"Flynn… Flynn."
The voice drifted toward me, distant, like it had traveled across miles of wind and shadow before brushing my ears.
I didn't move. My eyelids felt glued shut, swollen from days of tears. Crying no longer brought relief—it left a pressure, a raw, searing ache in my chest. Beneath my shoes, the earth was freshly turned, soft where the coffin had been lowered. Inside, my friend lay.
Matt.
The boy I had promised I would protect.
A shiver ran through me, sharp and involuntary, as if the cold had seeped into my bones. My breath came in uneven gasps, scraping against my throat. This feeling was heavier than pain—it was hollow, a quiet certainty that nothing would ever feel the same again.
My fingers clenched at my sides. I could still hear my voice from days ago, steady, full of promises I had no right to make. I had spoken of tomorrow as if it were guaranteed, of safety as if I understood it. But now, the ground beneath me felt alien, treacherous, untrustworthy.
A hand settled gently on my shoulder.
"Snap out of it, Flynn," my mother said softly. "I know it hurts… but the dead cannot come back."
Her grip was firm, though her voice trembled. She needed this as much as I did.
I hadn't eaten since Matt died. Water alone passed my lips. Food tasted like dust in my mouth. Sleep came in scraps—minutes at a time—and every time I opened my eyes, I saw the same thing: Matt's wide, searching eyes.
The cemetery was damp, and the soil clung to my knees. I stared at it, detached, as if it belonged to someone else. Around me, murmurs of grief slowly faded. People drifted away, prayers whispered into the chill morning air, until the rows of gravestones stretched wider, emptier than ever.
Only my parents remained.
"We'll meet you at home," my father said. He stood tall, hands clasped behind him, expression unreadable, but his eyes lingered longer than usual, heavy with something unspoken. I said nothing. They turned, walking away, leaving me alone.
The pressure in my chest coiled tighter, like iron bands around my ribs. Words stuck in my throat, thick and useless. The world felt unreal, tilted, unsteady.
Matt had been the only one who truly saw me. And now… he was gone.
If I hadn't made that promise…
If I hadn't encouraged him…
If I hadn't—
Stop.
The thought cut through me, sharp as broken glass.
Why did he die?
The question hovered, intrusive, foreign. For three days, my mind had circled only blame. I had given it no space for anything else.
Then it hit me.
The ring.
My chest tightened. That had been the last thing between us, the last tangible connection before everything fell apart.
I rose, hands trembling, breath ragged, and ran.
---
The streets outside the cemetery pressed against me, indifferent. Vendors shouted prices over the clatter of carts. Children darted between legs, laughing, voices high and careless. Carriages rattled over the cobblestone streets. No one noticed the boy with dirt-stained hands. No one spared a glance.
The world did not wait for grief.
That truth struck harder than anything else. Life pressed on, unyielding, even when everything I had loved had been ripped away.
I pushed through the crowd, heart hammering, feet scraping against uneven stone. Stalls blurred past—colors, shapes, smells melding into a dizzying haze. The scent of fresh bread, fried fish, and roasting meat mingled with dust and horse dung, but I barely registered it.
People were gathering ahead. Too many. Voices rose, shouting, panicking.
"What happened?"
"They say it was at dawn."
"Another one?"
"Revenge?"
A chill crawled up my spine. My pace slowed, weighted with dread, as if my body already knew what I would find.
At the edge of the crowd…
Everything shattered.
My parents lay sprawled across the cobblestones, bodies pierced, faces frozen in their last moments. My father's arms had tried to shield my mother, but a single spear had struck them both. Clean. Precise. Merciless.
I froze, breath gone. Words faltered.
"Mom…"
"Dad…"
My knees buckled. I fell beside them, hands trembling, skin cold beneath my fingers. Too cold.
The air smelled of iron and wet stone. The murmurs of the crowd blended into a dull roar, distant and disembodied.
"That's their son."
"He just buried his friend…"
"So young…"
One thought rose above all others:
The ring.
Had it done this?
"Flynn."
Granny Fei's voice called me, cutting through the chaos. She was beside me, hand warm in mine, guiding me. I did not resist. I had nothing left to fight with.
That day, everything ended.
---
Granny Fei took me in. She wasn't my grandmother by blood, but she had always been close. Her children had long since left New Taiping, and her husband had gone long before that.
Now, she cared for me. She ensured I ate. Watched over me while I slept. Sat silently beside me when words were too heavy.
I spoke little. I existed less. Nights brought dreams: firelight, whispers, and a soft glowing ring in darkness. It waited.
I hid the ring, wrapped in a gray handkerchief beneath a loose floorboard. I did not touch it, yet its presence tugged at me, subtle and persistent.
On the eighth morning, I woke before dawn. For the first time since the catastrophe, my thoughts were clear.
"Good morning, Gran," I said softly.
She studied me, noting the shadow beneath my eyes and the stiffness in my movements. I smiled. It was Monday.
I acted as if nothing had happened. But deep inside, I knew: peace was only pretending.
And whatever had taken my friend—whatever had taken my parents—was not finished with me yet.
---
I stayed silent most of the day, watching the city awaken. Smoke curled from chimneys, vendors shouted prices, children chased each other through the streets. Life pressed on, oblivious. I could feel its weight like a physical thing, pressing down, demanding I move, breathe, continue.
The ring pulsed faintly beneath the handkerchief, a reminder that the world was no longer ordinary, that my life would never return to what it had been.
And for the first time, I understood: survival wouldn't be about strength alone. It would be about knowing, seeing, and understanding things no one else could.
I clenched my fists.
Whatever came next… I would be ready.