Quicksand of Fate

Frustration built rapidly, creeping up his spine. His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling irregularly.

Nothing.

He slammed a drawer shut, the sound echoing through the apartment.

Nothing.

Another drawer slammed shut.

And another.

And another.

Frustration turned to fury. Lorenzo grabbed the nearest object—a porcelain mug—and threw it across the kitchen. It shattered, shards scattering across the marble floor.

"Nothing!"

He swung his arm across the table, sending plates and cups crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering glass filled the apartment like a violent symphony. Then he grabbed whatever was in his reach, smashing it, pulling out drawers with force, and scattering everything in the kitchen.

His movements grew more violent, until he could no longer focus on anything, losing all sense of purpose. Even the vague thoughts that had been plaguing him began to dull in the madness, and he started muttering, his voice rising in volume.

"Nothing!... Nothing!... Fucking nothing!"

He denied something, but he didn't even know what he was denying.

The overwhelming urge to escape from his thoughts, to destroy everything, consumed him.

He just wanted to end it all.

He wanted comfort... to silence the terrifying memories buried deep inside him. He wanted silence, desperately—silence to return to his isolation, away from people... and himself.

After receiving Riccardo's orders, the noise immediately alerted Emilio, who had been sitting outside the apartment. Ignoring Lorenzo's previous requests to stay out of sight, he rushed to the apartment.

In one moment, he reached the kitchen, but froze at the doorway, taking in the disaster.

Shards of glass glittered on the floor, broken plates and cups littered the counters, and everything that could be scattered in the kitchen had been thrown into disarray.

Lorenzo stood in the middle, his body shaking uncontrollably, his chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon, still smashing anything within his reach.

Emilio shouted, trying to bring Lorenzo back to reality.

"Young Master."

Lorenzo froze, his hands still shaking as he gripped the edge of the counter. Slowly, he turned to look at Emilio, his dark eyes sunken and empty.

Emilio approached cautiously, his voice soft and calming.

"It's okay. Calm down, Young Master. Everything will be fine."

Lorenzo's grip on the counter loosened, his body going limp. He sank to the floor, sitting among the broken glass, his knees pressed against his chest.

His breathing slowed, but the emptiness in his eyes remained.

Emilio knelt beside him, trying to offer reassurance through his calm presence. But he didn't dare get closer, aware of the consequences of doing so (From previous experiences). He spoke again, his tone steady and gentle.

"Everything is fine. You're safe. Everything is fine."

But it wasn't fine.

Lorenzo's body became utterly still. The trembling that had controlled him vanished, and his gaze grew emptier than ever. His face was devoid of expression, his previous anger replaced by an eerie calm. He didn't even resist when Emilio approached cautiously, lifting him from the ground and leading him to his bedroom.

Emilio gently laid him on the bed, covering him with a blanket. He stayed quiet, offering nothing more. After an episode of rage, all Lorenzo asked for was silence and tranquility—nothing more.

Calmness. Silence. Isolation.

The presence of others only felt provocative, nerve-wracking to him.

After settling Lorenzo in, Emilio left the room quietly, closing the door behind him. He needed to give Lorenzo the maximum silence and isolation, hoping it would calm his nerves.

Emilio then headed to his own room in the apartment to make the first call. He dialed Dr. Belardi, who answered immediately—only eight in the evening—and informed him. Vittorio replied, his tone almost annoyed.

"I'll be there early in the morning."

Emilio ended the call, exhaling deeply before making the second.

He dialed the private number of Riccardo Accardi's office. He didn't dare call Riccardo directly and didn't contact the security team leader, knowing that the details of Lorenzo's illness were confidential—known only to the family, Lorenzo's psychiatrist, Emilio himself, and Riccardo's assistant.

After the first ring, a professional, terse voice answered.

"This is the office of United Army Supreme General Riccardo Accardi. How can I assist you?"

The man didn't even check the caller's name. It was clear that Riccardo's office was running at full capacity with the mission to recover the apocalyptic-ranked sword—Gloomy Twilight—and the first young master, Commander Sandro Accardi, participating in the mission.

"This is Emilio, the butler of the second young master, Lorenzo," he said formally. "I must report an urgent matter concerning the young master."

The assistant replied, his tone now more interested.

"Sir Riccardo is unavailable at the moment. Please provide the details, and I'll informthe sir immediately."

Emilio hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The young master had a rage attack. He's calmed down now, but I believe it warrants the master's immediate attention."

The assistant's tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Understood. I'll notify the sir right away."

"Thank you," Emilio said before ending the call.

But he remained standing in the quiet hallway, sighing as he pulled another phone from his pocket. He texted an unknown number before deleting the message, his eyes lingering on his phone. He knew he wouldn't get a response.

It didn't look like things were going to end well.