Caelus Lautin—A Man of Ice

Caelus Lautin was never the type to engage in meaningless conversation. He had no patience for small talk, no interest in fleeting emotions, and absolutely no tolerance for people who couldn’t take a hint. He was cold, blunt, and completely indifferent to the expectations of others. Girls who worked up the courage to confess were met with a blank stare, followed by a simple, “Not interested.” If they persisted, he’d shut them down with even fewer words. He didn’t care about sparing feelings—what was the point? He had learned the hard way that kindness could invite disaster.

When he was fourteen, he made a mistake. A small one, really. A woman had dropped her bag, and she looked sad—too sad. Something about her face made him hesitate, just for a second, before he picked it up and handed it to her. That was all it took. From then on, she was always there. Always watching. She knew his school, his route home, even the places he went when he wanted to be alone. At first, he thought it was a coincidence. Then he noticed her waiting at the same spot, her eyes following him, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

That was when he realized that a simple act of kindness had turned into a nightmare.

Since then, he kept his distance from everyone. He became unreadable, untouchable. His words were clipped, his tone always flat. He didn’t let people get close. Even when he somehow ended up with a “girlfriend,” he remained the same. Detached. Emotionless. She would talk, he would listen, but he never truly let her in. In the end, she left, and he felt nothing. He had no regrets.

Caelus Lautin was a man of ice. And he intended to stay that way.