THE BROKEN DREAMS

Mist clung to the mouth of the cavern as Fred and Clara stepped outside.

The rising sun cast long shadows across the rocky landscape, but its warmth did not reach them.

Fred slung a simple satchel over his shoulder, the contents unfamiliar—someone had packed it for him while he slept.

Clara stood beside him, clutching her own worn bag, eyes never quite meeting his.

There was a heaviness in the air.

An unspoken question lingering between them.

Now what?

---

They walked for a while, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound.

Fred glanced sideways at Clara more than once, watching the way her shoulders hunched inward, as if shielding herself from the world.

He wanted to say something.

Apologize.

Explain.

Comfort.

But the words felt foreign on his tongue, like a language he'd once spoken fluently but now only remembered in fragments.

At last, Clara spoke, voice thin and fragile.

"You don't have to stay with me, you know."

Fred stopped walking.

Clara kept her eyes forward, not daring to look back at him.

"If you want to go your own way..." she trailed off, shoulders tightening.

Fred swallowed.

"Why would I leave?" he asked quietly.

She turned, finally meeting his gaze with a sad, brittle smile.

"Because you already have."

---

Fred felt the words hit him like a stone to the chest.

He opened his mouth to respond—but nothing came out.

What could he say?

That he felt empty when he looked at her?

That whatever bond they had was now only a ghost haunting the spaces between them?

Instead, he dropped his gaze.

Clara turned back toward the path, voice steadier now.

"There's a village a few miles ahead. We can rest there."

Fred nodded mutely and followed.

The distance between them was no more than a few steps—

—but it might as well have been a chasm.

---

The village was little more than a cluster of worn buildings around a dried-up well.

A crooked sign creaked in the breeze: Hollowmere.

The few villagers who remained gave them wary glances but said nothing.

They secured a small, crumbling inn room with two beds pushed against opposite walls.

No fire burned in the hearth.

No laughter echoed through the halls.

Only silence and dust.

Fred sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floorboards.

Clara sat on hers, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes distant.

---

Night fell.

Fred lay awake, listening to the soft, broken breaths of Clara crying silently in the dark.

He closed his eyes tightly, fists clenching the blanket.

He wanted to reach out—to bridge the endless space between them.

But fear rooted him to the mattress.

Fear that he would touch her hand and feel nothing.

Fear that the moment he tried to fix things, she would realize the truth:

He wasn't the boy she loved anymore.

He was only the shell that remained.

The stars wheeled overhead, unseen, uncaring.

And somewhere deep inside Fred's hollow chest, a part of him wept too.

---