The scream tore through the house just after midnight, sharp and guttural, shattering the fragile peace like glass.
Nox bolted upright in bed, heart slamming against his ribs so hard it hurt. Eyes swimming in his head, a sharp pang of headache assaulted him. It feels like a sledge hammer has been struck on his head. then he heard it,Steel clashed outside the thin walls. Shouts — angry, commanding. Then his mother's voice, high and desperate, cut short with a sickening thud.
He grabbed the small dagger he kept under his pillow and wobbled barefoot into the main room, the wooden floor cold against his soles.
Chaos greeted him. Blood already pooled darkly on the planks. Two masked figures in sleek black uniforms moved with terrifying efficiency. One had Lyra by the hair; she was kicking wildly, sobbing, her small hands clawing at the man's arm. The other stood over Elara's crumpled form, a blade dripping red.
"Mom—!" Nox's voice cracked as he lunged forward, dagger raised in a desperate arc.
The fight was brutal and hopelessly short. He wasn't a trained warrior — just a young man who had sparred enough to survive street scraps and clan drills. He slashed wildly, catching one attacker across the forearm. The man cursed and backhanded him hard enough to split his lip and send him staggering into the wall.
Pain exploded in his face, but it was nothing compared to the sight of his mother trying to crawl toward Lyra, blood bubbling from her lips.
Qinglan burst in from the side door. For one desperate heartbeat, Nox felt a surge of terror — why had she come?. what could she do, when his clan, though not too big but were renowned for the power of their patriarch at the 4th level of pathstrider.
Not wanting to lose nothing more,he shouted anxiously "Qinlan, run I'll try to hold them back". He couldn't even believe his own words.but came nonetheless.she drove a thin stiletto into his side, just below the ribs.
The pain was immediate and white-hot. He staggered, staring at her in disbelief. The woman he had danced with under lantern light only hours ago looked back at him with calm, almost regretful eyes, but he could feel the raw emotions hidden beneath it.
"I'm sorry, Nox," she said softly, her voice steady in a way that made everything worse. "The relic… your family was never meant to keep it. The clan elders made their choice. It was always going to end this way."
Betrayal hit him harder than the blade, a deep, tearing wound in his chest that had nothing to do with steel. "Qinglan… why? We were… I thought…"
She didn't answer with more words. She simply twisted the knife once, sending fresh agony lancing through him, then stepped back as the masked men closed in.
Lyra screamed his name, her voice raw and breaking. "Nox! Please—!"
Elara reached out a trembling hand toward him, her fingers slick with blood. "My babies… run… Nox, you were always the one who looked at the horizon. Don't… let them chain you too." Her voice faltered, wet and weak. "Let go… when it's time."
Her eyes met his one last time — filled with love, exhaustion, and a quiet acceptance that shattered him. Then they fluttered once, twice, and stilled forever.
Nox dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking as he pressed them uselessly against her wound, trying to hold back the blood that kept flowing. "Mom, stay with me. Please. I'm here. I'm right here. Don't leave me…"
Tears burned his eyes, raw, agonizing.mixing with the blood on his face. The small wooden fox charm Lira had been holding earlier lay broken on the floor beside them.
Lyra's screams turned to choking sobs as the second attacker silenced her with brutal efficiency.
Everything inside Nox fractured at once — not just grief, but the quiet, everyday threads that had held his world together. The promise he had made to come home. The way Lyra had elbowed him and laughed. The warmth of his mother's hand on his. Qinglan's smile and the way her thumb had traced circles on his knuckles.
All of it unraveled in seconds, leaving him hollow and bleeding on the floor.
The attackers turned their attention to the hidden alcove where the family relic — an old stone tablet etched with faint, glowing lines no one had ever fully understood — was kept. One of them laughed coldly, saying with cryptic words "Finish him. The Veil doesn't tolerate strays." before he could do anything, time seems to stop.
Nox's vision blurred with pain and tears. Blood poured steadily from his side. But something in the relic pulsed in response to his despair, as if it recognized the complete breaking of every anchor in his life. The glowing lines on the tablet flared brighter, revealing an intricate circular diagram carved into the stone floor of the alcove — ancient, forgotten, waiting.
He didn't think. He didn't plan. Driven by pure, animal desperation and the need to do something — anything — he dragged his broken body across the glowing diagram, barefoot, leaving bloody footprints with every agonizing movement.
Each step sent fresh waves of pain through his stabbed side and shattered heart. But worse than the physical agony was the emotional one: every inch he crawled felt like tearing out pieces of himself.
He let go of Lyra's gap-toothed grin and the way she had teased him about turning green.
He let go of his mother's lullabies and the steady warmth of her hand patting his back.
He let go of Qinglan's touch, the betrayal burning like acid in the wound she had made.
"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely to the empty air where his family had been only minutes ago. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you… I'm so sorry…" but what could he do?
Even the patriarch was killed by the two masked men. He reckoned they where at least, at the 6th level of pathstrider.
Tears streamed down his face, mixing with blood and sweat. His voice broke as he recited fragments of half-remembered words that seemed to rise unbidden from the glowing diagram itself — old, painful syllables about departure, about fraying what once held you tight, about walking away when everything you loved was gone.
By the time he completed the circle, his body was shaking violently. The world tilted and spun. The glowing lines rose like living silver-blue threads, wrapping around his torn soul with burning intensity.
The last conscious thought before darkness claimed him was his own broken, raw whisper, carrying the weight of every severed bond:
"I'm already gone."