There was no fire that night.
Only the slow sound of breathing.
Kalen sat cross-legged on the floor, unmoving.
Eryk slept in his chair, eyes closed but brow furrowed, as if he fought battles even in his dreams.
The hut was dark. The stars above seemed further away than ever before.
And the boy was listening again.
---
To the Blood
It wasn't sound. It wasn't language.
It was a rhythm—like heartbeats echoing in the void, like memory that pulsed in veins instead of minds.
Kalen could feel his father's blood.
It moved slower now. Tired.
The grief had rooted deep inside his chest like rot.
Eryk never spoke of it anymore, but his body did.
> The heart stuttered.
The lungs burned.
The muscles trembled when he thought no one saw.
Kalen saw. Always.
---
He wanted to reach out. To fix it.
He had healed animals before. He had even made a flower grow from a frozen root once.
But people were different. Their blood was more… complicated.
It carried things words could not.
Love. Rage. Regret.
And something else… something he couldn't understand yet.
He feared that if he touched his father's blood, it would break.
So instead, he just sat there.
And listened.
---
"I'm not her," Kalen whispered.
His voice was hoarse. He rarely used it.
It startled Eryk awake.
The man blinked, then slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked at his son.
> "What?"
Kalen repeated, "I'm not her."
> "I know that," Eryk said, softly. "But sometimes… when I look at you, it's like she's still here."
He hesitated, then added, "That's why it hurts."
Kalen looked down. His hands trembled.
> "I can feel you dying. A little more every day."
The room fell silent.
---
Then the snow outside cracked.
---
The First Threat Comes
Eryk was already moving, instinct overtaking sorrow.
He grabbed the steel-bladed spear hanging on the wall, already igniting his Aura—a fiery silver light surrounding his limbs. The floorboards shuddered beneath his steps.
Kalen stood by the door, frozen.
> "Stay inside," Eryk growled, voice sharp.
But Kalen didn't move. He could feel it too.
Blood. Big. Wrong. Twisted.
And hungry.
---
The trees outside split like splinters as something massive charged through the snow.
Its fur was matted with rot, its eyes glowing sickly green, its breath a stench of death and sulfur.
A 4-Star Corrupted Bear.
Once a king of the forest. Now a puppet of something darker.
Eryk lunged forward just as it roared.
His Aura flared, wreathing his spear in burning silver.
The air cracked as man and monster collided.
---
Kalen watched from the doorway.
He didn't blink. He didn't cry.
But inside, his blood screamed.
It called to him.
It whispered, not in fear—but in command.
He felt his father's pulse—fast, erratic, weakening.
Felt the bear's pulse—wild, chaotic, broken.
He understood them both.
---
The battle was brutal.
Eryk struck fast and precise, dancing through snow and teeth, his 3-Star Aura glowing like a ghost-light in the dark. He carved lines into the bear's flesh—
but it kept coming.
Its claws slashed deep. Eryk roared as blood sprayed from his side.
One more strike. One last desperate lunge—
The spear pierced the creature's heart.
The corrupted blood boiled, sizzled, and the beast finally collapsed, shaking the ground.
But Eryk fell too.
---
Kalen ran to him.
His hands hovered over the wound—his father's abdomen torn, ribs cracked, blood pooling fast. Too fast.
> "I can fix this," Kalen whispered. "I can…"
But fear gripped him.
What if he couldn't?
What if he did it wrong?
His blood thrummed in his ears. His hands glowed faint red. His own heartbeat slowed.
---
Then he felt something break.
Inside him.
Like a seal he never knew was there.
> "Let it in..."
The voice was his. And not.
The air around him turned heavy.
Time seemed to hesitate.
---
Kalen placed both hands on his father's wound.
The blood rose to meet him—not just Eryk's, but the traces of the bear's, still steaming on the ground.
They twined together, pulsed around his fingers, and then—shifted.
The wound closed.
Bone reknit. Flesh sealed. The pain remained, but the bleeding stopped.
Eryk gasped—alive. Barely.
He looked up at Kalen, eyes wide.
> "What… what are you?"
Kalen's red eyes glowed, but not like before. This was no child's glow.
This was the awakening of something deeper.
> "I'm yours," Kalen whispered. "And hers."
> "But not just that."
---
Far above, the Silent Witness turned all its eyes to the boy.
And for the first time in eons—
> It leaned closer.