Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece-Chapter 65: Breaking Point [3]

(May 16, 2550, Tuesday)

[Aurelia POV]

The coffee in my cup had long since gone cold.

Its surface reflecting the dim kitchen light like a dark mirror.

I stared into its depths, as if the answers I sought might somehow surface from the bitter liquid.

The relentless ticking of the wall clock marked the passage of time—2:15 AM, Tuesday morning.

He had promised to be back Monday.

My fingers tightened around the ceramic mug, the chill seeping into my palms.

Three days.

Three days of jumping at every noise, of scanning crowds for a familiar head of bluish-black hair, of waking in the middle of the night convinced I had heard the front door open.

’Where are you, Kyle?’

I had tried to distract myself by making myself busy, by grading first-year combat reports, preparing lectures on intermediate wind magic, even reorganizing my spell diagrams.

But my thoughts kept circling back to that damn Bronze Rank dungeon.

It shouldn’t have been dangerous for him.

Not with his abilities. Not with four elemental affinities at his command.

’Then why—’

The front door creaked open slowly.

My head snapped up so fast my neck protested.

Coffee sloshed over the rim of my mug, staining the tabletop, but I barely noticed.

There he stood, framed in the doorway like a ghost returned from battle.

The dim hallway light cast long shadows across his face.

But nothing could hide the truth written in every line of his body.

Something was terribly wrong.

His shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.

His breathing was too measured.

The kind of careful control someone maintains when they’re one misstep from unraveling completely.

His hands hung limp at his sides, fingers twitching occasionally as if remembering how to hold a weapon.

"Kyle." His name escaped my lips before I could stop it, rough with three days of unspoken worry.

He froze like prey sensing danger, his entire body going rigid.

In the silence between us.

I heard the too-quick rhythm of his pulse, saw the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard.

I rose slowly from my chair, taking him in properly now.

His clothes were clean—suspiciously so.

Freshly laundered, without so much as a wrinkle.

The kind of pristine that comes from changing in a hurry, from scrubbing away evidence.

His boots showed no signs of dungeon mud or monster blood.

But his eyes...

Gods, his eyes told the real story.

They looked ancient, far older than his eighteen years.

The usual mischievous glint had been replaced by..

Something hollow.

Something haunted.

The eyes of someone who had stared into the abyss and found it staring back.

"You left a note," I said.

Forcing my voice to remain steady despite the storm raging inside me.

"Did you really go to the dungeon?"

The silence between us grew heavy, thick with all the things he wasn’t saying. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

I watched the play of emotions across his face.

The tightening of his jaw.

The slight tremor in his lips.

His fingers flexed at his sides as if grasping for words that wouldn’t come.

Then—

Something shattered.

His carefully constructed composure crumbled like a dam giving way.

The spare key slipped from his fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a sound that echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.

Before I could react, he was moving.

One moment he stood frozen in the doorway.

The next he had crossed the space between us in three long strides.

He collapsed against me with enough force to make me stumble back a step.

His arms wrapped around me with desperate strength. His face burying itself in the crook of my shoulder.

A sob tore from his throat.

Raw, guttural, the kind of sound that comes from somewhere deep and broken.

It vibrated through my chest, shaking me to my core.

I stiffened for half a heartbeat shocked into stillness.

My little brother.

Who’d faced down Silver-rank monsters without flinching.

Who’d walked away from battles that should have killed him.

Was shaking apart in my arms like a child after a nightmare.

Then instinct took over.

My arms came up around him automatically.

One hand cradling the back of his head like he was still that same scrawny kid who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms.

His entire body trembled against mine.

His each ragged breath warm through the fabric of my shirt.

I didn’t ask what happened.

Didn’t demand explanations.

There would be time for that later.

For now, he just needed to know I was here.

That he wasn’t alone.

His grip tightened, fingers twisting in the back of my shirt like he was afraid I would disappear if he let go.

Another sob wracked through him.

Then another, until he was crying in earnest.

Great, heaving gasps that made my own throat ache in sympathy.

I held him through it, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades the way our mother used to do.

The way I hadn’t done in years.

Memories flashed through my mind...

Kyle at five years old, scraping his knee on the cobblestones outside our house.

His face screwed up in pain but refusing to cry until I hugged him.

Kyle at twelve, standing stone-faced at our parents funeral. Silent tears tracking down his cheeks as he refused comfort from anyone.

Kyle at sixteen, locking himself in his room for days after his failed awakening. Refusing to let anyone see his devastation.

And now this.

Him clinging to me like I was the only thing in a world that had tried its best to break him.

How long had it been since he let someone see him like this?

How long had he been carrying whatever weight threatened to crush him now?

Eventually, the storm began to pass.

His breathing evened out, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

When he tried to pull away.

I tightened my grip just for a second. A silent reminder that I wasn’t letting go until he was ready.

When he finally stepped back, his eyes were red-rimmed but clearer.

Exhaustion lined every inch of him. From the dark circles under his eyes to the slight sway in his stance.

"Sleep," I murmured, guiding him toward his room before he could protest.

My hand settled between his shoulder blades.

Steadying him as we moved down the hallway.

"We’ll talk later."

He didn’t resist, letting me steer him with gentle pressure.

The second his head hit the pillow, his eyes fluttered shut like the weight of the world had finally become too much to bear.

I pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, brushing his hair back from his forehead like I used to when he was small and feverish.

For a long moment.

I just stood there watching him.

The steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his face finally relaxed in sleep.

The faint tremors that still occasionally wracked his frame.

Whatever had happened out there, whatever demons he’d faced.

They had left marks deeper than any physical wound.

But he was home. He was safe.

And as I turned to leave, pausing at the door for one last look.

A cold certainty settled in my chest—

Whoever had done this to him would pay.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

But someday, when the time was right and the wounds had healed enough to bear retelling.

I would find out who had put that look in my brother’s eyes.

And they would learn exactly why they called me the Gale Witch.

[End of VOLUME I]

***

Author’s Note:

And that’s a wrap on Volume 1! 🎉

I’d love to hear your thoughts. How did you like it? This arc was a bit quieter in terms of feedback, so I’m curious to know what you all think. Did it work for you? Also, I know some of you might have mixed feelings about the MC’s emotional moments, but I wanted to keep their reactions genuine. Let me know your honest opinions. It really helps!

Thanks for sticking around. I hope you enjoyed the journey so far. Here’s to more in Volume 2! ✨