(Three Days Later – Academy, The Grand Assembly Hall)
Every seat was filled—students in their uniforms, staff in somber attire, a few townsfolk who had come to pay their respects. The air was thick with murmurs, the occasional sniffle, the weight of collective grief pressing down on the room like a physical thing.
Zephyr sat in the front row, posture rigid, his expression a mask of indifference. His fingers rested on his knees, unmoving. His eyes, usually sharp with quiet intensity, were slightly duller and hollow.
To anyone else, he looked the same as always. Cold. Untouchable.
But to those who knew him?
Something was missing.
Aman had been the one to crack that icy exterior, even if just for a while. Now, with him gone, the cold had seeped back in—deeper, heavier.
Principal Orlan ascended the stage, clearing his throat as the murmurs died down. His voice was steady, practiced, as he began his speech—praising Aman's bravery, his sacrifice, the way he had given everything to protect the academy and the town.
Zephyr didn't hear a word of it.
Instead, his mind replayed the same moment, over and over.
"I just want to die," Aman had said that day, so casually it could have been a joke.
Zephyr had looked at him, brow furrowing. "What?"
Aman had laughed, waving a hand. "Of course I'm joking! Who would want to die?" But then his smile had faded, just a little. "But I meant another thing by that."
He had laid out his plan—playing the unguarded target, luring the assassin into making a move. He had asked Zephyr to coordinate, to counterattack the moment the enemy revealed themselves.
The explosion. The shadowy hands yanking Aman back at the last second. The way his eyes had widened—not in fear, but in realization. Like he had just understood something too late.
Zephyr's fingers twitched.
After waking up in the infirmary, he had gone straight to Virion. The ancient serpent had met his gaze, silent, before shaking his head once.
No words were needed.
Not saved. Not missing. Not trapped in some spatial rift.
Orlan's speech ended. The crowd stood for a moment of silence.
The moment of silence ended. The crowd remained standing, shifting awkwardly, unsure of what to do next.
Then, one by one, people began to speak.
Not many had truly known Aman.
To most, he was just another student—quiet, unassuming, the kind of person who blended into the background. But a few, those he had saved during the attack, stepped forward.
"He was brave," said a third-year student, rubbing his bandaged arm. "Pushed me out of the way when that thing almost crushed me."
"H-He... He was the coolest senior I have seen." Ribbon-haired first-year girl muttered, her gaze melancholic. "Both in advertising and in fighting..."
"Fast, too," muttered another, a guard from the town. "Like he was everywhere at once. He almost took care of a monster army on his own."
Their words were simple. Respectful. But impersonal.
But for those he had touched, his absence was a gaping wound.
First, there was Gavi. The chubby first-year with crumbs still dusting his sleeves, stood near the back, fists clenched. He didn't speak—just stared at the floor. Aman had been the only one who never insulted him for his appetite, who'd sneak him extra portions and give discounts in the shop, who'd laugh and call him a "bottomless pit" with no real malice. He was a big brother kind of person.
Livia, the energetic extrovert, slouched in her seat on the third row, arms folded tight. Her usual spark was missing. She remembered how Aman would always beat her in her word games, how he would say she would make a great cook. When she'd grumble about Aeron's picky eating, Aman would just chuckle and say, "He likes a bit spicy ones. Acts like he doesn't, but he always finishes those first."
Emilia, the blonde beauty, a transfer student, sat next to Livia, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve. She owed Aman more than she could ever repay. He'd helped her without hesitation—saved Aeron, mended their strained relationship, helped her at the ball, even when it cost him. And he'd never asked for anything in return.
Luna, the librarian girl, sat beside Zephyr, her small hands folded tightly in her lap. Aman had been the one to nudge her forward when her courage wavered, whispering things like, "Zephyr stared at your notes for a full minute yesterday. Pretty sure he was impressed." Or, "He didn't say it, but he finished the entire plate you left in his room. Every last bite." Little truths that kept her going.
Logically, he should have been in the front row, beside Zephyr and Luna, fists clenched, jaw set—grieving the friend who had saved his life more times than he could count.
But Aeron wasn't there.
Because Aeron couldn't bear it.
Or maybe… because he was searching for answers.
Meanwhile, Zephyr remained seated.
Luna hesitated beside him, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to reach out. But she knew better. Knew that right now, Zephyr needed silence more than comfort.
So she turned her focus back to the stage as the town guards' captain ascended to the stage to give a speech.
Zephyr felt... alone.
For the first time in years, the weight of that loneliness was suffocating.
A friend. The first person in years who had looked at Zephyr and seen him, not the rumored bad guy, not the icy monster, not the unapproachable genius. Just him.
A student. One who endured poison resistance training despite his fear, who absorbed every lesson with quiet determination, who never complained, no matter how grueling the regimen.
A junior brother. The only other person Virion had taken under his wing after him. The only one who understood what it meant to bear that old serpent's expectations and training.
A teacher. The one who had, with infuriating patience, taught Zephyr how to respond to Luna without sounding like a stone wall. The one who had rolled his eyes and said, "Just tell her the food was good, idiot. She spent hours on it."
Everyone leaves something behind. A story in someone's mouth, a whisper in the halls, an echo in a friend's heart.
Aman wasn't just gone.
He had become the silence they all carried now.