Wallowing in sorrow

The morning sun streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across Kael's still form. A knock on the door, hesitant yet insistent, broke through the heavy silence of Kael's room.

His father, his face etched with a mixture of concern and frustration, spoke through the closed door.

"Kael, it's time for school. You're late."

The words hung in the air, unanswered. Kael's body, a hollow shell, seemed to absorb them without a response. The fight he had waged within himself had left him drained, his spirit bruised but not broken.

He knew he should get up, face the world, resume the semblance of a normal life. But the weight of his grief, the echoes of his mother's love and loss, held him down like a physical anchor.

The silence outside the door stretched, punctuated only by the nervous shuffle of his father's feet. Finally, a sigh escaped his lips, a sound of resignation rather than defeat.