chapter 12. Ashes on the altar of silence

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the world of rough voices and ringing steel that had become familiar in just a few minutes. Silence filled the house, louder than any noise. The air was thick and bitter, like ash.

Gray stood leaning against the doorframe, feeling his knees tremble. It wasn't from fear of the guards—that fear was sharp and clear. It was a different kind of trembling. It was from the way his mother was looking at him. Elina's gaze was as empty as a faded cloth. There was no anger, no reproaches, not even fear. There was nothing. And that was the scariest thing of all.

Hugh broke the silence first. He turned slowly to his wife. His face was gray and drawn.

—Eli...— his voice cracked, sounding hoarse and unnatural. "They're gone." I... I didn't know he was…

"What's he doing?" Elina interrupted. Her voice was low, even, and monotonous, as if she were reading a shopping list. "That he'll go looking for adventures?" That he would be wanted as a criminal? Or that you will continue to deceive me until the guards come to our house?

She wasn't looking at him. She stared into the space behind him, her fingers slowly and methodically kneading the edge of her apron.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he tried again, and it sounded just as pathetic and helpless as the last time.

"Stop it," she finally looked up at him, and something flickered in them—not anger, but bottomless weariness. "Just stop saying that. "I didn't want to scare you." Did you think that I would calmly fry cutlets while my son was put on the wanted list? Did you think it was like your experiments—you made some noise, you blew some smoke, and it was over?

Leo, who had been huddled in the doorway, let out a loud sob. The sound was like a switch that snapped Eline back to reality. She let out a sharp breath and her shoulders slumped. She walked past Hugh as if he didn't exist and knelt in front of her youngest son.

"It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him, and her voice finally had a hint of warmth. "Those men just... got the wrong address." Go to your room and play, okay?

When Leo was gone, nodding and wiping his tears with his fist, she stood up and looked at her husband again. Her eyes were determined now.

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“You say you want to protect us?” she asked. “You want me to believe you? Now. Now or never.”

Hugh nodded silently, unable to utter a word.

"Then start with the truth. The whole truth. Not the edited, sanitized version for my 'peace of mind.' I'm your wife. I have a right to know what almost cost me my son." She looked at Gray. "And he has a right to know what's in store for him."

She walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down with her hands on the table, palms down. He's waiting.

Hugh stood motionless for a few seconds, as if gathering his thoughts. Then he sighed heavily and sat down opposite. Gray timidly fell in beside her.

And Hugh spoke. He spoke for a long time. About Vivian, not as a mad villain, but as a former friend, a genius whose obsession had turned into paranoia. About his theory of the "magical entropy cancer" that he believed Gray was. About his growing influence within the Guild. About Lyra and her warning. That the Great Dying was not just a disaster, but, according to some, an act of self-defense by the world, which Vivian intended to reverse at any cost.

Gray listened, holding his breath. It was the first time he had seen his father like this—broken, but honest. He watched his mother's face change from an icy mask to horror, then to understanding, and finally to the same determination he felt.

When Hugh finished, the silence in the kitchen was back, but of a different quality. It was heavy, but not hostile. It was filled with a sense of the magnitude of the problem.

Elina was the first to break the silence.

“So this… Vivan. He thinks our son is a disease that needs to be cut out.” She said it without emotion, just stating a fact.

“Yes,” whispered Hugh.

“And he won’t stop.”

“No.”

She rose slowly, went to the window, and pulled back the curtain. The street was deserted.

"Then we have to stop him," she said simply, as if she were suggesting a trip to the market. "And we can't do that by hiding in corners and keeping secrets from each other."

She turned to them. There was a new fire in her eyes—not fury, but cold, motherly determination.

“You,” she said, pointing at Hugh, “will stop hiding in the workshop. You will use your brain not to hide your son, but to find a way to fight. You have knowledge of them. Look for weakness. Look for allies.”

She looked at Gray.

"And you... my brave, reckless boy... you will do what you do best. You will be their eyes and ears. You will see what they do not. But you will not do it alone. Understand?"

Gray nodded, and the lump in his throat finally dissolved.

In that moment, something new was born in the house. It wasn't instant forgiveness or the forgetting of past grievances. It was a fragile, shaky truce, cemented not by love, which had been shaken, but by something stronger at the moment—the shared threat to their family. They stood on the ashes of their old trust, but now they had a shared goal—to build a new fortress on that ashes.

And they were going to lay the first stone in its foundation together.