The world hadn't changed—but Kale had.
For three days, he hadn't spoken more than a sentence to anyone. He moved like a shadow, silent and efficient. His eyes—once cold, but visibly alive—now looked like still water: unfeeling, reflective, impossibly empty.
Scarlet noticed it first.
She saw it in the way he responded to the servants' greetings with silence. In how he trained for hours with machine-like precision, never flinching, never pausing, never reacting. In the way he stared through people instead of at them.
Even the air around him felt different.
Wrong.
She tested him one morning in the main hall.
"Kale," she said as he passed, "you missed breakfast."
He stopped. Looked at her.
His eyes met hers. They were gold—but hollow. Unblinking.
"I don't need to eat yet."
Then he walked past.
No sarcasm. No irritation. No warmth.
Scarlet watched him go, a chill creeping down her spine.
"It'll pass. Three days. No emotion. Side effect of a fractured soul core. Saw it before in Loop 108."
His voice echoed in her mind.
And suddenly she understood.
He knew.
He knew he was empty right now.
That night, Scarlet stood at her balcony, watching him train alone in the dark. No lanterns. No music. Just the sound of steel slicing through air.
Every movement was perfect.
Every form exact.
But it was lifeless. Art without a soul.
"Can't afford to feel right now. Emotions delay synchronization. I'll come back after it's done."
The voice in her head was quieter than usual. Even his thoughts had grown… cold.
She hugged herself, the silence suffocating.
It wasn't like watching a man.
It was like watching a memory act itself out, unaware it was no longer alive.
"Is he avoiding you?"
Scarlet flinched.
Evan's voice broke the silence of the veranda. He leaned against the railing beside her, holding two mugs. He offered one.
"Tea," he said with that familiar smile. "It helps."
She took it but didn't drink. Her gaze drifted back to the field, where Kale now stood motionless, eyes closed, sword balanced upright before him.
"He hasn't said more than ten words to me in days."
"Classic Kale," Evan said with a dry chuckle. "He vanishes into that void of his. It's always when he's preparing for something awful."
Scarlet turned toward him. "You sound like you've seen it before."
Evan shrugged. "I pay attention. He's always like this before something breaks."
"Evan doesn't know. Not yet. But he will. And then I'll have to kill him."
Scarlet's hand tightened around the mug.
The thought came sharp. Calculated. Not angry. Not cruel.
Just… final.
She swallowed.
"He's cold," she whispered. "Worse than before. Like nothing's left inside."
Evan tilted his head. "Good," he said softly. "Maybe he'll stop hurting people."
Scarlet blinked.
She didn't answer.
Later that night, she wandered the halls of the Silva estate, unable to sleep. The corridors were candlelit and quiet, the hour late enough that only the walls could hear what she thought.
Kale stood in the center of the grand hall, bathed in the silver light of the stained-glass moon window.
He didn't see her. Or if he did, he didn't care.
She stepped closer. Just behind him.
"Are you still in there?" she asked softly.
He didn't move.
Didn't answer.
"Scarlet… don't get close. Not like this. Not when I can't feel."
She gasped.
The whisper inside her head felt distant—like a part of him trying to scream through layers of water.
Then silence.
Cold, brutal silence.
Day Three.
She sat across from him at the estate's small study table.
He didn't speak. Just read. Page after page, unmoved, uninterested.
"Did you even hear what I said?" she asked.
He blinked once.
"Yes."
"That's it?"
"I don't have anything to add."
"Don't break, Scarlet. I can't protect you from myself right now."
Her chest ached.
He wasn't just numb.
He was afraid of himself.
Night.
A storm gathered beyond the horizon.
Scarlet watched from her balcony again, staring out at the empty garden. Lightning flashed distantly.
She whispered aloud, "Come back."
She didn't know why she said it.
But she meant it.
Somewhere out in the dark, Kale stood still.
And somewhere behind that perfect, expressionless mask—
He heard her.