The silence between them was razor-sharp, stretched thin over the tension coiling in the air.
The corridor lights still shone, casting shadows over Slay's face as he stood firm, his stance relaxed yet predatory.
His presence, though still, carried the weight of a storm waiting to break.
Then, he grinned.
It was a slow, deliberate expression, full of amusement and something else, something cruel.
His eyes gleamed with the kind of confidence that came from knowing he had the upper hand.
From knowing he was untouchable.
"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Slay mused, his voice smooth, edged with a dark amusement.
His fingers tapped lazily against the hilt of his dagger, the metal glinting under the light.
"You really think you can just walk past me? That you, of all people, can force me to move?"
Ralt didn't respond.
He remained still, his unreadable gaze locked onto Slay's, his expression devoid of emotion.
That only seemed to amuse Slay more.
"Come on, Ralt," he continued, stepping closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator circling wounded prey.
"Let's not pretend here. We both know what you really are." He tilted his head, voice dropping to something almost taunting. "A monster, right? Isn't that what they all say?"
The words were meant to cut deep, but Ralt didn't so much as flinch.
He had heard them before, too many times to count.
From the maids who whispered behind locked doors.
From family members who watched him with wary, fearful eyes.
From his own father, spoken in the quiet disappointment of a man who saw his son as nothing more than a mistake.
"Show me," Slay murmured, taking another step forward.
His grin widened, a glint of challenge in his eyes.
"If you're really a monster, prove it."
Still, Ralt said nothing.
His silence, cold and unwavering, seemed to darken the air between them.
Slay chuckled under his breath.
"Pathetic," he muttered, shaking his head.
"You can't even bring yourself to act, can you?" His gaze sharpened as he lifted his dagger, twirling it lazily between his fingers. "I have always wanted to kill you ever since, but..."
"Let me tell you something, Ralt." He took one final step, stopping just short of closing the space between them.
His voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"You can't kill me."
There was no arrogance in the words, only certainty.
A fact spoken with absolute conviction.
A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at Slay's lips.
"No matter what you do. No matter what you try. You'll never be able to kill me."
Ralt remained still.
His face was a mask of indifference, his body unmoving, but beneath the surface, something simmered, slow, controlled, yet undeniable.
Anger.
Not the wild, uncontrollable kind that burned hot and reckless, but something colder.
Something honed through years of restraint.
It pressed against his ribs, tightening his chest, whispering at the edges of his mind like an old companion he had learned to suppress.
Slay was testing him, poking, prodding, waiting for a crack in the carefully constructed armor Ralt wore.
But he would not give him the satisfaction.
He met Slay's gaze without hesitation, without fear.
His own expression remained unreadable, an unshaken calm in the face of provocation.
Slay tilted his head slightly, watching, waiting.
Then, he smirked.
"Hah. Nothing? No anger? No resentment?" His voice was almost disappointed, though laced with mockery. "Or maybe you're just that good at pretending, Ralt. Tell me, does it exhaust you, keeping it all inside?"
Ralt didn't answer.
Slay clicked his tongue, stepping just a little closer, invading his space, the dagger in his grip twirling absentmindedly between his fingers.
The silver edge gleamed under the dim corridor lights, a subtle threat left unsaid.
"You think silence makes you strong?" Slay's voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "It doesn't. It just makes you a coward."
Still, Ralt refused to react.
But his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, barely noticeable.
A small tell.
One that Slay caught.
"Ah," Slay breathed, his smirk widening. "So you do feel something. I was starting to think you were as hollow as they all say you have become."
The words struck something deep, but Ralt refused to let them take root.
He had heard them before.
Heard all of it before.
He had been called a monster.
A mistake.
An existence that should have never been born.
Nothing Slay said could be worse than what he had already endured.
So, he breathed.
Slowly.
Steadily.
He forced the tension in his body to loosen, forced the flicker of irritation to dissolve before it could take form.
Slay's eyes flickered with something unreadable, annoyance, perhaps.
He had expected more.
Expected a reaction, an outburst, anything.
Instead, all he got was silence.
The air between them grew heavier, the unspoken challenge thickening the tension.
Finally, Ralt spoke, his voice quiet, controlled, carrying the weight of something far more dangerous than rage.
"Move."
A single word.
A command.
Slay's smirk didn't waver, but there was something new in his eyes.
Interest.