Chapter Text
The Memory came to Yuu as if carried on the scent of sweet tea and the faint shimmer of candlelight.
He remembered the gentle hum of voices, the warm glow of the hall, the air was warm with the mingled scents of flowers, fresh pastries, and faint perfume, the kind that clung to silk sleeves as guests passed by.
Silver stood at the center of it all, standing there with a quiet, almost shy smile. The faint glimmer of candles and crystal reflected in his silver hair. There was a quiet composure to him, though his eyes held the same light as the candles—steady, warm, and deeply alive.
"Ah, you've come. I'm truly happy you'd join me in celebrating my birthday," Silver had said, his voice steady yet tender, as though every guest’s presence mattered to him more than they could imagine.
Yuu remembered how Silver’s gaze swept across the room, taking in every laughing face, every clinking glass.
"Everyone’s smiles at the party were the greatest gifts of all."
The words seemed to hang in the air, blending with the music of clinking cups and low chatter. Yuu could almost see them, like petals drifting above the crowd.
Then, as more friends gathered around him, Silver straightened, his voice gaining a quiet strength.
"Now that everyone's gathered to celebrate me, I can show them the fruits of my tireless training."
His tone was resolute but not boastful—more like a knight showing his polished blade, proud of its shine but mindful of its purpose.
Somewhere to the side, the faint notes of a harp curled through the air. Silver’s gaze wandered briefly to the window, where moonlight pooled on the horizon.
"I hope I look a proper mage," he murmured to no one in particular, perhaps thinking of the path he’d walked to stand here.
When he spoke, the air seemed to ripple faintly, petals—were they rose petals? or fragments of light?—drifting down from nowhere, dissolving before they touched the floor.
And then—time slowed. The noise faded into a muffled hum. Silver’s eyes softened, his smile carrying something deeper than the joy of the evening.
There it was.....
the moment that had stayed etched deepest in Yuu’s mind: Silver’s eyes softening as he spoke in that hushed tone of nostalgia.
"Father patted me on the head and said I've become a fine young man. It's been a while since he's done anything like that."
Yuu had seen it then—the way Silver’s heart warmed at something so simple, so rare.
In that suspended moment, Yuu felt the weight of it—a tenderness that seemed to echo beyond the dream. The crowd’s edges blurred, the walls dissolved into soft darkness, and for just an instant, it was only Silver, the glow of candles around him, and the quiet pulse of something precious and unspoken.
.........
...........
Then, without warning, the world froze.
The laughter, the music, the drifting petals—all stilled in the air as though caught in crystal.
Even the flicker of the candles seemed to hold its breath.
Silver’s head turned slowly toward Yuu, his expression shifting into something achingly bright.
His smile dazzled, warm as the sun—and yet his eyes glistened, brimming with tears that trembled on the verge of falling.
"Birthdays are very special to me. I'm beyond delighted that I could spend mine in such an enjoyable way."
The words rang strangely in the silence, untouched by the frozen stillness around them.
Yuu’s own breath hitched.
Something was wrong.
He didn’t remember Silver crying that day. The party had been joyful, untouched by sadness—or so he’d thought.
Doubt began to gnaw at the edges of the memory.
The frozen petals in the air withered into crumbling ash.
The golden light of the candles dimmed, their flames shrinking into pinpricks before guttering out.
One by one, the blurred faces in the background melted away, leaving behind hollow outlines that sagged and collapsed like paper soaked in water.
The hall itself began to shiver, its stone archways twisting, melting into shadow.
The warm scent of tea turned acrid, metallic.
Even Silver’s glow seemed to falter, the light around him flickering as the floor beneath them groaned like old wood about to give way.
Yuu’s heart began to race as the dream unraveled.
The crumbling walls gave way to yawning black voids, the floor splitting beneath his feet with deep, shuddering cracks.
His surroundings fell away in chunks, dissolving into ash that spiraled upward and vanished into nothing.
Then came the sound—sharp, jarring, relentless.
Shouts.....
So many Shouts....
First distant and muffled, then swelling into a chaotic roar.
The air shook with the crash of collapsing stone, the whine of steel against steel.
Flashes tore through the dark: white-hot lightning splitting the sky, and bursts of sickly green fire that licked hungrily at the ruins, leaving the air thick with heat and the acrid stench of smoke.
Yuu spun, trying to make sense of it all, but every direction was the same—ruin and chaos stretching as far as the eye could see. His breath caught in his throat when he saw him.
Silver.
No longer in his party attire, but clad in gleaming silver armor that caught the light of the flames.
His hair—no longer its familiar pale hue—blazed gold in the storm’s flashes, each strand a halo against the darkness.
He stood alone amidst the chaos, the inferno painting his outline in gold and emerald.
Tears traced shining paths down his cheeks, though he made no sound. His lips curved into a smile—soft, unwavering, and unbearably gentle, as if to reassure Yuu even now.
And then the fire surged, engulfing him.
Yuu’s voice caught, breaking into a cry—
Before Yuu could move to him...
He felt a string pull from below
A blackness began to rise. It seeped upward through the shattered ground, swallowing what remained of the floor, the walls, the flames—everything it touched.
The ink-like tide lapped at Yuu’s feet, cold and heavy, and in that moment, he realized - the Ink was pulling him down.
“Silver!” Yuu’s voice tore from his throat, raw and desperate.
He didn’t know if he was calling for rescue, or pleading to save him—only that the thought of being separated now was unbearable.
From the depths of that rising shadow, something stirred.
A shape—massive, coiling—emerged from the abyss.
A dragon
M⟟⎅⟟⟒∪ϟ
The air trembled as a dragon of unfathomable size lifted its head, scales glistening like wet stone, eyes burning with the same green fire that devoured the ruins.
It loomed over them both, jaws parting in a silent, endless roar as if it would consume the world.
The flames surged higher, and the black tide climbed Yuu’s chest, thick and choking.
He thrashed, reaching for Silver—only to find the distance between them stretching, warping, as if the world itself wanted to tear them apart.
And then, through the roar of fire and the hiss of the abyss, came Silver’s voice—clear, steady, and impossibly kind.
It was the same tone he had used on the happiest days Yuu could remember.
"Even if we never celebrated a birthday together, Yuu… I know it would have been wonderful. Thank you… And I’m sorry, my friend."
The words struck like a bell in the dark, their warmth a cruel contrast to the cold pulling Yuu under.
The dragon’s shadow fell across them both.
Silver’s figure began to fade into the blaze, his eyes soft to the last minute.
And then—
The black tide surged over Yuu’s head
-
-
-
A final flash of green fire.
a Roar
a Shout
-
-
SILVER!!!
-----
------
--------
Cold, heavy, final.
For an instant, there was no air, no light—only the crushing silence of being swallowed whole.
And then—
-
-
-
He woke.
Ramshackle Dorm
If you had asked Yuu, he would have never imagined he’d one day attend a classmate’s funeral.
Maybe, far in the future—when they were all older, when time had run its course for everyone.
But not like this. Not so soon.
It felt otherworldly, surreal—like a cruel mistake.
The realization hit him over and over again: he was never going to see that person again.
Just days ago, he could still greet him in the halls, catch sight of him in the cafeteria, and share a passing smile.
Small talk, playful teasing that sometimes landed and sometimes didn’t, jokes exchanged in the lull between classes, laughter tucked into corners of ordinary days.
Stories half-told, and others never to be.
All of it gone, cut short.
Now, staring at his reflection in the mirror, Yuu saw the exact moment his face broke, twisting in pain under the weight of memories.
Of scenes flashing by—brief, and warm.
Not as many as others might hold, yet precious all the same.
But now they burned, each recollection sharp enough to draw tears that brimmed faster than he could wipe them away.
His throat tightened, the sting of grief rising to choke him.
His mind clawed back to what had shaken him that morning—the memo..., no, not a memory.
A dream.
Just a dream.
And that hurt most of all, doesn't it?
Because it wasn’t real.
It was wishful longing dressed as memory, a fragile fantasy that mocked him the moment he woke.
Yuu’s fingers curled around the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white as if grounding himself could keep the tide from breaking.
But the more he tried to steady his breath, the more it slipped.
The dream—nightmare—whatever it was, had only carved the truth deeper.
He had never celebrated that day with him.
Not even once.
He had never celebrated Silver’s birthday.
The thought finally broke through, cruel in its simplicity, and Yuu crumbled beneath it.
The grief, raw and unrelenting, surged up from his chest. His breath hitched into a broken gasp as the reality sank like stone into his bones.
He was gone.
And nothing would ever bring him back.
Yuu tried to muffle his cries with the palm of his hand.
He had been doing such a good job these past couple of weeks—at least, that’s what he told himself.
Smiling when he had to.
Nodding, offering hollow reassurances whenever someone asked if he was all right.
He hadn’t wanted to attract more grief to his friends, hadn’t wanted to burden those who already carried their own sorrows.
Even when the S.T.Y.X. doctor insisted on scheduling another appointment to check on him, Yuu had managed to fool them with practiced words and a steady gaze, convincing them that he was fine.
That he was holding together.
That he was strong.
But now—now it was too much. He was done.
The weight in his chest cracked him open, and Yuu collapsed onto the cold bathroom floor. The sobs he had held back for so long tore through him with violent force, breaking past trembling hands, spilling out in a raw, hiccupping flood.
Each cry echoed off the tiles, too loud, too vulnerable, but he couldn’t stop it.
All the pain—the grief, the fear, the suffocating weight—spilled out.
Not just from this morning’s dream, not just from the cruel reminder that he had never celebrated Silver’s birthday, and never would.
No, it was deeper.
It was the pain he had been carrying ever since the day he first woke in this strange world, pried open from a coffin in the Grand Hall.
The fear of being alone, memoryless, abandoned in a place where nothing was familiar. He had clung to hope then—telling himself it was temporary, that maybe it was all some dream or illusion, that one day he would wake up back home.
But that illusion had shattered.
The ache in his chest, the horror of watching friends fall to overblot, the trauma of fighting, surviving, witnessing too much—it was all real.
The loss was real.
Silver was gone.
And the pain tearing through his heart was the cruelest proof of all.
He was scared.
He was alone.
And gods, he was sorry—so, so sorry.
All the emotions he had buried—the fear that never loosened its grip, the guilt that clung to him after each overblot, the longing for family and warmth, the isolation that gnawed at him every night—it all cracked open now, ripping through his body with violent shivers and unrelenting sobs.
Somewhere through the haze, he thought he heard the muffled pounding on the bathroom door.
Grim’s frantic little voice, high and desperate.
The worried calls of the ghosts echo down the corridor.
But Yuu couldn’t bring himself to answer.
He didn’t want to add to their pain. Grim, who had already carried a weight far heavier than he should. The ghosts, who tried so hard to keep Ramshackle a place of comfort despite its decay.
He didn’t want to worry them. He didn’t want to fail them.
But he was so tired.
So tired of pretending to be strong, of wearing a mask of positivity, of being the hero everyone believed him to be.
He wasn’t a hero.
He wasn’t unbreakable.
He wasn’t even brave.
He was just a human.
Just a scared kid who missed his family, his warmth, his home.
And in this moment—most of all—his friend.
Shaking, Yuu curled tighter against the floor, letting himself unravel at last.
Tears soaked the sleeves of his shirt, his cries hoarse and unending. Guilt wrapped around him like chains, even though none of it truly belonged to him. Still, he couldn’t let it go.
And in his mind, one thought repeated over and over, louder than all the rest:
His greatest fear had come true.
He had lost someone.
He lost a friend.
A good one.
A warm one.
A beautiful one.
A familiar one.
Someone who, from the very beginning, had never once hesitated to offer calm, unwavering support.
Someone who helped quietly, consistently, without ever asking for anything in return.
Someone who shone so brightly with kindness and gentleness that even in this cold, chaotic world, everyone noticed him—and Yuu did too.
He held on to that light.
He cherished their quiet talks in the garden, the sleepy smiles exchanged in the hallway, the fun little adventures and family stories Silver told with warmth in his voice.
He felt safe in those moments. He felt at home.
A home he could no longer remember… and yet, simply being near him was enough to stir echoes of it, a warmth just out of reach.
Now his vision blurred with tears, his sobs rising until they drowned out Grim’s frantic calls and the anxious whispers of the ghosts beyond the door.
And in the hollow ache of his chest, one broken thought echoed, again and again, a plea torn straight from his soul:
Please… O Lord, why did You take someone I loved again?
Main hall
Walking the hallways of the school had never felt more like a gloomy parade than it did now.
Yuu had always admired—or at least acknowledged—the old European Gothic aesthetic of the place. Long, shadowed corridors, monochrome walls, vaulted ceilings… it had a mournful beauty to it.
But today, more than ever, that beauty only deepened the suffocating atmosphere.
The air was heavy, oppressive, pressing down on every breath.
The stone walls seemed darker than usual, as though they absorbed every fragment of light, leaving only the dull gleam of torches and chandeliers. Even the faint sound of footsteps on the polished floors echoed hollow, like the beating of a slow, distant drum.
Accompanied by the march of the students, the halls became a processional path. The line moved in quiet rhythm, a river of black uniforms and bowed heads flowing toward the great chamber where the ceremony awaited.
There were no whispered jokes, no idle chatter, not even the rustle of restless conversation.
Only the muted shuffle of shoes and the occasional stifled breath broke the silence.
He clutched Grim a little tighter against his chest, the monster-cat curling closer in return.
Since the breakdown in the bathroom a few hours ago, he hadn’t let go of him.
Grim had cried too—small, pitiful mewls that shook his little body, making him seem less like the boastful “future great mage” he always claimed to be and more like the vulnerable soul he really was.
Yet in that display, there was something painfully honest, something raw. Grim was hurting too.
He was struggling.
Somewhere in his small, stubborn heart, Grim had convinced himself that all the bad things happening at this school were his fault—that ever since he arrived, dreaming of becoming a wizard, misfortune had followed in his wake.
But that was nonsense… wasn’t it?
If anything, by that same cruel logic, Yuu was just as guilty.
They had both arrived here at the same time, both stumbled into this strange world together.
So maybe…
Maybe it wasn’t Grim at all.
Maybe it wasn’t coincidence.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe he was the bad luck.
I already lost someone back home… and now this? Maybe I’m cursed, Yuu thought bitterly, eyes flicking over the students around him.
Faces that were usually filled with pride, mischief, or boredom now bore the same somber heaviness etched into his own.
Uniforms neat, heads bowed, steps dragging—they all moved toward the ceremony together, a silent procession dressed in grief.
He was surprised anyone had come at all.
Don’t get him wrong—Silver deserved more than just a funeral.
If not for him, they all might still be trapped in that cursed dream, lost to endless sleep—or worse.
And even beyond that, Silver had always deserved more.
He had been a gentle, pure soul shining quietly in a place that only seemed to grow darker by the day.
His kindness was unwavering, his courage quiet but constant, his heart so full of warmth that it almost felt cruel, almost wrong, that he had to exist in such a cold, decaying world.
Yuu’s chest tightened.
This school—once a mystery, once something he’d been desperate to understand—now only felt rotten.
Hollow.
Poisoned to the core.
And the longer he stayed, the more he hated it.
So when he saw that even from this rotting place, students and alumni had still found it in themselves to show up—to attend a ceremony for someone they had so often dismissed as lazy, odd, out of place, or airheaded—well, color him surprised.
Apparently, these bastards had at least a shred of decency.
Or maybe it wasn’t decency at all.
Maybe it was guilt.
His jaw tightened as he huffed through his nose, pushing forward through the crowd.
To him, it was nothing but a sea of hypocrites.
Don’t pretend you cared now. Don’t pretend you mourn someone you barely treated like a person.
As he pushed his way through the hall, he reached the Grand Salon. The moment he stepped in, he was struck with a bitter wave of irony.
His first time entering this place had been filled with awe and possibility.
He had imagined returning here one day for graduation… or maybe, if he ever found a way home.
But not like this.
Never like this.
At the center of the grand chamber, framed by towering stained-glass windows and beneath the unblinking gazes of countless villainous visages painted across the walls, stood the memorial.
A somber display of loss.
The Grand Mirror loomed behind it, its surface dull and oppressive—more ominous now than magical. And in front of it, as though mocking the ceremony itself, rested a single portrait.
A photograph.
Silver.
Yuu’s breath caught. His chest constricted painfully as his eyes locked onto the image.
“He’s always been… really beautiful, hasn’t he…” he whispered, the words barely audible against the hush that blanketed the hall.
The photo radiated with Silver’s gentle smile, captured forever in that still frame. A smile that once carried warmth so freely, so selflessly—yet now, here, it only felt like a cruel reminder of what was gone.
Yuu remembered that photograph well.
Capturing Silver’s smile had never been easy.
His classmate’s calm, serious demeanor, his measured words and composed presence, were never unkind—but they rarely allowed his emotions to surface.
Often his face seemed carved from marble: serene, steady, unreadable.
Vil had often commented—sometimes half-joking, sometimes not—that if Silver smiled more often, his beauty could outshine anyone, even Vil himself.
But Silver never cared.
He never cared about appearances, or about competing with anyone. Status, fame, vanity—none of it ever mattered to him.
And yet, here he was, his image elevated as though the world had only now remembered what it had lost.
Surrounded by white lilies, wilted roses, and hastily gathered wildflowers left by trembling hands, the photograph stood like a cruel idol of remembrance.
The flicker of candles reflected across the glass, making it seem almost as if Silver’s smile wavered with the flame.
Yuu swallowed hard, his steps faltering as he entered fully into the chamber. The air was thick with incense and grief.
With those breathtaking, soft aurora-colored eyes, Silver looked past façades—into people.
He saw the real them.
Always.
He saw the good in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it in themselves.
He believed—truly believed—that every broken, bitter, desolate soul in this school and beyond still carried a spark worth saving, still had the chance to become something better.
And the irony—that very hope, was what killed him—was not lost on Yuu.
Maybe… maybe he wasn’t any different from the rest of this place.
Maybe, in some quiet, shameful way, he too had been hollowed out.
Maybe his soul had been corroded by the same rot that seeped into these halls.
Because he hadn’t believed.
Not like Silver had.
Not really.
Not fully.
Not with that same relentless, bright, foolish courage.
Yuu’s chest ached as the weight of the thought sank in.
Silver had fought to see the light in everyone.
And Yuu… Yuu had doubted. He had doubted this school, doubted its people, doubted himself.
He had chosen cynicism when Silver chose faith.
And now, standing here, the shame of that choice curdled in his stomach.
He tore his gaze from the portrait, his heart pounding, his throat tight, bile rising at the back of his tongue. He felt sick.
Quickly, his eyes scanned the room for an empty spot near the front.
He didn’t want to be seen—not by classmates, not by faculty, not by anyone.
Most of all, he didn’t want to meet those eyes in the portrait again. Silver’s gaze, soft and unwavering even in death, felt heavier than life itself. It was unbearable.
And yet… he couldn’t turn away. He couldn’t run.
This was his punishment.
To face it.
To bear the weight of that smile one last time.
To see it through to the bitter end.
His reminder.
His guilt.
His failure.
Slipping into a quiet corner close to the front, Yuu lowered his head and focused on Grim, still nestled in his arms.
The little creature hadn’t left his side since the bathroom—in specific his chest- since the breakdown.
He remained curled against Yuu’s chest, small claws gripping lightly at his jacket, barely reacting to the commotion and movement around them.
Yuu gently lifted Grim’s face, just enough to meet those wide, blue glistening eyes—round, catlike, shimmering with unspoken tears, sorrow, and confusion.
His throat tightened at the sight, but he forced a small nod, a silent gesture that tried to say, We’re here.
We’ll get through this.
Grim blinked slowly in return, then turned his gaze outward for the first time, finally registering their surroundings.
His ears twitched at every sound—the muffled coughs, the shuffle of feet, the faint sobs—as he watched the students moving quietly about the memorial with a strange, uncertain curiosity.
The usual bravado that clung to Grim’s every word and movement was gone. What was left was something smaller, softer, almost childlike.
Sniffles still shook his little body now and then, betraying the effort it took to hold them back. Without a word, Yuu stroked his back in long, slow motions, the rhythmic movement grounding them both.
He tried to focus on that warmth—the only warmth left that still felt like home.
The crowd, the noise, the sheer suffocating weight of the chamber—they blurred at the edges. He couldn’t bear to look up again, not at Silver’s portrait, not at the endless sea of grief.
Then, breaking the heavy silence, a small voice murmured against his chest: “What are they doing—nya?”
The words startled Yuu from his haze, pulling him back to the moment.
His hand froze mid-stroke before resuming, slower this time, gentler.
He blinked hard, swallowing the lump in his throat, and cleared his voice softly.
“Where, Grim?”
“There... over there—nya,” Grim said, lifting a trembling paw and pointing past the memorial.
Yuu followed Grim’s gaze and spotted a group of students entering the hall, their posture firm, their steps measured, arms full of white flowers. He recognized the armbands, the painted faces, the precision of their movement instantly. Heartslabyul had arrived—and the flowers they carried were just as unmistakable.
White roses.
Oh. Riddle.
Sure enough, behind the students, the red-haired dorm leader appeared. And it was a sight to behold.
The proud, strict boy Yuu had once met in this very place was nowhere to be seen. His face was flushed—not with anger, but with grief. A deep, unshakable red stained his cheeks, rimmed his eyes, and shadowed his expression. Even from where Yuu sat, he could see the strain in Riddle’s posture—the way his chin lifted, the way his shoulders squared—as though he were trying with every ounce of strength to hold himself upright. To keep the poise and composure demanded by the rules he had lived by all his life.
His voice, when it came, was still firm, still measured, though oddly low. He commanded his dormmates to bring the flowers forward and arrange them in precise order, giving quiet instructions with practiced clarity. He did not lift his eyes to the front.
Behind him, Trey and Cater emerged, carrying the larger pieces of the arrangement. They too were grim and solemn, though their solemnity carried an edge of worry. Trey’s gaze lingered on Riddle again and again from the corner of his eye, concern written plainly on his usually calm face. Cater, ever the performer, was pale and silent, his hands trembling faintly as he held the great arc of roses destined for the center of the display.
Still, Riddle pressed forward. Step by step, he guided his dormmates closer, moving toward the memorial without once looking at its heart. His commands grew quieter, shorter, more clipped, as though each word cost him something. He reached out to adjust the line of flowers himself, hands steady, jaw clenched—still avoiding the one place that mattered most.
But it was a losing battle.
Inevitable.
The centerpiece—Cater’s towering arc of white roses and lilies—was meant for the front, for the very heart of the memorial. And to place it, Riddle had no choice. He had to look.
The moment his eyes lifted, the moment they landed on the portrait at the center of it all, his body faltered.
His composure shattered like a fragile house of cards.
His movements froze. His voice, sharp and steady just seconds before, cut off into silence. His delicate features twisted, his shoulders trembled, and his already-reddened eyes brimmed over once more with tears.
He staggered back, colliding into one of his dormmates, who reached out instinctively to steady him.
Trey and Cater were at his side in an instant, their voices urgent, calling his name—“Riddle! Riddle!”—but Yuu could see, even from across the hall, that he couldn’t hear them.
Grief had deafened him.
The weight of it broke him.
Like a queen cornered in a merciless checkmate, Riddle crumbled, his knight no longer at his side. He fell to his knees, white roses scattering from trembling hands, petals bursting across the dark floor like snow.
And then, the tidal wave came.
All the control, all the rules, all the restraint he had wrapped around himself since childhood tore loose at once. A sob ripped from his throat—high, ragged, almost childlike—and then another, louder, more desperate.
His composure collapsed entirely, leaving behind nothing but raw, unrestrained grief
“NO… NOOO! PLEASE—NOOO! MY FRIEND—SILVER, MY FRIEND!”
And then it broke out of him, unrestrained, primal—
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
His cry echoed against the vaulted ceilings, reverberating like thunder, until it felt as though the entire chamber was shaking with the force of his grief.
“No… no, please—no!” His voice cracked, rising in a wail that echoed against the vaulted chamber walls. “My friend—no! You can’t! You can’t!”
The sound carried through the hall, sharp as glass, startling in its nakedness. His small frame curled in on itself, trembling, until he collapsed fully to the floor, folding into a fetal position as though trying to shield himself from the pain tearing through him. His cries grew louder, harsher, keening—every sob the sound of a boy who had never allowed himself to be a child.
Until now.
Oh, Riddle… your heart is broken, Yuu thought, a deep ache rising in his chest once more.
The dorm leader, the rulemaker, the proud Heartslabyul tyrant was gone. In his place was just a boy on the ground, thrashing in anguish, mourning the loss of someone who had believed in him, who had been his friend.
And then the words came—broken, strangled, torn from his throat like a command and a plea all at once.
“Ahhh—ahhh! M-my friend! SILVER—my friend!” His voice cracked, shrill and ragged, each word tearing out of him like glass. “He’s mine—no, no, you can’t—! Please—please, bring him back! I… I DEMAND it—I DEMAND it, do you hear me?! Please!”
The cries blurred together, half-commands, half-pleas, shattering into sobs that stripped every ounce of authority from the boy who had once ruled by rules alone.
The cries blurred into sobs, the demands into prayers, until they became one indistinguishable voice of desperation. His fingers clutched at Trey’s robes, clinging to him like a drowning man, his grief twisting into something almost frantic.
Trey leaned down, whispering softly, his own voice breaking, trying to hold Riddle steady. But even his calm, practiced tone faltered under the weight of his friend’s devastation.
Beside him, Cater’s lips trembled. “O-Oh, Riddle-chan… please, don’t cry… oh, dear, please don’t…” His words were thin, fragile things, as useless as they felt in his mouth.
Tears pricked his eyes before he could stop them. He blinked hard, but they spilled anyway, trailing hot down his cheeks. He looked away, up toward the portrait that presided over the ceremony, Silver’s gentle smile frozen forever in the frame. His chest tightened painfully.
He hadn’t been that close to Silver—not like Trey, not like Riddle.
But he had known him.
They had coexisted, shared spaces, even laughed together in fleeting moments. And gods, he’d been almost best friends with Lilia—Silver’s father.
No, don’t think about Lilia right now, Cater told himself fiercely. That was a wound he couldn’t touch without breaking.
But even without diving into that pain, Cater knew the truth.
He had heard so many stories, from Riddle, from others—stories of Silver’s steadiness, his quiet strength, his unwavering kindness.
Even when Riddle, in his rigidity, would complain about his fellow classmate, Cater had seen through it. Silver was one of the very few students Riddle truly liked—really liked. Perhaps the first friend he had ever made on his own, someone his own age, without adults forcing the connection.
And now, seeing his dorm leader—his precious, stubborn Riddle-chan—collapsed and wailing like a child torn from his dearest treasure, Cater understood.
Perfectly.
He had told himself long ago that he had moved past feelings like this. That he had discarded attachments, discarded the ache of family, of close bonds, that it was safer that way.
But as he knelt there, watching his dorm leader fall apart, his own tears dripping freely, Cater realized he was a liar.
A big liar.
Because his heart hurt too, hurt so badly it felt like it could split clean in two.
With steady steps, he moved closer, trading places with Trey, who was frozen in near-shock at the sound of Riddle’s wails.
Cater dropped down beside the smaller boy and pulled him firmly into his arms, holding him tight as if anchoring him against the storm. He stroked Riddle’s trembling hair with careful fingers, his voice uncharacteristically low, stripped of its usual cheer.
“I don’t know the full weight of your hurt, Riddle-chan,” Cater whispered, his own tears slipping into his words. “Even if my heart aches too, I know yours aches far, far more. So let it out. You can let it out now, Riddle. You don’t need to follow any more rules here—there’s no one stopping you. We said it in the dream, didn’t we? And even he helped you find those words. You’re free. So cry. Let it all out. He would have wanted you to be free.”
The redhead shuddered in his embrace, Riddle’s sobs faltering for only a heartbeat before breaking open again, raw and unrestrained.
That was when Trey moved forward, kneeling down on the other side. His arms wrapped around both of them, steady and grounding, as his own quiet tears darkened the fabric of his collar. His voice was calm but edged with grief.
“Silver told me once,” Trey murmured, “that what he admired most about you, Riddle, was your heart—and your determination. So don’t betray that now. Don’t hide it. Show it. For him.”
Riddle’s cries grew sharper, ragged, his little body clinging desperately to both of them.
The boy who had ruled Heartslabyul with iron rules, who had demanded perfection from himself and others alike, was gone.
In his place was only Riddle, the child beneath the rules, crushed beneath the weight of loss.
“I—I never told him!” Riddle wailed, the words ripping from his chest like they’d been buried there all along, sharp and shaking. “I never told him he was my friend! He… he always called me his, but I— I never—!”
His voice cracked, spiraling higher and higher until it shattered what silence and dignity remained in the chamber.
“I wanted to! I wanted to so badly! But I… I was afraid! Afraid of saying it aloud, afraid it wouldn’t be enough, afraid of being wrong somehow!” His fists clenched against his chest, trembling, as if he could tear the regret out of himself. “I liked him—so, so much—and now he’s gone! He’s gone! I want him back—I WANT SILVER BACK!”
The last words weren’t sentences anymore, just a cry torn between fury and despair, echoing in the vaulted chamber like a child’s tantrum laced with grief. His sobs broke unevenly, ragged gasps that collapsed into raw, wordless sound.
The weight of his anguish filled every corner of the hall.
And in those cries lay a truth Riddle had never dared to face until it was far, far too late. He felt robbed. Betrayed. Empty. Angry. Ache and fury and grief churned together into something unbearable.
For so long, he had hidden behind rules and discipline, the structure his mother had drilled into him as life’s only truth. But here, before death, it all crumbled.
Because those rules had never given him courage.
They had never given him sincerity.
They had never once allowed him to speak the words that mattered most.
How many times had he wanted to be closer to Silver?
To be friendlier, more open?
To linger in the stables after club meetings, to share quiet words while grooming their horses?
To sit together during study sessions, or meals, or simply talk like normal students—about classes, about dreams, about nothing at all?
He had wanted those moments. Wanted them desperately.
And oh, how he missed them now.
He missed the way Silver never made him feel like a burden. How, when others mocked him for his strictness, for his rules, for his devotion to his mother, Silver never laughed at him. Never belittled him. Instead, Silver listened—patiently, kindly.
He validated Riddle, making him feel heard and respected.
He hadn’t needed to follow the rules of the Queen of Hearts, and yet sometimes he did, simply because he knew it would make Riddle happy. That, too, was friendship.
And Silver had called him a friend. Again and again.
Oh, how much Riddle had wanted to say it back. To meet that sincerity with his own. But now he never would.
The chance was gone.
He bowed his head, pressing trembling hands against his chest as if to hold the pieces of it together, his voice breaking into a plea between sobs:
“Please… please, by the Queen of Hearts—let him have known! Let him have known I considered him a true friend… that I liked him, so, so much!” His breath hitched, words tumbling into gasps. “Just once—just once, let my heart have reached him! Even if I never said it—please, let him have known!”
The prayer fractured into another sob, high and aching, echoing through the chamber with the rawness of a child begging for an impossible mercy.
Yuu looked down quickly, unable to watch any longer.
Grim had already turned away the moment Riddle collapsed, his ears flattened tight against his head. The little creature’s trembling paws clutched desperately at Yuu’s uniform, claws snagging in the fabric as though afraid that letting go might mean being swallowed by the despair filling the hall. His small body quivered, and he buried his face into Yuu’s chest with a soft, muffled sound that broke what little strength Yuu had left.
“...Grim,” Yuu whispered, barely audible. His hand resumed its slow, soothing strokes along Grim’s back, the motion more for himself than for Grim. The catlike boy’s shivers pressed against his ribs, grounding him in a way that was both painful and necessary.
A faint sound escaped Grim, small and broken between hiccups. “...I-I’m sorry, Yuu… I’m so sorry…”
Yuu’s chest constricted. He pressed his cheek against Grim’s head, shaking his own in quiet denial. “No. Don’t—don’t say that. You don’t have to be sorry for anything.” His voice wavered, his throat tight, but he forced the words out anyway. “Not for this. Not for any of this.”
But Grim didn’t answer. He only clung tighter, burying his wet face into Yuu’s clothes, sobs trembling out of him in soft, uneven gasps. Each sound struck deeper than Riddle’s wails in the distance, because it came from the small, proud creature who always puffed out his chest, who never wanted to look weak.
Yuu swallowed hard against the knot forming in his throat.
Guilt churned in him like poison—guilt for not protecting Silver, for not being strong enough for Grim, for being so helpless in a place that demanded too much. And yet, even through the guilt, some part of him knew the truth: there were things no one could have stopped.
Things that had always been out of their hands.
He wrapped his arms more firmly around Grim, pulling him close until there was no space between them. “It’s all right,” Yuu murmured, though the words were as much for himself as for the little creature trembling in his embrace. “It’s all right… I’ve got you.”
When he dared to lift his eyes again, it was only to catch a glimpse across the chamber.
Trey and Cater had managed to haul Riddle upright with the help of several Heartslabyul students. They fussed over their housewarden with frantic concern, their voices hushed but urgent as they tried to steady him. But Riddle still shook violently, his face streaked with tears, his sobs refusing to quiet even as he leaned heavily on their arms.
For a fleeting moment, Cater’s gaze lifted and met Yuu’s across the hall. His green eyes were rimmed with red, shimmering faintly with unshed tears, the mask of easy charm long since shattered. In that brief exchange, without a word spoken, Yuu felt the message pass between them.
We’ve got him. A silent reassurance. A promise that Riddle would not be left to drown in his grief alone.
Yuu gave a faint nod in return—acknowledgment, gratitude, condolence. It was all he could manage.
Because as much as he wanted to be a pillar for his friend, he knew he couldn’t right now.
He was defeated, hollow.
Barely able to console Grim in his arms, let alone offer strength to anyone else.
The scent of roses drifted stronger through the air, invasive in its sweetness.
Yuu turned back to the memorial, his eyes settling on the pristine arrangement Heartslabyul had brought. White roses, pure and unyielding, stood tall beneath Silver’s portrait. It was quite the spectacle—regal, elegant, and so achingly beautiful.
A beauty Silver had deserved in life, and now was honored with in death.
Yuu’s hand smoothed Grim’s back again as the little creature shuddered against him, still sobbing softly into his chest. He whispered nothing, just let the rhythm of his touch speak the words he couldn’t.
His gaze drifted away from the roses as another movement at the chamber doors caught his attention.
The next group of students had arrived.
Pomefiore.