As the days passed, each seemed to echo Aventus's fruitless endeavors. A week had elapsed since the Black Sacrament's performance, yet the Dark Brotherhood remained absent. The fleeting sense of hope that had lifted his spirits now burdened him even more. Each dawn, Aventus rose with a fragment of optimism, only to have it shattered by nightfall. Nights found him in his home's shadowy recesses, gaze locked on a candle's wavering light, which threw ominous shadows across the room. The heart he had obtained with such effort lay silent next to the effigy, symbolizing his dire sacrifice and urgency. The quiet was overwhelming. Aventus would pace restlessly, besieged by a storm of frustration and doubt. He would whisper to himself, "Perhaps Maul lied to me," his anger igniting but swiftly doused by a swell of despair.
Every creak of the floorboards and each whisper of the wind outside made his heart jump, only to be followed by a sinking feeling of disappointment when he realized it was nothing. The constant anticipation was torturous, clearly taking its toll on him. His hands, once firm, now shook with unending anxiety, and his sleep was disturbed, plagued by nightmares of being caught by Grelod or the guards. Silda the Unseen, keenly aware of Aventus's deteriorating condition, often looked at him with concern. She noted the dark circles under his eyes, the stiffness of his shoulders, and his propensity to get lost in his thoughts. On a particular evening, as they sat by a small fire in a secluded part of the city, she decided to address the matter.
"You're carrying a heavy burden, aren't you?" Silda spoke softly, her gaze fixed on his face. Aventus looked up, taken aback by the gentleness in her tone. He parted his lips to speak, but no words emerged. "It's okay," Silda said, perceiving his reluctance. "You don't have to tell me everything. But remember, you're not alone." Her words were a comfort, a reminder that someone cared about his well-being. Aventus managed a weak smile, grateful for her kindness. "Thanks," He whispered, his voice barely audible. The truth about the Dark Brotherhood was too perilous and personal to share, yet her presence lightened his heavy heart. As dusk fell upon Windhelm's snow-laden rooftops, Aventus stood before the Black Sacrament once more. Despite his voice growing hoarse from the countless recitations, he persisted; he could not allow Grelod to perpetuate her tyranny over the children. "Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me," he chanted, his voice breaking with emotion. Tears filled his eyes, obscuring his sight. "For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear." He echoed the words repeatedly, his voice diminishing in volume after each iteration until it became a faint whisper.
Collapsing to the floor, his knees struck the cold, unforgiving surface. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as the burden of despair overwhelmed him. "Why haven't they arrived?" he lamented to the vacant room. "Why won't they help me?" His sobs echoed in the silence, a stark contrast to the eerie calm that surrounded him. Aventus clutched his mother's heart close, the chill of it seeping into his hands. "Maul, you liar," he whispered bitterly. "You said they would come. You promised they would come." The bitterness of betrayal stung him as he rocked back and forth, clutching the heart like a lifeline. As the days dragged on, Aventus felt his determination wane, the once fervent hope now gradually diminishing. The echoes of laughter and weeping from the orphanage lingered with him, a perpetual testament to the necessity of his perseverance, despite his faltering spirit. The notion of forsaking the ritual crossed his mind, but it was the memory of Grelod's harsh visage and the children's anguish that rekindled his resolve. "I can't let her win," he would tell himself, trying to reignite the fire within him. But it was getting harder with each passing day.
One week following the ritual, Aventus sat in the dim glow of his abode, sensing his hope waning. Tears had reddened his eyes, and his frame bore the weight of emotional exhaustion. The effigy before him was now a source of anguish. In the moment he neared surrender to despair, a chill wind snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. His heart stuttered; breath halted by the sudden shift. A heavy, ominous energy filled the space, affirming his belief: his plea had been acknowledged. The Dark Brotherhood was en route. Amidst the transformed ambiance, as Aventus contemplated the implications, an unexpected voice pierced the quietude.
"Boy, are you alright?"