At Lunar Fire Entertainment.

"Mr. Vane, my song is ready to launch. The MV is finished, the intro is set, and my practice is complete," Zarion said, rattling off the list of completed tasks as if it were routine.

Alaric listened in silence, brow furrowing. "And what exactly are you trying to say?"

"I’ve finished everything, so… can I go home for a while? I—"

"You miss the boy?" Alaric’s words cut him short.

Zarion stilled. He didn’t answer, but his silence said enough.

"You have to take Kieran with you," Alaric added firmly.

Kieran? He didn’t want to take him—too much trouble—but he gave a clipped, “Okay,” and left without another word.

The drive was quiet. Zarion took the wheel himself, ignoring Kieran’s raised brow. Sunlight poured through the windshield until he rolled it up, letting the cool air from the AC sweep in.

Half an hour later, the forest loomed ahead. Zarion’s thoughts narrowed to a single plea: Open up. And slowly, as if reluctant, the forest did.

The car stopped by his treehouse. Silence pressed between them, heavy with things unsaid. Zarion climbed first, Kieran following more cautiously. The old wooden steps groaned under their weight, ropes tight, knots secure but still whispering of risk.

Inside, the air smelled of pine and damp wood. While Zarion showered, Kieran took in the space, gaze occasionally drifting to the forest beyond the windows.

When Zarion emerged, he carried a canvas, a stand, and paints. “Make yourself at home. Don’t wander into the forest, or I won’t be able to protect you,” he said flatly.

Kieran smirked under his breath. Protect me? But he followed anyway, down the spiraling steps toward the lake.

The lake lay still, its surface catching the light like molten silver. Kieran’s gaze fixed on it, and something inside him shifted. Recognition struck like lightning—details aligning with a memory he’d dismissed as fantasy.

He remembered Alden’s voice: There’s a guy near the lake. He loves painting… and I love watching him do it.

His chest tightened. The treehouse, the cliff, the water—it was all real.

He sat near Zarion, staying close as instructed, but his eyes kept drifting to the canvas. When Zarion stepped aside to rinse his brush, Kieran glanced—and froze.

The breath caught in his throat.

On the canvas stood a boy before the lake, arms open as if waiting to be embraced. Golden hair shimmered under a painted sun, each strand glowing with life. Honey-dipped eyes held a sadness so deep it seemed to bleed from the page. Every detail—the lift of his brows, the curve of his lips, the wind tugging at his white shirt—was rendered with aching precision.

It wasn’t just a portrait. It was longing made visible. Love. Obsession. Desperation.

And Kieran knew him.

“That boy…” His voice faltered.

Zarion glanced up. “What? Did I draw him ugly?” The question was light, but his gaze was sharp.

Kieran’s lips trembled. He covered his mouth, but the truth surged forward inside him. So the person he loves… is you.

He looked back at the portrait, his chest burning. “Little star… I believe you now. The cliff, the lake—I believe you.” His voice broke, tears sliding before he could stop them. “Big Brother believes you. He’s sorry, Alden. Sorry, he didn’t protect you. Sorry, he didn’t keep his promise to believe in you… no matter what.”

His knees gave way. “I could never hate you. Never. I can’t believe you left me… with just one note. I love you, my little brother. Please… come back. Please… my little star…”

The sobs tore free. Years of buried grief, guilt, and helplessness crashed over him.

Zarion stood frozen, the name echoing in his head like a drumbeat. Alden Vane.

The sound of it felt fated. This was the boy he had painted for years, never knowing his name. A boy who had saved him once, only to vanish and leave him starving for answers.

He sank beside Kieran, voice rough. “I didn’t even know his name. Couldn’t search for him. He gave me a new life… promised to come back. But it’s been five years, and I’m still waiting.”

Tears blurred his sight. His chest felt crushed, but he stayed there, close enough for their grief to meet.

Kieran’s voice was barely a whisper. “I was left with a note… found it six months later.” He unfolded the memory, each word heavier than the last:

To big brother Kie

I’m sorry, big brother. But I think Mom and Dad are right. I’m a bad boy. Brother will never come back to meet me, no matter how much I plead. I don’t want you to hate me either, so I’m leaving this family as a punishment for being such a bad boy.
Your little brother loves his one and only family, his big brother, and will never become the reason for your death. I’ll protect you, brother, so don’t hate your Little Star.

Your dear brother,
Alden

“As soon as I read it,” Kieran said, voice cracking, “I ran to his room. It was new, spotless… but wrong. The air was so heavy I collapsed the moment I stepped in.” His hands shook.

The lake shimmered in the corner of his vision. For a fleeting second, he thought of letting it swallow him—but he couldn’t. Alden still needed him.

Without thinking, Zarion pulled him into an embrace. The silence between them was deep, steadying. For now, no one knew what Alden had endured.

From that day, they carried the boy together—his memory, his absence—sometimes laughing at what he might say, sometimes cursing him for leaving without the truth. But always missing him.