The day after the humiliation, Ashen stayed locked in his room.
He hadn't eaten or spoken. He stared at the stone ceiling, hands crossed on his stomach, as if waiting for something inside him to die. Maybe it already had.
Once again, he hadn't hit. He hadn't screamed.
And yet, the voice of the Fool was still screaming in his head.
"Why not make them bleed? Why keep crawling?"
But this time, Ashen didn't answer.
Caldor knocked on the door in the late afternoon.
— Ashen? May I come in?
The boy sat up slowly. His face was hollow, eyes shadowed with ancient darkness. He nodded.
The mage entered with a steaming cup and sat down beside the bed.
— I saw what happened yesterday.
Ashen looked down.
— You're going to tell me I did the right thing... that I was "better than them," right?
— No, replied Caldor. I'm going to tell you that you held yourself back. And I'm not sure that's always a good thing.
Ashen turned his head toward him, surprised.
— You think I should have hit him?
— No. But I think you held back to survive... not to heal.
A heavy silence fell.
Caldor continued, more gently:
— You want to improve? Then you need to understand something essential: as long as you stay silent, as long as you run from your anger, it will eat you alive. It will dictate your actions, even in calm moments. You have to listen to it. And transform it.
Ashen frowned.
— How? By crying? By telling everyone about my past?
— No, said Caldor simply. By facing your own silence.
He held out the cup to Ashen.
— Drink this. And meet me in the basement.
Ashen hesitated, then obeyed.
The basement of Caldor's house was vast, vaulted, covered in ancient symbols drawn in chalk. In the center, a magic circle glowed faintly.
— You're going to step into that, said Caldor. And you're going to listen.
— Listen to what?
— What lives inside you.
Ashen stepped forward slowly. As soon as he crossed the circle's boundary, the world vanished.
No sound. No light. Nothing.
Only the breath of his own fear.
Hours passed, or maybe days. He no longer knew.
In that total darkness, Ashen was faced with himself. But not his reflection: his screams.
Voices surged.
— Bastard. — Crawl. — You deserve nothing. — The fool. — The dog. — The monster. — The toy.
He covered his ears, but they were already inside him. So he screamed.
— SHUT UP!
But silence fell again instantly.
And then, he saw a figure.
A child.
Small. Frail. Trembling. Naked, covered in wounds and chains. He recognized him immediately.
It was him. Himself at six years old. Himself, the day Kael had locked him in the cellar with the rats. Himself, the day his mother had looked away.
The little one looked at him, tears on his cheeks.
— Why did you leave me alone?
Ashen fell to his knees.
— I... I couldn't...
— You forgot me, said the child. You chose to stay silent.
Ashen reached out his hand.
— I wanted to survive...
— But you died, Ashen. You survived by dying.
Ashen closed his eyes. He clenched his fists. And for the first time, he whispered:
— I'm sorry.
The circle lit up violently.
And the light brought him back.
Ashen opened his eyes, gasping.
Caldor was waiting, calm.
— Well?
— I saw... me. The child. The one from before.
The mage nodded.
— Did you speak to him?
Ashen clenched his jaw.
— I told him I was sorry.
Caldor said nothing. He simply gave a soft, almost sad smile.
— Then, for the first time... you've begun to heal.
Ashen looked away.
But he knew something had changed. Inside him.
Silence... was no longer his enemy.