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OLDTOWN || 130 AC
—
𝕲wayne stood in the dimly lit chamber, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as the echoes of their argument still replayed in his mind. The anger that had surged through him during the fight had dissipated, leaving behind a hollow ache in his chest. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to make sense of the tangled emotions that churned within him. He had always prided himself on his composure, on his ability to remain in control even in the most volatile situations. But Daena—she had a way of unraveling him, of pushing him to the brink where his calm façade shattered, revealing the raw, unfiltered emotions he kept buried deep inside. He hated that she could do that to him, hated that she had such a hold over him.
But more than that, he hated how the argument had spiraled out of control, how words had been flung like weapons, cutting deep into old wounds that had never fully healed. He replayed the fight in his mind, the accusations, the anger, the hurt that had spilled out between them, and he felt a wave of regret wash over him. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They weren't supposed to be like this. He had never imagined their marriage would be easy, but he hadn't expected it to be this hard either. The weight of their responsibilities, the expectations placed upon them, had strained their relationship to the breaking point, and now he feared that the damage was irreparable.
He could still see the hurt in Daena's eyes, the way she had looked at him with a mix of anger and pain, as if she were trying to decide whether she hated him or loved him. And that was the most devastating part of it all—because he knew, deep down, that he still loved her. Despite the anger, despite the bitterness, there was a part of him that still cared for her, that still wanted to make things right. But how could he, when every attempt to bridge the gap between them seemed to only widen it further? How could he fix what was broken when he wasn't even sure where to start?
Gwayne clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up inside him. He wanted to go to her, to apologise, to find a way to make things right, but his pride held him back. He didn't know if she would even want to see him, if she would accept his apology, or if it would only make things worse. The door creaked open, and Daeron stepped in cautiously, his young face etched with concern, "Uncle, are you all right?" he asked quietly, sensing the turmoil in the room.
Gwayne glanced up, his expression softening slightly at the sight of his young nephew, "I do not know, Daeron," he admitted, his voice heavy with frustration, "I just...I do not know what to do anymore," Gwayne closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but the turmoil inside him only intensified. He knew he needed to find a way to fix things, but the path forward seemed shrouded in uncertainty and doubt. And as he stood there, struggling with the depth of his emotions, he couldn't shake the fear that he was running out of time to make things right.
