Avalon's eyes widened in shock, his intense gaze locking onto Atticus. The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a mont, he said nothing, just stared.
His lips parted as if to say sothing, but no sound ca out. Instead, he turned to the side, his face twisted in pain.
Atticus continued. "The rest of us were away, but you were here in Sector 3. You were right here, and yet you weren't able to stop anything. If it wasn't for , you would've lost your wife too."
The air around them grew scorching hot. Avalon's fire elent spiked dangerously, the molecules in the air reacting to his unrestrained emotions.
His fiery aura flared as he turned sharply to face Atticus, his hands trembling, blood dripping from his clenched fists.
"You—" Avalon began, his voice shaking with fury.
But Atticus didn't let him finish. "Am I wrong?" he asked calmly.
Avalon's breath hitched. His intense gaze bore into Atticus, but after a few long, agonizing seconds, his fists loosened.
He took a shaky breath, his eyes closing as he tried to steady himself. The fire in the air began to dim, though the tension between them remained thick.
"No… you're right," Avalon said, his voice breaking as he admitted what had been eating away at him. His face twisted with grief, and a single tear fell from his eye. He wiped it away quickly, but another soon followed.
"I failed."
For the first ti since Freya's death, Avalon voiced the guilt that had consud him. He had been too ashad to face it, too ashad to face his family.
But now, with Atticus's blunt words forcing him to confront it, he couldn't deny it anymore.
"I failed," he repeated, his voice cracking.
Avalon turned and began to walk away.
But Atticus wasn't going to let him.
"You're going to do this again?" Atticus's voice stopped him in his tracks. "You're going to shut yourself off from the people who need you? Is that what Grandma would have wanted?"
Avalon froze, his shoulders tensing at the ntion of Freya.
"You did the sa thing when Uncle Ariel died," Atticus continued. "You beca distant, obsessed with capturing those responsible, blaming yourself for sothing that wasn't your fault. And now, you're doing it again."
Avalon's breath beca ragged, his fists clenching once more.
"Mom hasn't had a wink of sleep since all of this happened. She almost died, Dad. She needs you, but instead of being there for her, you're blaming yourself for sothing only one group should be blad for."
The heat in the air began to dissipate as Avalon's fiery aura weakened, his anger crumbling.
"What happened… it's already happened. You can't change it. But you can make sure it doesn't happen again." Atticus's voice softened.
Atticus took a step forward, his gaze never leaving his father's face. "Stop punishing yourself, and start thinking about the future. About us. About Mom. About the family that's still alive and well. That's your responsibility."
"You're the head of this family. Act like it."
Atticus walked past his father without another word.
Avalon didn't say anything. He couldn't. As Atticus walked away, Avalon turned his gaze downward, his hands clenched so hard that blood continually stread from them. He remained standing there, motionless.
After leaving Avalon, Atticus made his way to the burial grounds. The path through the estate was filled with different people—guests, servants, and warriors—all offering him respectful greetings, but he ignored them all.
He kept his eyes forward, his mind focused. The last ti he had been here, his emotions had nearly driven him to destroy everything.
This ti, he had control.
He paused at the entrance, taking a deep breath to calm himself before walking in. The burial grounds were situated on a hill, with rows of tombs dedicated to fallen Ravensteins.
It was a sacred place. Atticus's eyes soon found the lone figure standing at the top of the hill—Magnus.
'He hasn't moved once,' Atticus thought, staring at his grandfather's unmoving form.
According to Ember and Caldor, Magnus hadn't left the spot since Freya had been buried. He hadn't eaten, slept, or spoken to anyone. He just stood there, silently staring at her tombstone.
Atticus approached slowly, his footsteps barely making a sound. He placed a bouquet of flowers on Freya's tomb before standing beside Magnus.
Neither of them spoke, the silence between them filled only by the soft breeze that brushed through their clothes.
They stood like that for hours, the weight of their shared grief heavy in the air. The sun shifted, casting long shadows across the burial grounds, but still, neither of them moved.
Finally, Atticus broke the silence. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "How did you two et?"
Magnus remained silent for a few monts, as if lost in thought. Then, for the first ti in days, he smiled—a small, bittersweet smile. His voice was soft, almost distant, as he began to speak.
"We t at a ball."
Atticus listened, his gaze fixed on the tombstone.
"Back then, I had just finished my service in the military. My na had already spread throughout the human domain—an 'unparalleled talent,' they called . At the ball, I was overwheld with people trying to curry favor, offering alliances, business deals… it was exhausting. So, I did what any sane man would do."
Atticus raised an eyebrow. "You escaped."
Magnus chuckled softly, his smile widening just a fraction. "I escaped. Found a quiet room at the far end of the estate, away from all the noise. I thought I was alone, but then I saw her."
Atticus stayed quiet, letting Magnus continue.
"She was standing by the window, staring out at the night sky. Freya. She didn't even look at when I entered. She just kept gazing out at the stars. I was… intrigued. I didn't know why at the ti, but sothing about her pulled in."
Magnus's voice grew softer, filled with warmth as he spoke of her.
"I walked up to her and asked why she wasn't at the party, and she just smiled and said, 'The stars are much more interesting than whatever is going on in there.' That was Freya—always calm, always seeing the bigger picture. From that mont, I was done for. I didn't stand a chance."
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