Chapter 2: After 12 Years, Still Looking For Him?

After 12 years

Laxiel now stood in front of their old house—the place that once echoed with laughter, warm memories, and the voices of those he loved. The grand villa, which had once been the pride of his family, now sat in ruin. Time had not been kind to it.

What was once a luxurious estate, with manicured gardens and gleaming white walls, was now cloaked in neglect. Weeds crawled up the sides of the building like nature was trying to reclaim it. Tall grasses swayed in the wind, untamed and wild, overtaking what had once been a pristine lawn where he and his cousins used to run barefoot. The stone path leading to the front door was cracked and buried under a layer of moss and fallen leaves.

The paint on the walls had faded to a dull gray, and the windows—once polished until they gleamed in the sunlight—were now smudged with dust, some even shattered, leaving jagged glass in their frames.

Laxiel didn’t move. He just stood there, staring.

Twelve years had passed, but the weight of the memories still hit him with full force. He could almost hear their laughter echoing through the broken halls. He could still see his mother’s face, stern yet soft, calling out to them from the doorway.

So much had changed.

And yet, something about this place still felt like a piece of him.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. The silence here was different now—empty rather than peaceful.

He took a slow step forward, then another.

Back to where it all began.

Each step toward the front door felt heavier than the last, like the past was gripping his ankles, trying to pull him back into memories he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

The door, though weathered, was still standing. Its wood had cracked with age, the once rich mahogany now faded and splintered. Laxiel hesitated before pressing his hand against it. For a moment, he simply stood there, palm resting on the surface, as if waiting for it to respond—waiting for the house to acknowledge his return.

Then, slowly, he pushed it open.

The creak of the hinges echoed through the empty space like a ghost's whisper. Dust hung in the air, stirred by the movement, catching the light that streamed in through the broken windows. Inside, the house was a shell of what it once was. Furniture was toppled and covered in sheets of grime. Family portraits hung crooked on the walls, their glass cracked, their faces faded but not forgotten.

Laxiel stepped inside. The scent hit him immediately—a mixture of old wood, earth, and decay, yet underneath it all was something familiar. Something that smelled like childhood.

His gaze drifted to the hallway.

That was where his cousin had screamed. Where he had crouched behind the curtain. Where his mother had told them to run.

He swallowed hard.

His feet moved without him realizing it, drawing him toward the staircase. The wood groaned beneath his weight, but it held. He found himself walking toward the room that had once been his—small, tucked away at the corner of the second floor.

The door was half open.

He pushed it the rest of the way and stepped inside.

Everything was coated in dust. His old bed frame, the corner where his younger brother used to leave his toys, the faded posters on the wall—all still there. Untouched.

Laxiel ran a hand over the edge of the desk, revealing the pale wood beneath the grime. His chest tightened.

“This was home…” he whispered to no one.

And then, a memory surfaced—his brother’s smile. That small, gap-toothed grin full of mischief and light. Laxiel had promised to protect him. Promised.

But he had been too young. Too helpless.

He didn’t know if his brother had survived that night. No one ever told him.

The priest had taken him in, given him shelter, food, and a new path—but the past had always followed him. And now, standing in the ruins of what once was, that pain was louder than ever.

“I’m back,” he said softly, almost like a prayer. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

The house gave no reply. Only silence. But even in that silence, something in him shifted.

He wasn’t that scared little boy anymore.

Laxiel continued moving through the house, his footsteps slow and cautious as if the floorboards might break beneath the weight of his memories. Each corner he turned revealed fragments of a life long gone—shattered dishes, torn curtains, walls marked with the faintest outlines of once-bright drawings.

He passed through the dining room and out the back door, where rusted hinges groaned in protest. The overgrown path led him into what used to be the garden—his mother’s favorite place. Once vibrant with flowers and trimmed hedges, it was now a tangled mess of weeds and thorns. The small fountain in the center was cracked, dry and forgotten.

But then, just a few steps in, he froze.

His breath caught in his throat.

There, lying among the weeds and brittle grass, were bones. The skeletal remains were brittle with time, but unmistakable. A woman's frame—still wearing the tattered remnants of a faded dress he could almost recognize.

His heart dropped.

“…Mom,” he whispered, falling to his knees.

He didn't cry at first. His body just went numb, staring at the remains of the woman who had fought so hard to protect them. Time had reduced her to nothing but bones, yet to him, she still radiated strength. The same strength she showed when she shouted for them to run.

As he struggled to breathe through the tightness in his chest, his eyes caught something else. Nearby—only a few feet from her—were two smaller skeletons. Children. Their fragile forms were curled close together, as if they'd tried to hide.

He staggered to his feet, heart pounding.

“Two skeletons?” he muttered aloud, eyes wide with confusion.

He clearly remembered—there were five of them. Himself, his younger brother, and three cousins.

So where were the other two?

He turned, scanning the garden in every direction. Bushes, vines, tangled branches… nothing. No other remains.

His pulse quickened.

“Where are the others?” he whispered to himself, voice trembling. “Where did they go?”

Questions hit him like a wave. Had they escaped? Had someone taken them?

Or worse—had something else happened that he didn’t remember?

Suddenly, the garden didn’t feel so quiet anymore. The air had shifted. The wind blew harder through the trees, and the sky seemed to darken just slightly, as if the house was reacting to his discovery.

Laxiel stood there, frozen between grief and dread.

He had come looking for answers.

As the words left his mouth, Laxiel's body went rigid.

Crunch.

The sound of footsteps—soft but deliberate—echoed from somewhere beyond the garden. His instincts kicked in instantly. Without thinking, he darted behind the old shed his mother used to use for gardening tools. It was half-collapsed, covered in vines, but still enough to conceal him if he kept still.

He crouched low, heart pounding in his ears, eyes locked on the direction of the sound.

Two figures emerged through the broken back gate. Dressed in dark clothes, faces shadowed by caps and hoods, they moved with the sharp alertness of men used to danger. Laxiel didn’t recognize them, but the way they scanned the area with their hands near their belts told him everything—these weren’t just looters or random wanderers.

They were searching for something. Or someone.

Then one of them spoke, his voice rough and impatient.

“It’s been twelve years and we’re still looking for that child! I’m so sick of this.”

Laxiel’s breath hitched.

The other man replied, tone colder and more calculating.

“We don’t have a choice. Madame said we have to find the other one. We can’t let anyone from this bloodline return and start digging into the past. Especially not now.”

The first man scoffed, kicking at a stone.

“Everything fell apart because of that family. If even one of them comes back, we’re finished. You think I’m gonna sit around and let some brat come back and try to avenge what happened?”

“Keep your voice down,” the second snapped. “We don’t know who’s watching. Just check the perimeter. Madame will have our heads if we screw this up.”

Laxiel’s eyes widened.

They were looking for him.

Even after twelve years… they were still hunting him down.

A chill crawled up his spine. He kept his breathing quiet, biting down on the panic rising in his chest.

So someone was behind this. Someone called "Madame." Someone who wanted to erase every trace of his family. And now… they were back, because they feared someone had survived.

He clenched his fists.

He had survived.

And now, more than ever, he needed to find out what happened that day—who took the others, why his family was destroyed, and most of all… what they were so afraid he might discover.