Ravian sat in the dark corner of the hall, a place that had become his whole world. He had known it for as long as he could remember—if remembering was even something he could trust anymore. Everything here was the same: the cold, the silence, the shadows that stretched and twisted like the fears inside him. He glanced down at his fingers, rough and worn, the skin cracked and caked with dirt, barely resembling hands that had once reached for something kinder. They looked alien to him now.
His tunic, hanging off his thinning frame, was frayed and torn, barely keeping up with the slow, uneven growth of his body over the years. It felt like his skin had outgrown the very life it once belonged to.
He shifted his gaze toward the others, scattered around the room like broken toys left out in the cold. Seven remained. There had been eight, but another had been taken by chaos. One more life lost, like all the others. He didn't even remember their name. How could he? The faces, the names, they all blurred together in the pain and the suffering. It was easier not to remember.
The children twitched and whimpered in their sleep, their bodies exhausted, as if even in rest, they could find no escape. They were stronger now, yes. But even in their newfound strength, they were still fragile, still breaking. Chaos hadn't made them whole—it had just changed the shape of their suffering.
Ravian let his head rest against the stone wall, staring out into the void. What if he escaped? What would life be like if, by some miracle, he walked out of this nightmare? Would he go back to his parents? The thought crept into his mind, soft and tentative, like a question he wasn't sure he was ready to answer.
What were their names again?
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to dig through the dusty corners of his memory. His mother's face… he could barely picture it now. Her smile… was it warm or sad? Her eyes—were they soft brown or green? He didn't know anymore. It was as if time had rubbed away the details, blurring the edges until nothing remained but a vague, hollow outline.
Would they even recognize him now?
Would they remember him?
A bitter taste rose in his throat, the ache of it settling like lead in his chest. He remembered hearing their cries the day he was taken, remembered how they had stood there, watching as he was led away. But there had been no fight. No desperation. No one had run after him, no one had tried to stop them. They had let him go, just like that.
Why didn't they fight for me?
The question throbbed in his mind, an ache that had never gone away, only buried itself deeper. He tried to tell himself that maybe they hadn't had a choice. That maybe they couldn't have done anything to save him. But then, if they couldn't save him then, what made him think they would want him back now?
Would anyone want something that they threw away?
He stared at his dirt-encrusted feet, moving his toes slightly, as if trying to recall what grass felt like. Grass... He had loved to run through it as a child. He used to collect wildflowers, bring them back to his mother, his father—show them the little treasures he'd found. The joy that had once lit up his world seemed so distant now, so far removed from the hollow emptiness that filled him.
He couldn't even remember their names without effort, and yet he had once been so excited to call out to them. He had once raced home, eager to tell them about his day, about the creatures he had seen in the woods. His heart had been full back then—full of life, full of wonder.
But now?
Now, his heart barely beat at all.
His eyes, deep but so empty, drifted forward, searching for something—anything—to hold on to. But all he saw was more darkness. A stretch of barren land, leading to a tunnel of shadows. It felt like there was nothing left for him, no escape that wouldn't just lead to more pain. What was the point?
What good would it be to escape this place if it only led to another prison?
Another hell?
The thought gripped him, and for a moment, his throat tightened, but no tears came. There were no tears left for him to cry. He had long since run dry.
He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes, trying to shut out the weight of the world pressing down on him. And in that darkness, something else flickered to life—a world inside his mind. A world that felt more real, more alive, than anything he had known in this hall. It was bright, filled with colors and light, a place where the energy of the elements danced on strings of Aether. A place that hummed with life, with possibility.
Here, there was no pain. No chaos.
Just balance.
Perhaps this world, this delicate web of Aether, was where he could find peace. Even if only in his mind. It was a place he could retreat to, where he could breathe without the crushing weight of reality pressing down on him.
Perhaps this was enough for now.
And maybe, just maybe, one day, he would find something. A reason to keep moving. A purpose to strive for.
But for now... he would stay here, in the quiet.
In the calm.
In the dark.