The Silver estate stood as a monument to greatness, its towering spires piercing the morning sky like blades forged from ambition itself. The grounds sprawled across acres of manicured gardens, training yards, and administrative buildings that housed one of the most powerful factions in the world. Banners bearing the Silver crest, a silver sword crossed over a blazing sun, snapped in the wind with an authority that seemed to demand respect from the very air.
But within the eastern wing, in a room shrouded in perpetual darkness, greatness had withered to nothing.
Ciel Lee Silver, fourteen years old and heir to humanity's greatest champion, had not left his chambers in three days. The room was a tomb of its own making. Thick curtains barricaded every window, blocking out the sun that dared to suggest another day had begun. The air hung stale and heavy, carrying the faint scent of neglect. Clothes lay scattered across the floor in careless heaps. Books that had once been neatly arranged on shelves now gathered dust, their spines uncracked for months, perhaps years.
The king sized bed dominated the space, and upon it lay a small figure, curled in on himself like a child seeking comfort that would never come.
Ciel's golden hair, inherited from his mother, splayed across the pillows in tangles that spoke of restless sleep and days without care. His golden eyes, mirrors of his father's, remained closed against a world he had no desire to face. His breathing came slow and shallow, the rhythm of someone who existed rather than lived.
Outside his door, footsteps echoed through the corridor. Multiple sets, moving with purpose.
"He still hasn't come out?" a voice asked, female, dripping with disdain.
"Three days now," another responded, male this time, his tone carrying equal parts disgust and satisfaction. "The mighty Silver heir, rotting away in his own filth."
"Pathetic," the first voice continued. "To think we serve such weakness. The bloodline is broken. Dale Silver's legacy ends with this... this disappointment."
"Keep your voices down," a third voice hissed, older, more cautious. "Lady Belle or Lord Liam might hear."
A snort of derision. "Those two. Wasting their loyalty on damaged goods. Mark my words, within five years, the consortium will find a way to replace him. No faction can survive with a deadbeat as its heir."
"The Crowcrest family still backs him through Lord Liam. And Lady Belle... well, she's one of the Ten Fingers. Her word carries weight."
"For now. But loyalty has limits. Even theirs will break eventually. You can only prop up a corpse for so long before it starts to stink."
Laughter followed, cruel and sharp, fading as the footsteps moved away down the corridor.
Inside the room, Ciel's eyes opened slightly. Golden irises, dull and lifeless, stared at nothing. He'd heard every word. He always did. The staff made no effort to hide their contempt anymore. Why would they? He was weak. Broken. Everything they said was true.
He closed his eyes again.
This was his existence. Wake. Lie in bed. Listen to whispers of his own worthlessness. Sleep. Repeat. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Nine years since his father left. Nine years since the world had made sense.
A soft knock broke through his thoughts.
"Young master?" The voice was gentle, feminine, carrying genuine concern rather than mockery. "I'm coming in."
The door opened, admitting a shaft of light from the corridor that seemed to recoil from the darkness within. A figure entered, carrying a tray laden with food. The smell of fresh bread, grilled meat, and seasoned vegetables wafted through the stale air.
Belle Silmaris moved through the room with practiced ease, navigating the scattered debris without comment or judgment. Her silver hair, pulled back in a practical braid, caught what little light penetrated the gloom. Clear blue eyes, sharp and alert, surveyed the scene with the trained assessment of a warrior who'd risen to become one of Dale Silver's Ten Fingers before her nineteenth birthday.
At eighteen years old, Belle had already achieved what most could only dream of. A rank four Aether user, placing her among the top fifty strongest individuals in a faction that numbered in the thousands. She wore simple combat attire, practical leather and reinforced cloth that allowed for movement while providing protection. A short sword hung at her hip, never far from reach.
She set the tray down on a side table with a soft click.
"Young master, you need to eat."
Ciel didn't respond. Didn't move. His breathing remained steady, eyes closed, giving every appearance of sleep.
Belle sighed. She'd seen this act before. Played along with it countless times.
"I know you're awake, Ciel." Her voice softened, dropping the formal address. "You always are when I visit. Your breathing changes, just slightly. I've learned to notice."
Still nothing.
She pulled a chair closer to the bed, settling into it with the patience of someone who would wait as long as necessary.
"The faction held another council meeting yesterday. Tensions are rising in the eastern territories. Demon activity has increased. Nothing we can't handle, but it's concerning nonetheless." She paused, as if expecting a response, then continued when none came. "Lord Liam argued for increased patrols. Some of the other fingers agreed. A few didn't. Politics as usual."
Her blue eyes studied the motionless form on the bed.
"Your mother's family, the Crowcrests, sent another letter. They ask about you. About your wellbeing. Lord Liam handles the correspondence, of course, but they worry. Your grandmother especially."
Ciel's fingers twitched. Barely noticeable. But Belle caught it.
"I told them you were doing fine. That you're simply focusing on your studies. They don't need to know the truth. Not yet." She leaned back in the chair. "Lord Liam and I, we've been protecting you. Keeping the vultures at bay. But Ciel, you need to understand something. We can only do this for so long."
Silence stretched between them, thick and oppressive.
"The consortium held a private meeting last week. They're discussing succession. Not openly, not yet, but the whispers have started. Some of the branch families see opportunity in your... condition. They think if they can prove you're unfit, they can claim leadership of the Silver Faction for themselves."
Belle's voice hardened slightly.
"I won't let that happen. Neither will Lord Liam. This faction is your birthright. Your father built it from nothing, and we'll be damned before we let opportunistic parasites tear it apart. But Ciel..." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "We can't fight this battle alone. At some point, you need to stand up. You need to show them you're Dale Silver's son."
The words hung in the air like accusations.
Ciel's eyes opened slowly. Golden irises, so like his father's in color but utterly different in spirit, stared at the ceiling. Empty. Hollow.
"He's dead," Ciel whispered, his voice rough from disuse. "My father is dead."
Belle's expression tightened. This conversation. They'd had it before. Many times.
"You don't know that."
"A rank ten Aether user," Ciel continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "The strongest human to ever live. Humanity's avatar. And he's been gone for nine years. Nine years without a word, without a sign. What else could it mean?"
"It means he's dealing with something beyond our understanding," Belle insisted. "Your father faced threats we can't even comprehend. He could be—"
"He's dead." Ciel's voice cracked. "Dead. Gone. And he left me here. Left me to face all of this alone. The expectations. The judgment. The legacy I can never live up to. He promised he'd come back. He looked me in the eyes and promised."
Tears gathered at the corners of his golden eyes, threatening to spill.
"I was five years old, Belle. Five. And he lied to me. They both did. Father left and never returned. Mother died protecting a world that now spits on her son's name. They left me here, and I don't... I can't..."
His voice broke entirely. The tears fell, hot and bitter.
Belle's hand moved to touch his shoulder, comfort ready to offer, but she stopped herself. Sometimes Ciel needed to release this pain. Sometimes he needed to bleed it out before it poisoned him further.
"I wake up every day wishing I hadn't," Ciel continued, his voice barely audible. "Wishing it would all just end. But I can't... I won't take the coward's way out. That would dishonor them even more than I already have. So I just... exist. Day after day. In this room. In this darkness. Because it's easier than facing a world that expects me to be someone I'm not."
Belle's jaw clenched. Her hand finally made contact, resting on his shoulder with firm gentleness.
"You are Ciel Lee Silver. Son of Dale Silver and Maria Crowcrest. That's not a burden. That's a gift. Your father and mother didn't leave you with expectations. They left you with potential. There's a difference."
Ciel turned his head away.
"Eat," Belle said, standing and moving the tray closer. "Please. For me, if not for yourself."
She waited a moment longer, then turned toward the door. Before leaving, she paused.
"Lord Liam will visit later. He has faction business to discuss. Try to at least listen to him, even if you don't respond. He's fighting for you, Ciel. We both are. But we need you to start fighting for yourself."
The door closed with a soft click, taking the light with it and plunging the room back into comfortable darkness.
Ciel stared at the tray of food. His stomach growled, reminding him he'd barely eaten in two days. Mechanically, without any real desire, he reached for the bread. It was still warm. Belle had made sure of that. She always did.
He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. The taste registered somewhere distant, unimportant. He was eating because Belle had asked. Because refusing would hurt her, and she was one of the only two people in this entire faction who genuinely cared whether he lived or died.
The other being Liam Crowcrest.
His mother's nephew. Family, in the truest sense. Liam was twenty four years old, a rank four Aether user like Belle, and carried the full backing of the Crowcrest family. The consortium couldn't move against Ciel openly while Liam stood as his shield. Political suicide to antagonize one of the most powerful noble houses in the human domain.
Together, Belle and Liam formed an impenetrable wall around him. They managed the faction's daily operations. They handled disputes. They represented Ciel in councils he refused to attend. They were his voice, his hands, his presence in a world he'd abandoned.
And he knew, deep in the part of himself that still functioned, that he was failing them.
Ciel finished the bread. Started on the meat. His movements were automatic, divorced from any real engagement with the act of eating. Food was fuel. Nothing more. It kept his body functioning for another day of this hollow existence.
Hours passed. The tray sat empty. Ciel lay back down, curling into himself once more. His eyes closed. Sleep would come eventually. It always did. And in sleep, there were no expectations. No legacy. No disappointed faces or whispered insults.
In sleep, he could almost forget he existed at all.
The afternoon bled into evening. Shadows deepened in the already dark room until everything became indistinguishable shades of black.
Another knock at the door. Firmer this time.
"Ciel, it's Liam. I'm coming in."
The door opened. A tall figure entered, his silhouette broad and commanding. Where Belle moved with the grace of a trained blade, Liam moved with the confidence of nobility tempered by real combat experience. He carried himself like someone who'd never doubted his place in the world.
Liam Crowcrest shared his aunt Maria's coloring. Golden hair, though his was cut short in a military style, and blue eyes that could shift from warm to cold in an instant. He wore the formal attire of a faction officer, dark colors with silver threading that marked him as one of the Silver Faction's elite.
He didn't bother with pleasantries. Liam had learned years ago that coddling Ciel accomplished nothing.
"The eastern patrol reported increased demon sightings near the border settlements. Nothing major, but it's a pattern we need to monitor." He moved to stand near the window, though he didn't open the curtains. "I've allocated additional resources to reinforce the area. Belle will lead a reconnaissance team tomorrow."
Ciel lay motionless, but Liam knew he was listening. He always was.
"The consortium is pushing for a formal assembly next month. They want to review the faction's leadership structure. I've been delaying, but I can't hold them off much longer." His voice hardened. "They're going to demand your presence, Ciel. Seeing you in person, they'll use your condition as evidence that you're unfit to inherit."
Still no response.
Liam turned, his blue eyes finding Ciel's form in the darkness with practiced ease.
"I need you to understand something. I'm not doing this out of obligation. I'm not protecting you because of family ties or some sense of duty to your mother's memory." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I'm doing this because I believe in what your father built. The Silver Faction represents hope. Strength. A future where humanity can stand against threats that would obliterate us. That vision doesn't die just because its architect is gone."
He moved closer to the bed.
"But Ciel, I need you to meet me halfway. I need something. Anything. A sign that you're still in there. That you haven't completely given up."
Ciel's eyes opened. Golden irises reflected what little light penetrated the room.
"What if I have?" His voice was barely a whisper. "What if there's nothing left?"
Liam's expression softened, just slightly. Just enough to show the genuine concern beneath his stern exterior.
"Then we rebuild from nothing. Just like your father did." He straightened. "Think about it. That's all I ask."
He turned toward the door, then stopped.
"Your mother used to tell me stories about you when you were a toddler. About how you'd mimic your father's training routines with a wooden sword bigger than you were. About how you channeled Aether before your third birthday. About how everyone who saw you practice said you had talent that surpassed even Dale Silver himself."
Liam's hand rested on the door handle.
"That child is still in there somewhere, Ciel. I've seen glimpses of him. Brief moments when your eyes focus with real awareness. When your hands clench with real frustration. You're not as broken as you think you are. You've just convinced yourself it's easier to stay in this room than to face what's outside."
The door opened.
"I'll be back in a few days. Try to eat something. Try to think about what I said."
The door closed.
Ciel lay in the darkness, Liam's words echoing in his mind. Talent that surpassed Dale Silver. The child who'd shown such promise. The heir who'd been destined for greatness.
All of it felt like stories about someone else. A different person who'd died the day his father didn't come home.
He closed his eyes. Tried to push everything away. Tried to sink back into that comfortable numbness that made existence bearable.
But sleep didn't come easily tonight. Thoughts swirled, unwanted and intrusive. Memories of training with his father. Of his mother's gentle smile. Of a time when the world had made sense and his future had seemed bright.
A time before everything shattered.