Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece-Chapter 64: Breaking Point [2]

(The day when Kyle left — Friday)

The door creaked as Aurelia finally stumbled into their apartment.

She squinted at the clock through bleary eyes.

11:54 PM.

"Gods, I’m exhausted," she groaned, leaning against the wall as she wrestled with her boots.

One stubborn boot refused to come off, making her hop awkwardly before it finally surrendered with a thud against the wooden floor.

The apartment was too quiet.

Normally at this hour, she would hear the telltale signs of Kyle still awake.

The rustle of spell diagrams being studied.

The occasional muttered curse when a mana exercise went wrong, or, worst-case scenario, the smell of something burning from one of his ’harmless experiments.’

But tonight? Silence.

"He must have finally gone to bed at a decent hour" she murmured, though her fingers twitched with unease.

Still dressed in her academy uniform she tiptoed down the hallway.

The old floorboards, usually so vocal about every step, stayed mercifully quiet beneath her.

She paused outside Kyle’s door, listening.

Nothing.

With careful fingers, she turned the knob and peeked inside.

Empty bed.

Sheets neatly tucked, like no one had slept there at all.

"Kyle?" she called softly, pushing the door wider. The attached washroom stood dark and empty, the towel hanging dry on its rack.

Her pulse quickened.

That’s when she spotted it. A folded slip of paper resting on his nightstand.

Her stomach twisted before she even picked it up.

The note was brief:

— Gone to the Bronze Rank Dungeon for training. Back Monday. Don’t worry.

Her fist clenched around the paper, crumpling it instantly.

"That reckless little—!"

She caught herself, taking a deep breath through her nose.

The edges of the note fluttered as her hand trembled, not quite with anger, but something more complicated.

He’d been disappearing more frequently these past weeks.

She’d noticed that her best disguise ring missing from its case.

The way he sometimes stared at nothing, fingers tapping out battle rhythms on whatever surface was nearby.

The dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in days.

But worst of all?

He wasn’t telling her.

Not like before.

Not like when they were kids.

She smoothed out the note carefully, her thumb tracing the familiar messy scrawl.

"He’s not a child anymore," she reminded herself aloud, as if saying it would make it easier to accept.

A flash of memory hit her.

Seven-year-old Kyle, so small his head barely reached her waist, clinging to her robe as she tried to leave for basic training.

— "Auri, wait! You forgot your lunch!"

He had held up a clumsily wrapped package, his tiny face screwed up in exaggerated importance.

She could still remember the sandwich inside, overstuffed and leaking jam, made with more enthusiasm than skill.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward despite herself.

That Kyle had been all scraped knees and boundless energy, following her everywhere like an excitable puppy.

He had driven her mad with his constant questions

— "Why does fire burn? Can I eat lightning? What if I sneeze while casting a spell?"

Stubborn refusal to stay out of trouble.

Endless optimism, even when things went wrong.

But then—

That smile faded.

Then came the fire.

The night their parents died.

The day Kyle’s awakening ceremony failed spectacularly, leaving him with no elemental affinity.

A death sentence for any mage’s potential.

She could still see him standing in the ritual chamber, his small frame shaking, not from the expected surge of magic, but from the crushing weight of disappointment.

She had been too consumed by.

With her own grief.

Her own training.

Her own guilt.

To notice how deeply he had buried his pain beneath forced smiles and bad jokes.

"I should’ve been there more..."

The words slipped out before she could stop them, heavy with regret.

But now?

Now everything had changed.

She still remembered the shock when Seraphina told her that she saw Kyle taking the entrance exam.

She had watched from the monitor room.

How he defeated monsters ranked far above him.

How he used lightning affinity like he had been born with it.

Passed the exam. Not just passed, but ranked ninth.

And the way he controlled his lightning?

He had been away for a month, and not only had he awakened his affinity but also reached adept mastery in it.

Some people took years to go from apprentice to adept.

But Kyle?

He made it look effortless.

When he came back, he was different.

Like his old self again.

She had been secretly thrilled when he asked her to train him, like old times.

Of course, she pretended she didn’t want to.

—"Ugh, fine, but only because you’ll blow yourself up otherwise."

But inside?

She was happy.

Happy to spend time with him again.

Happy to see that determined glint back in his eyes.

And then—

She found out.

Not just lightning.

But ice.

Wind.

Water.

Four affinities

Something unheard of. Maximum affinities people could have was two.

Atleast that’s what written in the history.

But Kyle?

He has four.

Her first reaction?

—"You idiot! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

But beneath the anger?

There was pride.

And fear.

Because if anyone found out.

He could be in danger.

Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking.

She’d catch something darker in his expression. A shadow behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

A guilt she didn’t understand.

She folded the note carefully, placing it back on the nightstand with deliberate precision.

Her gaze landed on a dusty photo frame on his desk.

Six-year-old Kyle, covered in flour, grinning like he’d conquered the world.

Fifteen -year-old Aurelia beside him, trying (and failing) to look annoyed about the cookie dough in her hair. After one of their infamous baking disasters.

She reached out and adjusted the frame slightly.

"Just... come home safe, you idiot," she whispered to the empty room.

The apartment seemed too quiet without him.

She found herself staring at the front door, half-expecting it to burst open at any moment with some outrageous story about dungeon monsters or experimental spells gone wrong.

When it didn’t, she sighed and began preparing for bed, her movements automatic.

Tomorrow would be another long day.

And Monday...

Monday she would have words for a certain reckless little brother.

But for now?

She could only wait.

And hope.

And remember the determined glint in his eyes that told her. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

Whatever he was facing out there—

He’d come back fighting.

***