"Uncle Ry!"
The child's voice echoed down the corridor like sunlight piercing through storm clouds.
Ry turned.
There running barefoot down a marble hallway was a boy with moss-green hair, his eyes glowing silver, and a grin stretched wide with mischief and warmth. His arms outstretched. Pure joy. The boy ran, laughing, toward him, closer, closer...
BANG.
A distant clang. Metal against metal.
Ry's brow furrowed. He looked over his shoulder. The hallway was empty.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Louder now. Closer. Like fists hammering on a steel door. Echoing off unseen walls.
He spun back—
The boy was gone.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Ry gasped, his body jolting upright in bed. Sweat soaked his tunic, clinging to his chest. His breath came in ragged bursts, his hand gripping his sternum like he could hold the pain in place.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
Each repetition was a plea.
His eyes, once fierce with command, were now glassy with unspoken grief.
