Chapter 3: Silent Rage
Raven's room was small and sparsely furnished, a reflection of the modest life his family now lived. The walls were bare stone, cold and uninviting, with only a tattered curtain covering the single narrow window that allowed slivers of moonlight to seep through.
A simple wooden bed lay pushed against the far corner, its sheets worn but neatly arranged. A rough-hewn table and a rickety chair stood to one side, cluttered with small tools and trinkets he'd collected over the years.
Raven stood shirtless in the dim glow, his chest rising and falling steadily as he tried to ignore the dull ache throbbing through his body.
His physique was impressive, the result of years spent honing his skills to survive.
His broad shoulders and strong chest bore the scars of countless scrapes, his muscular arms and lean torso built for speed, strength, and agility. His abs, well-defined and hardened from constant activity, flexed subtly as he moved. His back was a landscape of toned muscle, shifting beneath his pale skin as he stretched.
The patches Lyra had carefully applied were still clinging to his skin, small pieces of fabric soaked in herbal remedies meant to numb the pain and quicken healing. Their faint, earthy scent lingered in the air.
He reached into his pouch and retrieved the small sack of gold coins and cash he'd stolen earlier.
With practiced precision, he crouched near a loose floorboard, prying it up to reveal a narrow compartment beneath.
He stashed the money there, making sure to cover it properly before letting the board slip back into place.
Finally, Raven pulled out the stone. It rested cold and heavy in his palm, smooth yet somehow imperfect. He turned it over, his black eyes narrowing as he examined it. The first time he touched it, there was something… strange.
A sensation he couldn't describe. But now, it felt like nothing more than an ordinary rock.
"What are you?" Raven muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around the stone.
His frustration grew with every passing moment of silence. Whatever it was, it wasn't doing anything now.
With a sigh, he tossed the stone onto the table. Its dull surface caught the moonlight for an instant before settling into shadow.
Raven's eyes lingered on it, suspicion gnawing at him. But right now, he was too drained to care.
He ran a hand through his white hair, his fingers brushing over the rough patches of skin where Grim's attack had left its mark. The pain was manageable, but the humiliation of being so easily overpowered was far harder to swallow.
Raven couldn't afford to let his brother's cruelty break him. His family depended on him—his mother, who tried so hard to keep the peace; his sister, who always looked to him for protection. He had to be stronger. He had to be better.
For now, though, all he could do was try to get some rest.
---
The Next day
Raven woke up and walked over to his door, his bare feet making soft thuds against the cold, uneven floor. The ache in his muscles had dulled to a manageable throb, but the patches Lyra had applied still tugged slightly at his skin.
He leaned against the doorframe, his head resting against the wood for a moment before he called out, his voice steady but tired, "Mom, can you please send my breakfast through Lyra?"
His words echoed faintly through the quiet house. Raven didn't feel like facing Grim right now—not with the tension still thick in the air. Lyra's gentle presence was all he wanted to see.
He stayed there, waiting for a response. The small, simple request felt heavier than it should have, but after everything that had happened earlier, Raven just needed a moment of calm.
From the other side of the door, Raven heard Lyra's soft, muffled voice reply, "Yes, I'll bring it over."
Satisfied, he stepped away from the door and went back to his bed, sitting down slowly, his body still aching from Grim's earlier attack. His gaze drifted to the stone he'd stashed away, but his thoughts kept circling back to his family.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Lyra approached their mother, her footsteps hesitant, eyes red from sleeping and crying.
Their mother, a gentle woman with the same white hair and black eyes her children bore, noticed her daughter's distress immediately. She turned from her modest cooking setup, her expression softening as she took Lyra's hands in her own.
"Lyra, what happened?" her mother asked, her voice tender and soothing, the kind of voice that could calm storms.
Lyra's chin trembled as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "It's... it's nothing, Mom."
But her mother saw through her words, her gaze full of warmth and concern. She gently guided Lyra into her arms, holding her close. Her fingers combed through Lyra's silky white hair, her embrace tender and secure.
"It's alright, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice laced with both worry and love. "Just try not to make your brother angry. You know how Grim can be... Sometimes it's better to just avoid saying anything that might upset him."
Lyra's shoulders shook as she sobbed softly against her mother's chest. The warmth of her mother's embrace was a fragile comfort against the chill left by Grim's cruelty.
"I-I just... I was only trying to tell him..." Lyra's voice was muffled, trembling with pain and frustration.
"I know, my dear. I know." Her mother's hands continued their gentle, soothing motions. "Just be more careful with your words, alright? It's easier if we don't make Grim angry."
Lyra nodded weakly, her tears slowly subsiding under her mother's care.
"Now, take this," her mother said, her tone trying to be cheerful as she handed Lyra a simple tray of breakfast. "Raven's waiting for his meal. Go on, darling."
Lyra took the tray, her hands steadying as she drew in a deep breath. She looked at her mother's gentle smile and tried to return it, even if only faintly.
Lyra knocked softly on Raven's door before pushing it open, carefully balancing the tray of breakfast in her hands.
Raven glanced up from where he was sitting on his bed, his shirt still off, patches clinging to his toned chest and back where Lyra had applied them earlier. His muscular build, shaped by years of climbing, running, and fighting, was evident even in the low light of the room.
"Here's your breakfast," Lyra said, her voice sounding steadier now, though her eyes still held traces of sadness.
"Thanks, Lyra," Raven replied with a slight smile, his tone warm, trying to reassure her that he was fine despite the pain radiating through his body.
He took the tray from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment.
Lyra hesitated by the door, her eyes scanning him as if making sure he was truly okay before nodding to herself and turning away.
She closed the door gently behind her and made her way back to the kitchen where her mother was sitting, looking pale and weary.
Their mother let out a tired sigh, her body slumped slightly as if just standing was an effort. She looked at Lyra with gentle eyes and handed her a small, crumpled piece of paper.
"Lyra, dear, here's a list of things we need from the market," her mother said, her voice faint but laced with affection. "Can you please take Raven and go buy them? I'm... I'm feeling very tired right now. I need to rest a little."
Lyra's brows knitted in concern as she took the list from her mother's trembling hand. "Mom, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Just a bit worn out." Her mother tried to smile, but the effort looked strained. "You and Raven can handle this, right?"
"Of course," Lyra replied softly, her voice filled with determination. "I'll go talk to him now."
Lyra stood in the dimly lit hallway, clutching the crumpled list in her hand, her gaze fixed on the floorboards beneath her feet.
She could hear the faint clatter of dishes from Raven's room as he ate his breakfast, probably trying to regain some strength after the brutal encounter with Grim.
Guilt twisted in her chest. How could she possibly ask him to go outside with her now? He was exhausted, injured, and had already done so much for their family.
But the thought of going to the market alone sent a chill down her spine. The neighborhood they lived in was anything but safe. The alleys were filled with thugs and desperate souls willing to rob someone for a loaf of bread.
The memory of being harassed by a group of leering men the last time she went out alone still haunted her.
Her fingers tightened around the paper, her breathing shallow. Maybe... maybe there was another way.
She glanced toward Grim's room, her stomach churning with anxiety. Grim terrified her, especially after what he did Yesterday. But he was strong. Nobody would dare approach her if he was with her.
Steeling herself, Lyra swallowed her fear and slowly made her way to Grim's door. Her steps were hesitant, her body trembling as if her very soul was resisting the idea of asking him for anything. But desperation was a powerful motivator.
The door loomed before her like a dark omen, slightly ajar but filled with an overwhelming presence. She could almost feel the weight of his anger seeping through the thin wood, a force that threatened to crush her.
But she couldn't back down. Taking a deep breath.
Lyra stood before Grim's door, her hand trembling as she raised it to knock. Her knuckles barely tapped against the wood, the sound so faint she feared he might not hear it. But of course, Grim's senses were sharp, always sharp.
"Come in," his deep voice replied, curt and indifferent.
Lyra pushed the door open, her breath hitching as she stepped inside. The room was dim, shadows pooling in the corners, and Grim's back was turned to her. He stood near the narrow window, arms crossed over his chest, his posture rigid and commanding.
"What do you want, Mother?" he asked without turning around, his voice laced with a rare gentleness he reserved only for her. Of course, he thought it was her. No one else dared approach him. Not Raven. Not her. Never her.
But when he finally turned, his gaze landed on her, and whatever softness had been in his voice evaporated like mist under the morning sun. His dark eyes narrowed, his expression shifting to one of cold disdain.
"Oh, it's you." The words left his lips like shards of ice. "What do you want?"
Lyra's throat tightened under the weight of his gaze, her courage faltering. But she forced herself to stay rooted, clutching the list in her trembling hand.