You had waited.

Through seasons of silence, through missions and shadows and the cold corridors of the Zoldyck estate, you had waited. Killua’s words—“I’ll be back for you someday, wait for me until then”—had echoed in your heart like a promise carved in stone.

And now, he was back.

But not like you imagined.

The moment you heard the whispers—Killua has returned—your heart leapt. You rushed through the mansion, past familiar halls and silent guards, searching for him. But when you learned he was in one of the torture rooms, dread gripped you like ice.

You pushed open the heavy door.

And froze.

The room was dim, lit only by a single overhead bulb that cast harsh shadows across the stone walls. Chains rattled softly in the silence. And there he was.

Killua.

Suspended from the ceiling by shackles around his wrists, his feet barely brushing the ground. His torso was bare, his skin pale and bruised, marked with cruel lashes from head to toe. His silver hair hung over his eyes, and when he looked up—

You saw nothing.

No spark. No defiance. No pain.

Just emptiness.

His big blue eyes, once so full of mischief and quiet rebellion, were hollow. As if something inside him had been extinguished. As if he had become a shell—trained to endure, conditioned not to scream.

You stepped forward, trembling.

“Killua…” you whispered.

He didn’t respond.

But his gaze flickered—just slightly.

And in that flicker, you saw it.

The boy you once knew.

The boy who used to sneak sweets into the kitchen. Who used to ask you questions about the world beyond the gates. Who once told you he wanted to be free.

You knelt beside him, voice shaking.

“I’m here. I never stopped waiting.”

And though he didn’t speak, a single tear slipped down his cheek.