He would not let others see him like this, though it was how he felt all of the time now. Somehow, their departure had cracked open his chest and left him forever bleeding, and they were’t even aware. He felt raw and exposed, and any touch to his frame sent a new wave of pain. He wanted this feeling to dissolve and melt away into nothing, and yet he was so far away from feeling numb. The hurt was too new, too fresh. Every step he took added more salt to the exposed flesh. He couldn’t take it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Icy eyes swam in a film of water, drawing reminder of the ocean his family was sailing away upon. This was supposed to have been Rurik’s task. This was supposed to have been a small ritual to pass with his family, Liliya and Anatoliy right at his side preparing to receive the same gift. But this was not how it had come to play out. Rurik was gone, and yet Silas still had turned two. He had to do it himself. Had to remember where he had come from. Now, more than ever.

It was senseless to do it himself, without proper knowledge. And yet the boy was blinded by emotion and did not see the danger in his rash decision. Teeth clenched, a low growl rumbling from his throat, and the metal had torn through the flesh. Fingers were quick to replace silver with dull gold, and two rings now adorned the left side. Blood stained fingertips let the needle drop to the floor, and Silas crumpled onto the bed as the moisture spilled over his lids. This hotel room had been his home at one point, and now it was an abandoned skeleton of what had once been.

There was nothing left now. Nothing left at all.