Geneya woke him before the sun did. Caelum did not know what time it was. Only that the sky outside his window was still the color of unfinished night, heavy and blue and endless.
Her hand rested gently on his shoulder.
Not shaking him.
Not forcing him awake
She had always been careful with him like that.
"Caelum," she whispered. Her voice was soft, but there was something inside it he did not recognize.
Something hollow.
He opened his eyes slowly.
She stood beside his bed already dressed.
Black.
The color made her look older.
Her hair was pulled back neatly. Her face was composed in a way that did not belong on a fourteen-year-old girl.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows.
"What time is it?"
"Early."
She hesitated before adding,
"We need to get you ready."
Ready.
The word meant nothing to him yet.
He sat up fully, rubbing his eyes.
"Ready for what?"
She didn't answer immediately.
She only looked at him.
And in that moment, he noticed something that made his stomach twist.
Her eyes were swollen.
Red.
As if she had been crying for hours.
But Geneya never cried. Not where anyone could see, Not where anyone could know.
"Geneya," he said quietly, "what's wrong?"
She inhaled slowly.
Exhaled slower.
"Get dressed," she said.
Her voice did not break.
But it came close.
The house was quieter than he had ever heard it.
Not peaceful.
Not calm.
Wrong.
Silence moved through the halls like something alive, clinging to walls, pressing into corners.
Even the floors sounded different beneath his feet.
Muted.
Careful.
He wore the clothes Geneya had laid out for him: Black trousers, A black shirt, Shoes polished to a shine that reflected nothing.
He walked beside her down the staircase.
Her hand hovered near his back. Not touching, Just close enough to steady him if he fell.
He did not know why he would fall.
Not yet.
People had begun to arrive.
Strangers filled their home.
Men in dark suits. Women in black dresses. Faces he had never seen before, wearing expressions that felt rehearsed.
Sympathy.
Grief.
Curiosity.
They spoke in hushed voices.
They looked at him too long.
Then looked away too quickly.
Caelum hated it.
He stayed close to Geneya.
Always Geneya.
His father stood across the room.
Perfect, as always. Untouched.
He wore black like the rest of them, his posture straight, his expression carefully arranged into something resembling sorrow.
People approached him.
They shook his hand.
They spoke softly.
He nodded.
Thanked them.
Accepted their condolences like they were offerings.
He looked like a grieving husband.
He looked like a good man.
Caelum watched him And felt nothing. Not sadness. Not comfort. Only distance.
It wasn't until they arrived at the church that Caelum understood.
The building loomed tall and pale against the morning sky.
Stone.
Cold.
Final.
Geneya's hand found his.
She held it tightly.
Too tightly.
Inside, the air smelled like flowers.
Too many flowers.
The scent was suffocating.
Sweet in a way that made him nauseous.
He followed Geneya down the aisle.
People filled the pews on either side.
Watching.
Always watching.
At the front of the room, there was a box.
Long.
Still.
Waiting.
Caelum stared at it.
His chest tightened.
He did not know why.
Not yet.
They stopped walking.
Geneya knelt beside him.
Her hands came to his face.
She looked directly into his eyes.
He saw it then.
The truth she had been holding back.
The truth she could not protect him from.
"You have to be strong," she whispered.
His voice came out smaller than he expected.
"For what?"
Her lips trembled.
She swallowed it down.
"For her."
Her.
The word cracked something open inside him.
His feet moved before his mind caught up.
Toward the box.
Toward the truth.
Each step felt heavier.
Slower.
Impossible.
He reached the edge.
And looked inside.
His mother lay there.
Still.
Silent.
Gone.
Her skin was pale in a way that did not belong to life. Her lips, once warm and gentle, were colorless. Her eyes were closed.
She looked peaceful.
But it was wrong.
She was not sleeping.
She would never wake up again.
Caelum waited for her chest to rise.
For her fingers to move.
For something.
Anything.
Nothing happened.
The world tilted.
Sound disappeared.
All he could hear was the violent pounding of his own heart.
No.
No.
No.
This was wrong.
This was impossible.
She had kissed his forehead two nights ago. She had smiled at him. She had told him goodnight. People did not disappear that quickly. People did not vanish between breaths. His hands gripped the edge of the casket. His fingers shook. His throat burned.
But no tears came.
Only emptiness.
Geneya stood beside him.
She was crying silently.
Tears fell down her face without sound.
Without permission.
He looked at her.
She looked back.
And in her eyes, he saw something worse than grief.
He saw certainty.
She knew.
She understood something he didn't yet.
The service began.
Voices blurred together.
Words that meant nothing.
Until his father stood.
The room quieted immediately.
He stepped forward slowly.
Deliberately.
Every movement controlled.
Every breath measured.
He looked at the crowd.
Then at the casket.
Then back at the crowd.
When he spoke, his voice broke…Perfectly.
Convincingly.
"My wife," he began softly, "was the gentlest soul I have ever known."
He paused.
Letting the words settle.
Letting the room feel them.
"Ariel was light."
His voice trembled slightly.
"As a man, you believe you have control over the world. Over your home. Over your future."
He inhaled shakily.
"But love reminds you that you are not in control of everything."
He looked down briefly.
As if steadying himself.
"As a husband, I failed to protect her."
The crowd stirred, Emotion rippled through them. Sympathy. Understanding. Manufactured.
"She loved the garden," he continued. "Every morning, she would walk through it barefoot, as if the earth itself belonged to her."
A faint, sad smile touched his lips.
"She said it made her feel free."
He paused again.
His voice grew quieter.
"I wish she hadn't gone into the garden that day."
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
Final.
"Perhaps if she hadn't… she would not have been nicked by that scorpion."
A murmur passed through the crowd.
Shock.
Pity.
Tragedy.
He lowered his head.
"I was not there when it happened."
His voice cracked again.
Convincingly.
"I did not get to save her."
Silence filled the church.
Absolute.
Sacred.
"She was my heart," he whispered.
"And now, I must learn how to live without it."
He stepped back.
The performance complete.
The audience devastated.
People cried openly.
They believed him.
Every word.
Every lie.
But Caelum knew. Because he had never seen a scorpion in their garden, Not once. Not in twelve years.
And Geneya knew.
He could see it in the way her hands curled into fists.
In the way her jaw tightened.
In the way she refused to look at their father.
They did not speak.
They did not need to.
Truth lived in silence.
Truth did not need permission.
That night, Caelum lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Sleep refused him.
Grief refused him.
Only one thing remained.
Clarity.
His father had killed her.
He did not know how.
He did not know why.
But he knew.
Because monsters did not stop being monsters simply because witnesses were present.
They adapted.
They performed.
They survived.
Caelum's hands clenched at his sides.
Something cold settled inside him.
Something permanent.
He would destroy him. He would take everything from him. The way he had taken everything from them.
Beside him, Geneya's voice broke the darkness.
"You're thinking about it too."
He did not respond.
He did not need to.
She turned toward him.
"I want him to suffer," she whispered.
Her voice shook.
"I want him to feel what he did."
Caelum turned his head.
Looked at her.
He had never seen her like this.
Not afraid.
Not sad.
Something else.
Something sharper.
"I'll make sure he does," Caelum said quietly.
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
A promise.
A mistake.
A beginning.
Geneya stared at him.
And for the first time— She looked afraid of him.
Because vengeance does not arrive loudly.
It arrives softly.
In the mind of a grieving boy.
In the heart of someone who has nothing left to lose.
And it waits.
Patiently.
For the moment it can take everything.