The air in the Thorne mansion was perpetually cooled by silent mana-conduits, but the atmosphere inside Lucian's suite felt even colder.
He sat at his sleek, obsidian-finished desk, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city skyline through the reinforced glass.
The neon lights of the high-rise buildings flickered like distant, dying stars. To Lucian, the view was merely a distraction, a way to pass the time until he could finally stop existing.
A soft chime signaled the door opening. Hans entered, his posture perfect, but his eyes were sharp with a focus that wasn't purely professional.
"Young Master, the Marquis has requested your presence for a formal dinner. The entire family is gathering to celebrate the official announcement regarding the succession,"
Hans stated, his voice calm.
Lucian didn't turn around. "I am not going. Tell them I am not hungry."
Hans didn't leave. He stood in the center of the room, his gaze moving from Lucian's slumped shoulders to the untouched nutrient supplements on the side table.
The butler had served the Thorne family for a long time, he knew the signs of a hangover, and he knew the signs of a tantrum. This was neither.
"Young Master," Hans said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming uncharacteristically serious. "I have been monitoring your intake. You did not eat for the three days you were in the medical wing. You have been home for nearly a full day, and you have not requested so much as a glass of water. It has been four days."
Lucian remained silent. In his first life, he had gone weeks without food, his body kept alive by the agonizing hum of the control chip and chemical injections.
The sensation of hunger was an old, boring acquaintance. To him, the act of eating felt like a pointless maintenance of a vessel he no longer wanted to inhabit.
"I am asking you seriously," Hans continued, stepping closer. "Have you consumed anything at all? Even a just a little?"
Lucian finally turned his head, his golden-flecked eyes meeting the butler's. There was no anger in them, just a profound, hollow emptiness that made Hans's breath catch.
"Leave, Hans," Lucian said quietly. "I am tired of the questions."
Hans opened his mouth to protest, but the look in Lucian's eyes was like a physical wall. The butler bowed his head, the concern etched into the lines of his face, and silently exited the room.
Downstairs, the grand dining hall was a masterpiece of opulence. The long table was carved from a single piece of mana-oak, and the plates were made of enchanted porcelain that kept the food at a perfect temperature. Marquis Thorne sat at the head, Michael to his left, and Silas, the new heir to his right.
The seat at the far end remained empty.
The Marquis's jaw tightened as the minutes ticked by.
He looked at the empty chair, his anger simmering just beneath the surface of his cold exterior. He had called this dinner to show a united front, to establish the new order, and his eldest son had once again chosen to humiliate him with his absence.
"Where is he?" the Marquis asked, his voice a low growl.
Hans, standing behind the Marquis, leaned down. "The Young Master has declined to attend, my Lord. He... he says he is not hungry."
"Not hungry?" Michael let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. "He's probably just sulking because his room doesn't have a wine cellar anymore. He's acting like a child who lost his favorite toy."
Hans hesitated, then spoke with a note of genuine worry that silenced the table. "My Lord, it is not just sulking. I realized today that the Young Master hasn't eaten a single thing for four days. Not in the hospital, and not since he arrived home."
The Marquis's hand tightened around his silver fork until the metal groaned. "Four days? He is clearly putting on another act. He wants us to worry. He wants me to walk up those stairs and beg him to eat so he can feel powerful again. We will not indulge this performance."
He looked at the servants. "Start the dinner. If he wishes to starve himself in the dark, let him."
As the meal began, the clinking of silverware replaced the conversation. Michael and Silas spoke of hunter quotas and the upcoming guild assemblies, while the Marquis listened with a distracted nod.
Lily, the youngest, sat quietly. She didn't participate in the talk of power. Her eyes were fixed on the empty chair at the end of the table. She remembered Lucian's cold, tired voice from earlier that day.
She saw the way his skin looked too pale under the hallway lights. While the adults were distracted by their political chess, Lily reached out and took a thick piece of fresh bread.
With the practiced stealth of a child, she tucked it into the hidden fold of her dress under the table.
Michael turned to his father, his expression turning sour. "Father, I don't understand. Why do you keep him here? After everything he's done to our reputation, why not just throw him out? He's nothing but a parasite at this point."
The Marquis stopped eating. He looked at the wine in his glass, the red liquid shimmering under the chandelier. He sighed, a sound that carried a weight of exhaustion he rarely showed.
"Because he is a Thorne, Michael," the Marquis said, his voice surprisingly soft. "He is my son. I can strip him of his title, I can cut his allowance, and I can curse his name... but I cannot erase the blood in his veins. As long as he lives, he has a place in this house. Even if he chooses to be nothing, he is mine to carry."
The table went silent. It was the closest the Marquis had ever come to admitting he still cared.
When the dinner finally ended, Lily slipped away from her governess. she climbed the stairs to the upper wing, her small heart hammering against her ribs.
She stopped at the door to Lucian's suite and knocked softly. Receiving no answer, she pushed the door open.
The room was dark, lit only by the distant neon glow of the city. Lucian was sitting by his desk, a silhouette against the window. He didn't move as she entered.
"Brother?" she whispered.
She walked across the room and stood beside his chair. She pulled the slightly squashed piece of bread from her pocket and held it out to him.
"I brought you this," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Hans said you haven't eaten for four days. Please don't be sad about the dinner. Are you... are you really not eating?"
Lucian looked down at the bread and then at the small, worried face of his sister. For the first time in a hundred lives, he felt a strange, uncomfortable tug in his chest. It wasn't hunger, but it was something just as persistent.
'She is too kind for a house like this,' he thought, looking at the bread.
"I'm not sad, Lily," he said, his voice like the rustle of dead leaves. "I just forgot how to be hungry."
He took the bread from her hand. It was still slightly warm. He didn't want to eat it, but as he looked at her hopeful eyes, he realized that in this life, the quiet he wanted might be harder to find than he thought.