Tyler couldn’t sleep that night. Sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing the gray shirt and worn jeans from the day before, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. The rough fabric rubbed against his skin, and his tense, aching muscles pulsed as if every movement were a reminder of all the confrontations he had faced—both physical and emotional. He avoided lying down, as if fearing that the simple act of closing his eyes might bring back the grotesque creatures from his nightmares or the stern, oppressive presence of Michelle. He wanted to believe it was all just a nightmare, a delusion that would vanish with the dawn.

When the sky began to lighten, the orange hues of sunrise filtered through the cracks in the window, illuminating dust particles that floated lazily in the air, like tiny ghosts of a day that refused to begin. With eyes heavy from exhaustion and his body still tense, Tyler got up, trying to move quietly, as if silence could push away his thoughts. His bare feet met the cold wooden floor, which creaked under his weight, each step down the stairs feeling like a Herculean effort, as if the simple act of moving were a battle against gravity.

In the kitchen, he found his mother. Cassandra was sitting at the table, still in the same position as before, as if time had frozen around her. She wore a loose, faded robe, her hair tied carelessly, with a few strands falling around her tired face. Her eyes, sunken and shadowed, were fixed on a worn notebook. She was drawing, but her strokes were disjointed, as if she were trying to exorcise something from her mind but didn’t know how. The abstract shapes on the paper seemed more like a reflection of her inner turmoil than a conscious artistic effort.

— Good morning… — Tyler murmured, his voice hoarse and dragging. — Or... you didn’t sleep either, huh?

Cassandra looked up slowly, and Tyler saw in her the same weight he carried within himself—a shared burden, but without the words to describe it. She didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at him for a moment, then went back to scribbling with trembling fingers, continuing to draw shapeless forms, as if the effort were a silent attempt to escape what surrounded them.

— How do you sleep after that…? — she finally replied, her voice low, trembling, as if she were still trying to process what had happened, trying to grasp the magnitude of the previous night.

Tyler approached the table, leaning on the time-worn wood, every groove and scar on its surface reflecting years of use. His posture was rigid, his muscles tense, as if he were trying to hold himself together, as if the mere idea of sitting or relaxing were an unbearable risk. His hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, as if he needed it to keep from being swept away by the tide of emotions threatening to engulf him.

— Did you know about all this...? — he asked, his voice hoarse and laden with bitterness, as if the words had been building up inside him, ready to explode. — And you never said anything?

Cassandra, her expression lost, didn’t look up. She kept scribbling in the notebook, now with faster, more erratic strokes, almost aggressive, as if trying to free herself from something. The silence between them was thick, almost palpable, filled with tension and the distance that loomed over them. The only sound filling the air was the scratch of the pen on paper, cutting through the silence with unsettling precision.

— He wanted it this way… — she murmured, her voice so soft it seemed to echo from the depths of an abyss. — Your father…

Leon Red Way. The name hung in the air like a shadow, a burden Tyler had never fully understood. His father’s figure seemed distant, almost mythical, like a legend he had never been able to touch or comprehend. The name lingered in his mouth, bitter and unbearable, like something he could never swallow.

He tried to swallow his frustration, but the words came out, sharp and laden with doubt and resentment.

— He… was what Aunt Michelle said?

This time, Cassandra looked up, and Tyler noticed the internal battle playing out on her face, the pain of a woman trying to balance a cruel truth and the lies that needed to be told. When she finally spoke, her voice was heavy with a sadness so dense it seemed to weigh on both of them.

— The Scarlet Arcanist…? He was.

Those words hit Tyler like stones to the chest, and he felt a knot form in his throat, tightening until breathing became difficult. His fingers gripped the edge of the table harder, until his knuckles turned white, as if he were trying to hold onto something that was shattering inside him.

— And what does that even mean? — he shot back, a mix of irritation, disbelief, and frustration spilling into his voice. — And I guess the story of a "car accident" is a lie too…

Cassandra sighed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of a truth that seemed to crush her with every word. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength to speak, to face what she could no longer hide.

— It wasn’t an accident… — she admitted, her voice low and hesitant, filled with unresolved pain. — But it was something I never fully understood.

— What "something," Mom? — Tyler pressed, his voice growing harsher as frustration spilled into every word, his body tense like a coiled spring. He leaned closer, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that seemed to pierce through any facade she tried to maintain.

Cassandra looked away, as if the distance from her son were the only thing that could protect her from the pressure of the moment. Her fingers continued to scribble on the notebook automatically, the mechanical movements trying to distract her from the emotional storm unfolding between them. But the void between their words seemed filled with something no one wanted to touch.

— I never knew for sure… — she murmured, her voice low and fragmented, almost as if apologizing, or perhaps searching for a justification that didn’t exist.

Before Tyler could respond, Hyan entered the kitchen. His hair was still damp, dripping onto his loose robe, his slender shoulders and relaxed expression completely at odds with the heavy, tense atmosphere. He headed to the fridge without paying attention, seemingly oblivious to the tense conversation unfolding.

— Did walking around the house naked become a habit? — Tyler teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm, a visible attempt to lighten the tension. His posture was still rigid, but the words came out with a disguised aggression, as if he wanted to push away the pain surrounding him with small distractions.

Hyan, without even looking at his brother, grabbed a bottle of juice and opened it, seemingly ignoring the heavy atmosphere. He took a slow sip, indifferent to the emotional turmoil the others were experiencing.

— And waking up early is your new hobby? — Hyan retorted, his eyes still fixed on the bottle, showing no interest in the previous exchange. The irony in his voice seemed disconnected, as if he lived in a separate reality from the others.

But the brief moment of relief was interrupted by Cassandra’s voice, which, even though soft, seemed to carry the weight of all her unspoken words.

— Ordinary people like me… meant nothing to them… — she murmured, more to herself than to her sons. The sadness and resignation in her voice were so evident they filled the kitchen like a dense cloud. Her expression, now empty, suggested she was reliving some kind of loss she could no longer hide.

Tyler, who was about to retort with another jab, fell silent. His mother’s words hit him with unexpected force, and for a moment, the anger he felt was replaced by a sense of disorientation. Hyan, still absorbing the sound of those words, glanced briefly at Cassandra but said nothing, his expression unreadable. Both were facing something bigger than their own disputes, and the silence that followed weighed heavier than any conversation they’d had.

Hyan and Tyler turned to Cassandra at the same time, the unease visible in their eyes, as if her words carried a weight they weren’t prepared to understand.

— What "them," Mom? — Hyan asked hesitantly, his hand still on the neck of the juice bottle, the doubt in his voice contrasting with the distracted gesture of putting the bottle back in the fridge. He felt there was something more behind that phrase, something bigger that threatened to collapse over all of them.

Cassandra closed the notebook slowly, as if every movement required a strength she no longer had. Her fingers hesitated before letting go of the worn cover, and when she stood up, the robe seemed heavier than usual. There was a deep sadness on her face, but also something that hadn’t been there before—a dark determination, as if she were finally preparing to tell a truth she had always known but never spoken.

— There are other Arcanists… — she began, pausing, as if weighing every word that came out of her mouth. — Many others.

Tyler scoffed, running a hand through his messy hair, the frustration evident in his posture.

— Oh, great… more crazy people like Aunt Michelle… — he replied, the irony dripping from every syllable, anger and disgust taking over his voice. The idea of more authoritarian figures like Michelle seemed unbearable.

Cassandra moved toward him abruptly, catching him off guard. With firm hands, she grabbed Tyler’s shirt, forcing him to face her. He froze for a second, surprised by the intensity of her action. She used her other hand to touch his face, a gesture almost maternal but with immense weight. Her expression was grave, her eyes locked on his with an urgency he didn’t understand.

— Michelle is harsh, but she cares about you, Ty… — she murmured, her voice laden with a plea that cut through the air between them, making her words feel heavier than anything she’d ever said.

Tyler, however, couldn’t control the bitterness dominating his chest. He pulled back slightly, his smile laced with disdain, as if trying to push away the vulnerability his mother was trying to show him.

— That lunatic? — he shot back, his voice now even more acidic, as if each word had the power to push her away. — I want nothing to do with her.

Cassandra let go of Tyler’s shirt, but her eyes remained fixed on him, filled with a silent determination that seemed heavier than any words. Her breath trembled slightly, as if she were holding something inside that, if released, could break her.

— There are things we can’t avoid… — she said, her voice low and rough, as if every word were an effort. The tremor in her voice betrayed the weight of unspoken words, and her eyes were filled with a deep pain, the same pain she had tried to hide all this time. — I tried to protect you from this... from all of this...

Hyan, who had been standing silently, shifted slightly, looking away at the floor, as if the truth about to be revealed was more than he could bear.

Cassandra, noticing his hesitation, turned to him, her face marked by immense pain. She looked at him with an intensity that seemed to tear through any resistance he still had.

— But, in the end… — she continued, almost a whisper, as if speaking more to herself than to them. — You two will have to face these changes...

Those words fell heavily in the air, and the silence that followed was almost deafening. Tyler stared at his mother with an expression that wavered between anger and helplessness, frustration spilling from every fiber of his being. He wanted to scream, demand more explanations, but something held him back. Something in Cassandra’s words made him feel small, powerless.

Hyan, on the other hand, remained in the corner of the kitchen, as if the weight of his mother’s words had paralyzed him. His eyes were vacant, distant, as if searching for something beyond that space, an escape that would free him from a reality he barely understood.

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to cast a cold, relentless light over the three of them. The light, which should have warmed, only highlighted the cracks in the house and in their hearts. What had once seemed shadowy was now even more visible, cruelly illuminated by the morning that was beginning to assert itself, without mercy.