“I don’t understand what you mean,” Garrett said, his voice low and cautious.
Those black, sightless pits turned toward the sound of my breathing, tracking me with unsettling precision.
“Sit down first,” I replied.
“Then I’ll explain.” The words had barely left my mouth when something cold pressed against my neck.
A pen.
I blinked.
Seriously?
He’d grabbed it from the bedside table.
The one I used for keeping notes.
He was threatening me with a pen.
“Don’t!” I shouted.
Theo froze halfway across the room, his small body coiled like a spring.
His eyes had gone bright and I could feel the power radiating off him in waves.
He was my Luminary.
Protecting me was practically engraved into his soul.
Even in the body of a child, he was more than capable of sending this blind, half-dead man through the wall if I gave the order.
“But—” Theo protested, his voice cracking with barely restrained violence.
“No, Theo.” He pouted.
Actually pouted.
“But he’s hurting you.” “He’s holding a pen to my neck.
There’s a difference.” “It’s still a weapon!” “It’s a writing instrument.” Theo’s eyes narrowed.
“It could still—” “Theo.” “…Okay.” He replied with a pout.
The stranger never lowered the pen.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice sharp.
“And what exactly is that child?” I didn’t flinch.
Couldn’t afford to.
“I am your benefactor,” I replied flatly.
“And that child is the one who saved your life.” His brows knitted together—the only part of his face I could still read.
His eyes remained those twin pools of absolute black, the corruption writhing beneath the surface like restless smoke.
“Saved me?” “Yes.” “Then why can’t I see?” I sighed.
“Because whatever infected you was feeding on your eyes.” His grip tightened ever so slightly.
The pen pressed harder.
“What do you mean?” “When Theo found you, you were drowning in demonic corruption.
Your body was barely alive.
The corruption had spread everywhere—your blood, your organs, your bones.” I paused, watching his expression harden.
“But it had gathered most heavily around your eyes.” I frowned.
“It was almost as though it wanted to devour them.” The man fell silent.
“No…” His voice was barely a whisper.
“That’s impossible.” “Impossible or not, that’s what happened.” “I was never in the Abyss.” I blinked.
“You don’t have to visit the Abyss to encounter demonic corruption.” His jaw tightened.
“I remember being stabbed.” “So you do remember something.” “I was stabbed with a knife.” “Then there’s your answer.” He frowned.
“What?” I rubbed my forehead.
“The knife was corrupted.” He remained silent.
“The demonic energy entered your body through the wound,” I continued.
“If Theo hadn’t found you when he did, it would have spread until there was nothing left to save.” The room fell quiet.
Theo shifted awkwardly, his anger slowly deflating into something more anxious.
“I only brought you here because you looked like you were dying,” he muttered.
“You were bleeding everywhere.
It was really gross.” Garrett ignored him completely.
Instead, he took a step closer.
The pen pressed more firmly against my neck, the wood digging into my skin.
“So tell me…” His voice was calm.
“What did you do to me?” I stared at him.
Was he serious?
“I saved your life.” “My sight.” “I told you already.” “My sight.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“If you ask me that one more time, I’m going to assume the corruption reached your brain too.” His expression darkened.
“Answer me.” “Ow.” The tip of the pen dug into my skin, sharp and insistent.
“Would you stop poking me with that thing?” “I said answer me.” I glared at him—not that he could see it.
“Is this really how you thank the person who dragged you back from death?” Silence.
“I exhausted myself healing you before that corruption could consume your soul, and the first thing your fish brain does after waking up is hold a pen to my neck.” His eyebrow twitched.
“Fish brain?” “Yes.” “You should be more careful with your words.” “You should be more grateful.” His voice dropped another degree.
“Don’t forget.” The pen remained against my throat.
“I’m the one holding the weapon.” I looked down at the pen.
Then back at him.
“…It’s a pen.” “I could still kill you.” I rolled my eyes so hard they almost hurt.
“Really?
Then go ahead.” He frowned.
“I wonder what the Goddess would say when she finds out the man she saved repaid her by killing her Sol.” Silence.
“I also wonder what the Church would do to you.” I shrugged.
“Although, if I’m being honest, you’d probably be doing me a favor.” I let out a tired sigh.
“I’m rather exhausted from being the Goddess’s lapdog anyway.” A quiet laugh escaped him.
It wasn’t warm.
It was mocking—sharp and hollow, like breaking glass.
I frowned.
What was so funny?
More importantly…
Why was the pen still against my neck?
“I may be blind,” he said, “but I’m not stupid.” “Glad to know.” I folded my arms.
“Can we move on now?” His expression remained guarded, those black pits fixed on the general direction of my face.
“Who are you?” I stared at him.
Then sighed.
“I really should’ve healed your brain too.” His brows drew together.
“…What?” “I don’t think the demonic corruption stopped at your eyes.” He frowned.
“What are you talking about?” “I mean,” I said patiently, “if your brain wasn’t affected, there’s no reason you should keep asking the same question.” He actually looked offended.
“You think I sound stupid?” “I think you’re proving it.” A short, incredulous laugh escaped him.
“At least I’m not pretending to be the Sol.” “I wasn’t pretending.” I shrugged.
“I simply told you who I am.” “You expect me to believe that?” “I expect nothing.” I rubbed the back of my neck.
“You can believe whatever you want.
It doesn’t make much difference to me.” For the first time since waking up, he seemed genuinely confused.
Almost as though he had expected me to argue.
To defend myself.
To plead and beg and prove my identity with some grand display of divine power.
Instead, I simply looked at the pen still resting against my throat.
“…Can you move this now?” He didn’t answer.
His face had gone slack, those black pits staring at nothing while his mind churned somewhere behind them.
Before anyone could say another word, Theo sniffed the air.
“Syly…” His eyes widened.
“The soup!” I blinked.
Then sniffed.
A familiar, acrid smell filled the room—the unmistakable scent of burning broth, scorched vegetables, and ruined dinner.
My eyes widened.
“My soup!” I gently pushed the pen away.
This time, Garrett didn’t stop me.
He let his hand drop, the pen clattering to the floor, his expression still dazed.
“Oh, come on,” I muttered as I hurried toward the kitchen.
“Even you can smell it.” Behind me, I heard Theo’s footsteps following.
“Syly, is it bad?” “Yes, Theo.
It’s bad.” “How bad?” “It’s burnt bad.” “Oh.” By the time I reached the stove, the bottom of the pot had already begun to blacken.
The broth had reduced to a thick, scorched paste, and the vegetables were little more than charred lumps at the bottom.
I stared at it.
All that work.
All that careful stirring.
All those hours watching over the pot ruined.
By a blind man with a pen.
I let out a long, defeated sigh.
“I knew I shouldn’t have helped him,” I said angrily.
Theo appeared at my elbow, peering into the pot with wide eyes.
“Can we still eat it?” “No.” “Not even a little bit?” “No.” “But I’m hungry.” “Then you should have thought about that before you stole all the supper buns.” Theo’s face crumpled.
“That’s not fair.” “Life isn’t fair.” I grabbed the pot and carried it to the sink, scraping the burnt remains into a bucket.
“Now I have to cook for three people.
And one of them is ungrateful.”