anger, his fear.
But Varek remained silent.
His face was unreadable, his eyes betraying nothing. And somehow, that made it worse.
Denwen hesitated, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs. His lips parted, as if there was more he wanted to say—something deeper—but he faltered. He had already said too much.
Varek exhaled slowly.
"Sigh…" His voice was quiet, measured. "And the goal has always been what, Den? Always been what?"
He pushed off the wall, his movements slow, deliberate, as he walked toward the bed and sat down on the chair beside him.
Denwen turned his gaze away, looking out through the window. The sun hung high in the sky, its glow casting long shadows across the floor.
"You know," Varek mused, his voice laced with something almost wistful, "I've always been happy that you never had a teenage rebellious phase. But I guess it was only delayed."
He let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his face before shaking his head.
"But Denwen… from the day we found you, you've always had a darkness inside you. Something… hidden. Something eating away at you, like an abyss you refuse to let anyone see."
His eyes softened—just a little.
"There's nothing worse than being hunted by wounds you refuse to heal from," he continued, tapping his own chest lightly. "And the first step to healing? It's not just fighting harder. It's not just getting stronger. It's sharing those wounds with the people who can bear them with you."
He leaned forward slightly.
"The more you keep it inside, the more it feeds on you. On your sanity. Until one day, it's not just your pain anymore—it becomes the pain of everyone who cares about you."
Denwen's lips parted, trembling slightly, but no words came out. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy.
Varek watched him closely, his sharp eyes taking in everything—the way Denwen clenched the sheets, the way his jaw tensed, the way his gaze flickered with something unspoken.
But he didn't push.
Instead, he let the silence settle between them once more, letting the wind do the talking as it whispered through the room.
The minutes stretched.
Then, finally—
"You want to get stronger, huh?" Varek murmured.
Denwen turned back toward him, nodding stiffly.
Varek studied him for a long moment before leaning back slightly, arms crossing over his chest.
"Hm… This takes me back," he mused, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his voice. "Back to when I had just finished from the academy. An early Rank 2, a C-grade talent with a bright future ahead of me…"
Denwen blinked, his attention caught.
Varek's voice lowered, his gaze distant.
"But strength, Denwen… True strength? It isn't just about power. And I learned that the hard way."
His voice carried something heavy—something buried in the past.
And for the first time since the conversation started, Denwen wasn't just thinking about himself.
He was listening.