Days passed.
The stronghold moved forward without hesitation, as if nothing had changed, as if Elias had never been there at all. The soldiers spoke of upcoming battles, of strategies and victories to come. They laughed, drank, trained—falling back into their usual routines, their usual lives.
And Elias remained in the quiet.
No one summoned him. No one called for his labor. No one even checked if he was still alive.
The door to his chambers was not locked, but it might as well have been. He had no reason to step beyond it.
There was no place for him in the halls of warriors.
No place for him anywhere.
And yet, the silence was suffocating.
Before, there had always been something—harsh words, orders barked at him, bruises forming beneath careless hands. The cruelty had been unbearable, but it had also been proof of his existence.
Now, there was nothing.
He was a ghost within these walls, a forgotten thing left to fade into nothing.
It should have been easier this way.
It wasn't.
The Warlord's Focus
Caidren did not think of Elias.
Not once.
Not in the war room, where his generals laid out plans for the coming battle.
Not on the training grounds, where his soldiers moved in seamless formations, preparing for the bloodshed to come.
Not at night, when the fire burned low and the silence pressed in.
Not when he passed by the hallway leading to those chambers, his steps never slowing, never faltering.
He did not care.
And yet—
Something unsettled him.
Not in the way it had before, when his instincts had screamed that something was wrong. That had passed. The boy had been dealt with. His men had been disciplined. The stronghold had returned to order.
So why did it still feel as if something was missing?
Caidren exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
It was nothing.
A foolish distraction. A remnant of a momentary lapse in judgment.
He had done what was necessary. He had reminded his soldiers of their place, of the limits of their authority. That was all.
And yet—
The silence was too complete.
He did not ask about the boy. He did not need to. He knew, without question, that Elias had been abandoned in that room, left to his own devices.
The stronghold had forgotten him.
Just as it should have.
Just as Caidren had wanted.
So why did he find himself standing outside that door?
Why did he hesitate?
His fingers twitched at his sides.
He should turn away.
He would.
He did.
And yet, as he walked back to the war room, the unease did not fade.
It stayed.
A quiet, unwanted weight in his chest.