It felt like the world was ending.
Everything around him blurred, as though the air itself had turned into a cruel mirage.
His mind, heart, and even senses—they all felt like liars. Reality, once so sharp and clear, now felt vague and hollow, a distorted echo of what it should be.
The ground beneath him seemed foreign, like he was floating in an endless abyss. Nothing made sense anymore. Everything he’d fought for had crumbled to dust before his very eyes.
Atticus knelt before Freya’s tombstone, his knees sinking into the earth as tears streamed down his face. His body trembled violently, his breaths coming out in ragged sobs.
“No… no, no, no…” he muttered between the sobs, his chest tightening with each breath.
“After everything… after all the hard work… I failed. I failed her… I should’ve worked harder… I should’ve protected her…”
Every word that left his lips was heavy with self-blame, the guilt gnawing at him like a ravenous beast.
He buried his face in his hands, tears soaking his palms.
It felt as if the world itself was caving in on him, the weight of his own inadequacy crushing him under its unbearable force.
Anastasia soon arrived at the burial ground, her own heart breaking at the sight of her son kneeling before the grave, so lost in his sorrow that he didn’t even notice her approach.
She wiped her eyes and called out softly, her voice trembling.
“Atticus…”
But Atticus wasn’t listening. He couldn’t hear her. He was in his own world, his mind consumed by the overwhelming sadness and guilt that wracked his body.
The pain was so deep, so raw, that it resonated with something he hadn’t known was possible.
Until now, Atticus hadn’t realized that this emotion could resonate with this elements like this.
But now he knew he had been wrong.
His emotions, so tightly bound to his elemental affinity, began to bleed into the air around him.
Water.
Sadness and grief resonated deeply with the element of water. Water was often associated with emotions, serenity and peace but currently, sorrow and tears.
It represented the fluidity of feelings, the ebb and flow of life, and the quiet yet overwhelming nature of grief, like a deep, sorrowful river.
The air began to shift. At first, it was subtle, barely noticeable—the faintest hint of moisture gathering around him.
But soon, it grew heavier, the atmosphere thick with humidity as the water molecules in the air responded to Atticus’s grief, swirling around him with an unseen force.
Tears streamed down his face, but it wasn’t just his tears that wet the earth. The moisture in the air thickened, droplets forming in the atmosphere and circling him like a storm.
His sorrow, his guilt, his despair—it all fueled the element of water, the element tied to the ebb and flow of emotions. And now, it was like a tidal wave of grief.
The ground beneath him was saturated, the moisture threatening to drown the very place he knelt in.
“Atticus!” Anastasia’s voice broke through, panic in her tone as she watched the storm build. She tried to move toward him, her heart racing, but Atticus’s grief was becoming a force of nature. He continued to mutter, his voice weak but filled with regret.
“I failed… I’m sorry… I should’ve been stronger…”
Before Anastasia could take another step, the sky rumbled.
RUMBLE.
Thunder crackled, its deafening roar tearing through the air as the sky darkened above them. Thick clouds rolled in, heavy and ominous, as though the heavens themselves had been summoned to witness the moment.
Magnus, who had been standing silently before Freya’s tomb, finally spoke. His voice was deep and thunderous, like the approaching storm itself.
“You may be my grandson… whom I love dearly.”
RUMBLE!
Another bolt of lightning slashed through the sky, illuminating the burial ground in a brilliant flash. His gaze, intense and unwavering, locked onto Atticus, whose emotions threatened to destroy everything around them.
“But I will not allow you to desecrate her resting place.”
The power in Magnus’s voice was undeniable, like the rumble of an approaching storm. Thunder cracked once more, louder, the very atmosphere seeming to buckle under the weight of it.
“Control your emotions,” Magnus’s voice boomed, “or I will put you down.”
Atticus’s eyes, wide with shock, locked onto his grandfather. He didn’t hear most of what Magnus had said, but the words about desecrating her resting place hit him like a hammer.
“I’m sorry,” Atticus whispered, his voice hoarse, repeating the words like a mantra. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
The water that had been swirling around him began to slow, the violent storm of emotion calming as Atticus’s guilt and sorrow took hold.
The water settled, seeping back into the earth, leaving behind only the sound of Atticus’s broken sobs.
“I’m useless… I failed her…” he whispered over and over again, his voice barely audible.
Anastasia, tears streaming down her face, rushed to her son and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as he wept. “No, Atticus… you didn’t fail her… You didn’t…”
But Atticus couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop the overwhelming guilt that gripped him. He buried his face in his mother’s arms, his voice muffled as he continued to mutter apologies.
Magnus stood still, his jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm the storm that had gathered above them.
Slowly, the clouds began to part, the sky clearing as the tension in the air dissipated.
‘I’m sorry,’ Magnus thought silently, turning back to Freya’s tombstone. His heart was heavy, his eyes fixed on the stone. He went quiet, listening to the sound of his grandson’s cries filling the burial ground.
Atticus cried until exhaustion overtook him, his body finally giving in. He fell asleep in Anastasia’s arms, his face still wet with tears.
Anastasia carefully lifted her son, cradling him as though he were still a child. She glanced at Magnus, who remained standing silently before Freya’s grave, and then slowly carried Atticus back toward the estate, her steps heavy with the weight of grief.
