"Damian?"
Agnes waved a hand gently in front of his face, her voice soft but firm.
"You're off again. Where'd you go just now?"
She glanced at his half-empty bowl. His hands had gone still, spoon hovering over the stew like he'd forgotten where he was.
"It's Cassie, isn't it? Still back there… alone?"
Damian quickly realized that he had been staring at the mana for too long. He noticed that to everyone else, it looked like he had spaced out. His thoughts went back to the question Agnes had just asked him.
"I know I shouldn't worry," Damian replied. "But—"
Agnes interrupted, as she offered a reassuring smile, her voice warm.
"But you can't help it, can you?" She asked. "She's your sister. It's normal to feel protective."
"She's probably alright, you know," she continued. "Just lost in her thoughts. Many don't always show their hurt upfront."
She paused for a moment, a knowing glimmer in her eyes.
"But sometimes they show it through silence. That's all Cassie's doing now. Just… keeping her grief close to the chest."
'She's very thoughtful,' Damian thought, as his gaze met Agnes' for a second. She was being very caring about everything, and Damian took note of her care.
"Your right," Damian said. "She will definitely get better."
Agnes nodded, her spoon stirring idle circles in her stew. The candlelight caught the quiet understanding in her eyes.
"Grief's a heavy cloak, Damian," she said. "And she's still learning how to carry it."
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just above a whisper.
"But you know what?" She continued. "She followed you here. She sat beside you on that bed. She didn't push your hand away."
"That means something."
The moment stilled, as Cassie let Another pause, her gaze meeting Damian's. Then—
"You don't have to fix it tonight," she continued. "Just be there tomorrow… and the day after. That's how it works here."
She nudged his bowl gently with her elbow,
"Now eat before it gets cold—and so I don't have to report you for wasting food."
A small smirk tugged at her lips, just enough to make Damian almost smile back.
'She's...' Damian thought. 'She's pretty, her smile.'
Damian quickly brushed off his thoughts and kept eating the stew. He ate until the bell rang, signaling the end of the dinner session.
As the final bell rang through the dining hall, everyone began pushing back their benches and rising from the tables. The clatter of bowls and quiet chatter filled the air as the stew was cleared away.
Agnes wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and turned to Damian,
"Time for bed already. They run a tight schedule here, lights out in fifteen, no dawdling."
She stood, then gave him a meaningful look, the kind that said she hadn't missed how little he'd eaten once his thoughts had drifted again.
"Go check on Cassie. I'll walk with you to the dorm if you like," she said, as she didn't push it further. Just waited beside him, ready, but not to say anything… but just to walk beside him.
"Alright," Damian responded.
Agnes fell into step beside Damian as they both left the dining hall, the flickering torchlight casting shadows along the stone corridor as they walked through it. The air grew quieter with each passing moment, the day already winding down like a clock.
When they reached the dormitory door, Agnes decided to pause, and said, "I'll let you go in alone. But… if she won't speak to you? Don't take it as rejection. Sometimes silence isn't about pushing someone away, it's about not knowing how to come back."
She gave his shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze, as she continued, "Tomorrow's another day. And she's still here—because of you."
With that, she turned toward her own bunk across the room, leaving Damian standing at the threshold.
Inside, Cassie sat exactly where he had left her, still filled in her grief.
Damian cleared his throat, as he approached Cassie, who sat at the bunk bed.
"Cassie," he began, then stopped.
What does one even say? It's okay? But it wasn't. He's in a better place? She would just scoff. His mind raced, pulling up every awkward, half-remembered platitude he'd ever heard, discarding them all as useless. Comforting people wasn't his strong suit, In his previous life, he hadn't known anyone who had lost someone so important that they would need this much attention. But what action could mend a broken heart? he thought.
After some more contemplating, he sat beside her, leaving a respectful distance, and stared at his hands.
"Look," he tried again, the word coming out a little too forcefully. "Uh, so, Dad… he's… gone. Yeah. And it sucks. Really sucks."
'Eloquent, Damian, real eloquent,' he thought, dissatisfied with how he started. He then decided to risk a glance at her, but her gaze was fixed on the chipped pattern of the rug on the floor.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed on, "But… it's not like… like everything else is gone too, right? Like, I'm still here. And you." He paused, searching for the right words, for any words that weren't just blunt objects. "We'll… we'll figure it out. Like, together, you know? We always do."
He gestured vaguely, as if waving away the sense of her grief. "It'll be… tough. Super tough. But we're… resilient. Like, really resilient.
'Fuck, I sound stupid,' Damian thought, reacting to the way he articulated his words. 'I don't even know why I'm stammering, comforting someone shouldn't be that hard.'
He knew he sounded like an ill-prepared scout leader giving a pep talk. He hated how hard his trying, giving effort to something that really didn't bother him.
'Actually, am I emotionally daft?' he questioned his emotional intelligence.
"And, uh… Dad wouldn't want us to just… mope around forever," he continued, immediately regretting the 'mope around' part. He backtracked clumsily. "Not that you are moping! Just… he'd want us to keep going strong, like he always said."
Cassie remained still, as Damian waited, for either a reprimand or a sigh, or perhaps even tears. Instead, a tiny smirk began to form at the corner of Cassie's lips. Her shoulders shook again, but this time, it wasn't from grief.
She slowly lifted her head, her eyes still red-rimmed but now filled with a spark he hadn't seen since. She looked at him, at his earnest expression, at his hands still awkwardly clasped, at the sheer effort he was putting into this act of 'comfort.'
"Never knew you were this terrible at this, you know," she mumbled, but there was no pain in her voice, only amusement. Another giggle escaped her as she burst into a silent laughter.
Damian felt relief, as he gave a weak smile back. "Yeah," he admitted. "I know."
And in that moment, in the shared understanding of his clumsy words and her returning laughter, some would ask, did Damian really comfort her?