“Syly, do you think the mister is going to wake up today?” Theo sat on the kitchen table, swinging his legs with the restless energy of a child who had never learned to sit still.
A bun dangled from his mouth, half-eaten, crumbs scattering across his lap like snow.
I stood by the stove, stirring a pot of soup.
The steam carried the scent of herbs and root vegetables—simple fare, but warm.
Filling.
The kind of meal that reminded you that you were still alive.
The man Theo had dragged into our lives hadn’t stirred since the day I’d healed him.
A week had passed.
At first, I’d worried he was dead.
There were moments—deep in the night—when I’d found myself staring at his chest, waiting for the next rise.
Counting the seconds between each breath.
But he wasn’t dead.
His heart beat.
Steady.
Rhythmic.
His lungs filled and emptied with the slow, patient cadence of deep sleep.
His body was alive.
His mind, however, seemed to be somewhere else entirely.
He existed in that strange, liminal space between life and death—a place I knew too well.
I’d seen it before, in soldiers too broken to return, in villagers too traumatized to wake.
The body healed, but the spirit lingered in the dark, unwilling or unable to find its way back.
I had managed to save his life.
Bringing back his consciousness was another matter entirely.
Whether he woke up now depended on him.
On his will.
On whatever thread of determination still bound him to this world.
If it was strong enough, he would return.
If it wasn’t…
Well.
He could stay like this for years.
Hopefully not.
That would be inconvenient.
His wounds had mostly healed—the gashes on his torso had closed into pink, puckered scars, and the deep stab wound beneath his ribs had sealed shut.
But the corruption in his eyes remained.
That was the real problem.
The demonic energy lodged inside them was unlike anything I’d encountered before.
It was stronger.
Denser.
More stubborn.
The corruption had pooled in his eye sockets like ink, swallowing every trace of white and color.
Where his irises should have been, there was only blackness—thick, roiling, alive.
It moved when I looked at it, coiling and pulsing with a sickly rhythm.
Almost as if it were feeding on him.
Trying to consume him entirely.
Even with his eyes closed, I could see it seeping through his lids, dark veins spreading across his temples like cracks in porcelain.
Every day, I fed small amounts of divine energy into him to slow the spread.
The process was working.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
At this rate, it would take months.
Maybe years.
I didn’t have years.
Eventually, I would have to leave this place and return to the real world and when that happened, there was absolutely no way I was bringing an unconscious stranger with me.
Especially not an alpha.
Just imagining the reaction of the temple made me tired.
The priests would never stop talking.
The clerics would probably follow me around for months, asking questions, offering unsolicited advice, treating me like a child who’d brought home a stray dog.
I was already going to get an earful for disappearing.
Bringing home a mysterious injured alpha would somehow make everything worse.
No.
The best solution was to wait for him to wake up.
Once he was conscious, I could send him on his way.
Simple.
Clean.
And if he didn’t wake up?
I would deal with that problem later.
Preferably much later.
“You didn’t answer me, Syly.” Theo grabbed another bun from the plate.
I glanced at him.
“Are you planning on eating all of those?” “You said I could.” “I said you could eat them.” Theo frowned.
“Isn’t that the same thing?” “No.” “It sounds like the same thing.” I pointed toward the plate.
“There was a whole stack there a minute ago.” Theo looked at the single remaining bun.
Then back at me.
Then back at the bun.
“You think I’m responsible for that?” “Yes.” His face filled with outrage.
“Do you think I’m a whale?” I looked at the empty plate.
Then at him.
Then back at the empty plate.
“Yes.” “The audacity.” Theo immediately snatched the last bun and bolted off the table.
His bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as he made a break for the door.
My eyes widened.
“Theo.” He kept running.
“Theo.” He reached the threshold.
“Theo!” “Leave me alone!” He burst through the door and vanished into the morning light.
Little thief.
“No lunch for you today!” I shouted after him.
Theo stopped so abruptly that he nearly tripped over his own feet.
He spun around, his eyes already turning watery.
“What?” “No lunch.” His lower lip trembled.
“But—” “Give it back.” “I already ate it.” I stared at him.
“What?” Theo blinked innocently.
“I already ate it.” I looked at his empty hands.
Then at his face.
Then at his stomach.
How?
The conversation had barely lasted a few seconds.
There was no way— “How did you already eat it?” “Because it was delicious.” I was speechless.
“That’s your reason?” “It’s not my fault you make good food.” Theo folded his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“I couldn’t help myself.” I closed my eyes.
“The buns were for supper.” “Then why are you making supper buns now?” Theo said asked “No one likes cold buns.” “Then make your own.” Theo gasped dramatically.
“How could I possibly do that?” “I don’t know.
Try.” “I’m just a child.” “You only remember you’re a child when it’s convenient.” Theo pointed accusingly at me.
“I am a child.” “You eat like a whale.” “I’m not a whale!” “I admire your lack of self-awareness.” “I’m not a whale!” “That’s exactly what a whale would say.” Theo looked scandalized.
“A whale is a fish.” “And?” “Fish can’t talk.” I paused.
“Can you talk?” Theo stared at me.
“I am literally talking to you right now.” I looked around thoughtfully.
“That’s strange.” Theo narrowed his eyes.
“What is?” “I thought I heard a voice.” I tilted my head, pretending to listen.
“Turns out it was just a whale making noise.” Theo let out a cry of outrage and chased after me as I returned to the kitchen.
I couldn’t help laughing—a rare, genuine sound that bubbled up from somewhere deep.
Theo’s indignation was always entertaining.
It was impossible to stay serious around him.
For the next few minutes, he followed me around complaining about being compared to a whale while I checked on the soup.
The broth had thickened nicely.
The vegetables were soft.
I added a pinch of salt and stirred it through.
Then— A loud crash echoed through the house.
Something heavy hit the floor.
Theo and I froze.
Slowly, we turned toward the hallway.
The sound had come from my room.
The room where the stranger was sleeping.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Theo’s eyes widened.
“Syly…” I was already setting down the spoon.
The stranger had finally woken up.
I moved through the hallway without thinking.
My feet carried me forward, my heart thudding against my ribs.
Behind me, I heard Theo’s footsteps—soft, hesitant.
The door to my room stood ajar.
I pushed it open.
The scene that greeted me was chaos.
The stranger was on the floor.
He had apparently tried to get out of bed and failed, collapsing in a heap of tangled sheets and limbs.
His chest heaved.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
One hand was pressed against the floor, trying to push himself up, but his arm trembled violently beneath his weight.
His eyes were open.
And they were wrong.
Two pools of absolute blackness stared back at me—no white, no iris, no pupil.
Just darkness.
Thick, oily darkness that seemed to swallow the light around it.
The corruption had consumed his eyes entirely.
It moved, ever so slightly.
He couldn’t see me.
He couldn’t see anything.
And yet his head turned toward the sound of my footsteps with uncanny precision.
“Where—” His voice cracked, raw and hoarse from disuse.
“Where am I?” I didn’t answer immediately.
Behind me, Theo let out a small, frightened sound.
The stranger’s head snapped toward the noise, those black pits somehow seeming to focus.
“Theo,” I said quietly.
“Stay here.” Theo stood by the door.
“Where am I?” the stranger repeated, stronger this time.
His hand found the bedpost and he pulled himself upright, swaying dangerously.
“Who are you?
Why can’t I—” He stopped.
His free hand came up to his face, fingers brushing against his eyelids.
“Why can’t I see?” I moved close to him trying to help him stand still.
“It’s the corruption,” I said, keeping my voice calm.
“It’s taken your sight.” His fingers pressed harder against his eyes, as if trying to rub away the darkness.
“Corruption?
What are you talking about about?”