At first, life at home seemed easier without Alex. Leo, always the center of their attention, thrived under the constant affection of their parents. They filled their days with laughter and outings, spoiling him with everything Alex had once quietly declined. Their house felt lighter as if a shadow had lifted—a shadow they had convinced themselves was Alex.
But then, small things began to slip through the cracks. Leo, ever the inquisitive twin, started asking, "Where's Alex?" His voice was light and innocent, but every time he asked, it tugged at something deep inside his mother. She would always offer the same dismissive answer, "He's fine, honey. Alex is just... busy."
Yet, Leo was persistent. "Why doesn't he come home?" he asked one evening, his wide eyes searching hers. The truth was, neither she nor his father knew. They had never considered Alex part of the family in the same way they saw Leo. Alex had always been... different. Too quiet, too perceptive, too mature for his age. They had told themselves that Alex didn't need them—that he had never needed them. It was easier to believe that.
And for a time, it was true. They basked in the ease of their days, focusing solely on Leo, distracting themselves with everything they could provide for him. They went on vacations, showered him with gifts, and made sure to fill every corner of their lives with joy.
But then came the night her motherly intuition caught up to her. It was late—well past midnight—when Leo had finally fallen asleep, his small body curled up comfortably in his bed. The house was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Alex's mother found herself sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing in particular, her mind restless.
And then, it hit her. The stillness of the house was unsettling. There was no faint sound of footsteps in the hallway, no quiet presence lingering just out of sight. There was no one to silently sit by her side when her thoughts overwhelmed her. Alex had always been there during those late nights—never demanding attention, never asking for anything. He would just sit with her, sometimes placing a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle and reassuring. She had never realized how much she had come to rely on that unspoken comfort until now.
She closed her eyes, the weight of it all suddenly pressing down on her. A dull ache formed in her chest. She had told herself that Alex wasn't like Leo, that he didn't need the warmth of their family. But now she realized—she had needed him.
The nights grew lonelier after that. The house, though full of laughter and light during the day, felt emptier than ever. It wasn't long before her husband noticed the change in her. She grew quiet, her eyes distant, often lost in thought. He tried to comfort her, but even he couldn't reach the void that Alex had unknowingly filled.
She had pushed him away—believed that Alex's strangeness made him separate from them, but now all she could feel was his absence.
The house was silent that night, the kind of silence that felt almost oppressive. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the bedroom as Alex's mother lay awake in bed. Her husband, Roan, had been quiet for a while, his mind wrestling with the day's events.
Finally, she turned to him, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Roan, do you remember how Alex used to be?" Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, and her voice cracked with the weight of her realization.
Roan looked over, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What do you mean?"
"Alex," she began, her gaze distant, "he was always there, wasn't he? Always watching over Leo, taking care of him. I remember how he would quietly help him with his homework or make sure Leo ate properly. It was like he was this silent guardian, never asking for anything in return."
Roan nodded slowly, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall. "He was. He did seem to have a way of just... being there for Leo. It was like he understood more than a child should."
"Exactly," she said, her voice trembling. "He never complained, never demanded attention. He was always in the background, quietly supporting us. Even when we were so focused on Leo, Alex was there, like a silent pillar, holding us up without us even realizing."
She paused, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I remember nights when I'd be stressed or worried. Alex would come in, and just sit with me, never saying much, but his presence was always calming. It was as if he knew exactly what I needed. And now—now that he's gone, I feel this emptiness. It's like a part of me is missing."
Roan reached out, his hand gently resting on hers. "I didn't realize it at the time," he admitted, his voice low and thoughtful. "I thought he was just different, that he didn't need us the same way Leo did. But now that you mention it, I see it too. Alex was always there, like a quiet force of nature. He was more present than we ever acknowledged."
She squeezed his hand, her voice breaking. "He was more than just a child. He was like a guiding presence, helping us keep everything together. And now that he's gone, I feel lost. I didn't appreciate him the way I should have."
Roan drew her into an embrace, his own heart heavy with regret. "We took him for granted. We were so focused on what we thought was right for Leo, that we forgot to see what Alex was giving us. He was part of our family, just as much as Leo, and we've neglected that."
They held each other in the dim light, the weight of their realization settling over them. The house, which had once seemed so full, now felt achingly empty without Alex. It was a painful lesson in appreciation, a reminder of the quiet strength Alex had offered them all along.
As they lay together in the stillness of the night, they silently vowed to remember Alex not as an inconvenience or an anomaly but as the quiet, steadfast presence he had always been—an unspoken pillar of support in their lives.
*****
Alex awoke with a start, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that had plagued him. The room was dimly lit by the early morning light filtering through the curtains, but the darkness of the dream still clung to him like a shroud.
He sat up in bed, his heart racing as he tried to ground himself in reality. The nightmare had been vivid, a haunting replay of the day he had died—a day marked by betrayal when allies had turned against him and left him to face an insurmountable enemy alone. The sense of abandonment and the sharp sting of treachery were still fresh in his mind, making it difficult to distinguish dream from reality.
As he tried to calm his racing thoughts, a sudden shift in the room caught his attention. A figure appeared before him, stepping out of the shadows with an air of nonchalance. It was Hermes, the Greek god of travel and messenger of the gods, his presence radiating a peculiar mix of mischief and wisdom. He wore his traditional winged sandals and a broad smile that seemed almost out of place given the tension in Alex's mind.
"Ah, Alex," Hermes said, his voice light and almost musical. "Another restless night, I see. Dreams can be so troublesome, can't they?"
Alex stared at Hermes, his mind struggling to make sense of the god's sudden appearance. "Why are you here?"
Hermes floated effortlessly, his gaze filled with an enigmatic blend of sympathy and curiosity. "I'm here because dreams and reality often overlap, especially for those with a destiny intertwined with the divine. Your past life is still clinging to you, isn't it?"
Before Alex could respond, the door to his room creaked open, and Kael stepped in, his expression a mix of concern and irritation. Kael had been staying in the house for the past few days, overseeing various matters and making sure Alex was adjusting well.
Kael's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Hermes. "What are you doing here?"
Hermes's smile widened, though it seemed tinged with a hint of mischief. "Just a bit of divine intervention. Alex was having a difficult time with his dreams. Thought I'd offer a bit of counsel."
Kael's expression hardened, and he stepped forward, his presence imposing. "We don't need any more divine meddling. Alex has enough to deal with without gods popping in and out of his life. You're leaving."
Hermes raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor slightly faltering. "Now, now, Kael. I was merely offering support."
Kael's tone was firm as he gestured toward the door. "I understand your intentions, Hermes, but Alex needs stability right now. He doesn't need additional confusion or distractions. Please, leave."
With a resigned sigh, Hermes inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Very well, Kael. I'll respect your wishes. But remember, Alex's path is not so easily disentangled from the divine."
As Hermes disappeared in a shimmer of light, Kael turned his attention back to Alex. His expression softened slightly, though it remained serious. "You okay?"
Alex nodded slowly, trying to shake off the lingering disquiet from the encounter. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... a lot on my mind."
Kael sat down on the edge of Alex's bed, his gaze steady. "If you need to talk about it, I'm here. But for now, try to get some more rest. We've got a busy day ahead."
Alex managed a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks, Kael."
*****
At school, the hustle and bustle of the day surrounded Alex as he moved through the crowded hallways. Students chattered animatedly, their voices creating a low hum that filled the air. Alex kept his head down, blending seamlessly with the crowd, his focus solely on navigating through the sea of bodies. Despite Natalia's attempts to catch his eye, he remained deliberately elusive, his gaze fixed forward as he maneuvered past.
Natalia, with her golden eyes and silver hair, stood apart from the throng of students, her gaze following Alex with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. She tried to approach him several times, but each attempt was met with Alex's unyielding detachment. It was clear she was determined to engage with him, but Alex's deliberate avoidance left her feeling more intrigued than ever.
Later that week, at the Hunter Association, Natalia found herself in the grand lobby, which was bustling with activity. The space was filled with an assortment of people—hunters, officials, and various staff members—all moving with purpose. Natalia's gaze scanned the room until she spotted Alex, who was engaged in a quiet conversation with Kael. She approached him with a determined stride, her usual aloof demeanor replaced by a directness born from her curiosity.
"Alex," Natalia called out as she drew nearer, her voice cutting through the ambient noise of the lobby.
Alex turned, his expression neutral, and nodded in acknowledgment. "Natalia."
Natalia's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him. "You know," she began, her tone holding a mix of challenge and intrigue, "I've been trying to figure you out. At school, you're just another face in the crowd. But here, it's like you're playing a different game altogether."
Alex raised an eyebrow, his demeanor unchanged. "And what game would that be?"
Natalia's lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. "You're like a tiger hiding among sheep. You've got these... sharp edges, but you mask them so well. Why?"
Alex's gaze grew slightly more intense as he regarded her. "Maybe because blending in is easier than standing out. It keeps things simple."
Natalia's smile widened, but there was a sharpness to it. "It's more than that. I can see there's something different about you. You're not just hiding your claws—you're concealing a whole lot more."
Alex's expression remained calm, though a flicker of something—perhaps recognition or acknowledgment—crossed his face. "Maybe I'm just not interested in drawing attention to myself."
Natalia's eyes studied him with a newfound respect. "Or maybe you're hiding your true self because you're not sure how others would react if they saw the real you."
Alex's gaze held hers for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to Kael, who had been observing their interaction with a faint smile. Natalia seemed to sense the conclusion of their conversation and nodded, turning to leave.