CHAPTER 43: CHAPTER: 43 LOSING A CHILD IS THE GREATEST GRIEF A PARENT COULD EXPERIENCE.

They say that for a parent, the greatest grief imaginable is losing a child.

Children are the lifeline of their parents, loved, protected, and nurtured at any cost.

Every parent devotes their heart to shielding that lifeline from pain and hardship.

But when a parent faces the death of their child, the world collapses into an agony beyond words.

The pain is said to be unbearable, like countless needles piercing the flesh again and again, leaving wounds that never truly heal.

There is no cure for such a pain and one needs to bear it for the rest of their life.

When Vined had first heard those words, he couldn’t truly understand them. But now, as he felt that grief firsthand, he realized how true they were.

Not even the agony of a thousand needles could compare to the pain consuming him now.

People say that time heals everything, but he knew that wasn’t true, not for him at least.

The pain of losing a child is the kind that time cannot touch, a wound that refuses to close, no matter how many years pass.

He walked through the corridor with a face so lifeless it seemed as though someone had drained every ounce of vitality from it.

His cheeks were sunken, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were so deep they resembled bottomless abysses.

His once-neat white hair now hung in disarray, unwashed and unkempt, a silent testament to his despair.

Anyone who saw him would never believe he was the same man who once ruled the territories of the Zenitharas.

But honestly, what could he do? His son had been missing for two months, and the chances of him being alive were slim, almost impossible. Yet the cruelest part of it all was his wife.

She was so devastated that she had tried, time and again, to end her own life, hoping, perhaps, that death would free her from this unbearable grief.

At times, he too believed that death might be a release, a way to finally escape the pain.

But he had other things to live for, didn’t he?

There was his youngest son, only eleven, who barely understood the meaning of death yet had already lost the person he loved most—his brother.

And there was his aging father, growing frailer with each passing day, who needed his care in these final years.

These responsibilities bound him to life, holding him back from following the same path his wife was trying to take, to end it all.

He finally stopped in front of a door, after walking for a while through the dim corridor.

Two guards stood on either side, straightening at his approach and bowing their heads respectfully.

He didn’t even have the strength to acknowledge them. Without a word, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

The moment he entered, the caretaker quickly rose from her seat, bowed deeply, and quietly left the room.

Once she was gone, Vined closed the door behind him and turned his gaze toward the bed.

His wife, Elena, lay there, motionless, staring blankly at the ceiling with eyes that had long lost their light.

She didn’t blink. She didn’t even seem to notice that Vined had entered.

Her face mirrored his own despair, sunken cheeks, dark hollows beneath her eyes, but what made her appearance truly unbearable to look at were the bandages wrapped around both her wrists, proof of her repeated attempts to end her suffering.

Even her neck bore faint red marks, silent evidence of how many times she had tried to hang herself, desperate to escape the grief that refused to let her live.

Just two months ago, she had been as radiant as a blooming flower.

Now, after losing her son, she looked worse than a wilted blossom, drained of color, life, and light.

Vined had always feared this day, ever since he learned about the incurable disease that plagued Vivian.

He had sworn to find a cure, no matter the cost, determined that such a tragedy would never come to pass.

But before he could fulfill that vow, Vivian vanished from the dungeon.

And Vined knew all too well what that meant.

When someone disappeared inside a dungeon, the chances of survival were almost nonexistent.

Too many dangers lurked within, monsters, traps, and the dungeon’s own merciless environment.

So there was no hope.

"Haa..." With a weary sigh, he walked toward the bed and sat down beside her. Leaning back against the wall, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, just like hers.

Even after he sat down, Elena didn’t so much as blink. Her lifeless eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, lost somewhere far beyond his reach.

Seeing that vacant gaze, Vined slowly reached out his hand and began to caress her hair. His touch was gentle, trembling, as though he feared she might shatter beneath it.

He kept stroking her hair in silence, his lips parting several times, yet no words came out. Everything he wanted to say seemed trapped deep within his chest.

"Haa..." Another sigh escaped him, heavy and defeated. It was as if the act of exhaling carried away what little strength he had left.

Finally, after a long pause, he managed to speak.

"Do you remember... when I first held him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes still fixed on the ceiling as if he were gazing into the distant past.

He could still recall that moment vividly, the day he was asked to hold Vivian for the first time.

The child was so small, so fragile, that Vined had hesitated, afraid that even the slightest careless touch might shatter the precious dream he was holding.

But then, he looked into his newborn son’s eyes, clear, trusting, and full of innocence.

Those tiny eyes seemed to believe in him, to ask silently to be held by the man who was his father.

In that moment, tears had welled up in Vined’s eyes as he gathered his son into his arms.

He had made a promise then, perhaps not in words, but in his heart, that he would do anything to protect that fragile life.

He smiled faintly at the memory. Elena had laughed at him back then, teasing him for being so emotional, but he knew she would have done the same, she too would have given her life if it meant saving their son.

He continued softly, "At that time... I promised to protect our son, no matter what he might face in the future. But in the end, my incompetence failed him, again and again."

His voice grew hoarse as he fought to hold back the tears threatening to escape.

"I thought... I thought I could protect him, but..." His words broke, his throat tightening as the pain became unbearable.

The sentence never truly finished. His voice cracked, and tears finally spilled down his cheeks.

"I... couldn’t protect him..." he choked out between trembling sobs.

The past two months had been the most agonizing period of his life. Not even the pain of losing his mother at a young age could compare to this torment.

There hadn’t been a single day when he hadn’t cried.

Whenever he tried to distract himself, Vivian’s face would appear in his mind, so vivid, so haunting, and with it came a crushing wave of pain, as if his heart were being torn apart again and again.

He tried to wipe away the tears, but they refused to stop. No matter how hard he fought to contain them, they kept streaming down his face, endlessly, helplessly.

In the end, he gave up trying. He simply let them flow, silent and unrestrained.

"This grief..." he whispered, his voice trembling, "I don’t think I’ll ever recover from it, not even in death."

He paused, his gaze drifting to his hands, which were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

"But... please..." His voice broke as he forced the words out, "please don’t leave me alone..."

His vision blurred again, the world turning hazy through his tears. He looked upward, as if to steady himself, and his voice cracked once more.

"If I lose even you," he whispered, "then how am I supposed to live in this world? Please... don’t leave me, Elena. I don’t know how to go on without you."

He cried as if a dam had finally broken.

If one possesses great wealth, it should be shared, and grief, too, should be shared with those we love.

But if Elena were to take a wrong step and die... how was he supposed to go on living?

Wouldn’t it become impossible even to breathe?

Losing a family member felt worse than death itself.

But if he were to lose another than life itself would be a curse.

As tears streamed down his face, a gentle hand reached out to him, soft, trembling, yet warm. It wrapped around him and drew him into a tender embrace.

For a brief instant, he froze, unable to believe what he felt. And then, before he could lift his head, a voice reached his ears, a gentle, familiar voice he had longed for, one he had almost forgotten the sound of.

"Don’t say such things..." she whispered softly. "I won’t leave you alone."