"I am Darius Vulcan Marcellus, son of none."
Sylvester could understand what the last part of his name meant. He had been thrown out of his house, which meant he could no longer use his family name.
He looked at the man intently to understand what he was thinking through the various smells he induced. There were too many for it to make any clear sense, sadly. There was a pungent smell, spiciness and a burning sensation — hate, anger and rage. But, not only that, there was sadness that borderlines brokenness. However, one scent made him feel the most pity, as it was something he was well aware of.
The sense of emptiness, as if there existed no happiness in the world, no hope and no will to live. — This was precisely what Augustus used to smell like before he committed the act. Darius was feeling the same, and he could understand why.
