The Broken Abyss

The dining hall had always been a place of unspoken rules. The long, polished table reflected the dim candlelight, flickering like the ghosts of a thousand silent meals. Tanver sat in his usual place, back straight, hands poised over his untouched plate. Across from him, his parents ate in the same quiet indifference he had grown used to over the years.

But tonight, something was different.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, and a boy stepped inside.

At first glance, he looked no older than Tanver, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. His dark hair was neatly combed, his features strikingly refined—handsome in a way that seemed almost unnatural. His presence was suffocating, commanding attention without a single word. Even the servants, trained to remain impassive, seemed to stiffen at his arrival.

Tanver felt it instantly—something primal, something wrong.

Before he could speak, his father did.

“You’ve returned.”

The words sent a sharp jolt through Tanver’s chest.

Returned?

He turned to Varian, then to Seraphina. Their faces were carved from stone, unreadable yet… expectant. His mother, usually so cold and distant, had a softness in her gaze that he had never seen before. A softness directed not at him, but at this boy.

The stranger took a single step forward. It was a simple movement, yet it shattered everything.

“Yes,” he said, voice calm, measured. Then, his eyes met Tanver’s, and in that single glance, Tanver knew—this boy was here for something more.

Then Seraphina spoke.

“Our real son is finally home.”

The world tilted.

Tanver’s mind went blank.

It took a full second for the words to register, and when they did, it felt like ice water had been poured over his skull.

He turned to her sharply, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. “What…?”

No one answered.

Varian simply exhaled, as if this was an exhausting matter he had no patience for. “Tanver, there is no need for dramatics. You were never truly ours.”

A lie. A misunderstanding. Some cruel joke.

But their faces held no deception. No hesitation.

Only truth.

Tanver’s breath came shallow and fast. He forced himself to swallow, to keep his voice steady. “That doesn’t make sense. I am your son. I have lived in this house for eleven years. I—”

“You were brought to this house,” Seraphina corrected. Her voice wasn’t unkind, but it was distant. Detached. As if this conversation was nothing more than a formality.

Brought.

Not born. Not welcomed. Just… placed here.

His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants beneath the table. “No. No, that’s not possible.”

He turned to his father, the man whose approval he had sought his entire life. “Tell me this is a mistake.”

Varian sighed, finally looking at him properly. “You were six years old when you came here. An orphan, lost, nameless.”

No. That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

He had memories. He had years of memories in this house. The lessons, the punishments, the endless struggle to be the perfect son. The countless nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why they never smiled at him, why no matter how hard he tried, he never felt enough.

And now he knew why.

Because he never was.

His blood turned cold. “Then why did you take me in?”

The stranger—no, Alric—spoke for the first time.

“To take my place.”

Tanver’s stomach dropped.

He turned to him sharply, hands gripping the arms of his chair. “What do you mean?”

Alric leaned against the doorway, utterly composed. “I was hidden away when I was six. There were… threats against our family. My parents needed a stand-in.”

A stand-in.

Tanver’s breathing hitched.

“I was just a replacement?”

Seraphina gave a slow nod. “You were raised to keep up appearances. It was a necessity.”

A necessity.

That was all he had been to them.

Eleven years of his life. Eleven years of devotion, of trying, of desperately waiting for a single word of approval. And the whole time, it had been meaningless. He had been nothing more than a shadow.

Tanver’s body was frozen, but his mind was unraveling.

The long hours spent perfecting his etiquette. The bruises from training too hard, pushing himself to the brink just to hear a single good job that never came. The nights he stayed awake reviewing accounts, ensuring that the family estate ran smoothly.

The cold looks. The absence of warmth. The silence.

It all made sense now.

He had never been their son.

Just a tool to be used and discarded.

Alric exhaled, watching Tanver with something that looked eerily like pity. “I suppose this is difficult for you.”

Difficult?

Tanver felt something inside him snap.

His hands trembled, but not with fear.

With rage.

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. “You may be their real son,” he said, his voice eerily calm, “but I have lived this life. Fought for it. Bled for it.”

Alric gave a small, almost amused smile. “I don’t doubt that.”

Tanver pushed back his chair and stood. The world around him felt distant, muffled, like he was watching everything through a fog. His heartbeat was steady now, controlled.

His father watched him with unreadable eyes. “You will remain part of this household for now.”

For now.

The final nail in the coffin.

They weren’t keeping him because they wanted to. They were keeping him because it was convenient.

Tanver turned away, heading for the door. No one stopped him.

No one ever did.

As he walked past Alric, their shoulders nearly brushed. The other boy didn’t move, didn’t react, only watched him with calm, knowing eyes.

“I don’t intend to be erased so easily,” Tanver murmured, barely loud enough to be heard.

Alric’s lips quirked in a faint smirk. “Good. That makes things more interesting.”

Tanver didn’t respond.

He stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the shadows swallowing him whole.

For eleven years, he had

been a ghost in his own home.

Now, he had finally woken up.

And if they thought he would simply fade away—

They were gravely mistaken.

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