Under the lone tree, a young boy with dark blond hair sat hunched over, his face swollen and mottled with bruises.
He didn't shed a tear. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with anger instead of fear.
A short, balding man approached from the side and lowered himself beside the boy without a word. For a while, neither spoke. The silence lingered like a question.
At last he asked, "Did the other noble kids trouble you again, Warren?"
Warren turned his face away. "Why does it bother you? Shouldn't you be focused on your work?"
The man let out a slow, tired sigh. "But you matter just as much. After your mother left… you're all I have."
Warren's frown deepened. His composure cracked.
"Then why didn't you think about me when you rejected that ascension? You could've been a Count by now. But no—you're stuck in this damn city."
The man didn't flinch at the bitterness in his son's voice.
