Two days passed.
The storm outside weakened gradually, turning harsh winds into soft flurries. Leo and Milo grew a little stronger each morning, returning to their tiny mischievous selves. And in that time, the den felt… peaceful.
Silas had relaxed enough to smile again.
Evan hummed while cooking, lightness returning to his steps.
And Kael—Kael moved with a new gentleness, shadowing the cubs like a silent guardian.
But beneath his quiet smiles, the guilt lingered like a stubborn bruise.
....
As the morning slipped gently into the den, bringing with it a faint gold glow and the sound of little bodies wriggling beneath blankets. Leo and Milo—so tiny, so energetic—were already restored enough to be restless. Their bright eyes peeked out, full of mischief. Their ears twitched, tails tapped impatient rhythms against the stone floor.
Kael noticed everything.
He had been sitting at the edge of the bedding for hours, legs folded neatly beneath him, back stiff and straight—as if he feared that relaxing even a little would make him careless again. His gaze tracked every tiny movement the cubs made: every cough, every wriggle, every sigh. He inhaled only when they did. He only blinked once he was certain they didn't need him.
He still carried the blame like a chain around his chest.
Silas and Evan had assured him again and again that the fever wasn't his fault, but guilt clung to Kael like a second skin—silent, heavy, unshakable.
Leo tackled Milo for a moment before peeking up with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
"Uncle Kael… we feel better."
Milo nodded dramatically. "Much better."
Kael's smile was gentle but strained. "That's good. But you still need to rest. Evan said—"
Both cubs collapsed onto the blanket as if struck dead.
Kael blinked.
…Yes. They were definitely back to normal.
---
Evan wrapped a soft fur around his shoulders and crossed the den to Kael.
"I'll go bathe quickly. The new herbs smell amazing—but I can't stand this stickiness anymore. I still don't know how Silas never smells."
Silas's voice floated over from the wooden shelves, smooth as ever: "I heard that."
Evan's laugh was warm enough to melt frost. "You always do."
Silas finished tying the water buckets around the wooden log . His sharp emerald gaze passed over Kael—not unkindly anymore, not like the first days, but steady and expectant.
"I'll fetch the drinking water from the stream. Keep an eye on them."
Kael nodded immediately, too fast. "I will. I promise."
Evan stepped close enough for Kael to feel the warmth of his breath, then squeezed Kael's arm gently. "You've been doing great."
The praise hit Kael so deeply he almost forgot how to breathe. His lungs caught, his throat tightened—not painfully, but with something foreign. Something warm.
He… trusts me.
I must not disappoint him.
Kael bowed his head slightly. "I'll watch them carefully."
And then Evan disappeared into the upper bathing chamber, Silas out into the white forest.
The den grew quiet.
For four seconds.
---
"Uncle Kael," Milo whispered, face innocently blank.
Kael tensed.
Oh no. Trouble is here.
"Uncle Kaaael," Leo echoed, stretching the name into a tragic wail.
Kael turned slowly.
Two small faces stared at him with the full power of childhood manipulation—wide eyes, trembling lips, and a carefully calculated mixture of helplessness and charm.
"No," Kael said immediately. "Whatever it is—no."
"But it's cold inside," Leo whined.
"And warm outside!" Milo insisted.
Kael's brows furrowed. "…The opposite is true."
Seeing his hesitation—just a flicker—the cubs exchanged a victorious glance. Their plan was working. After all, Uncle Kael was the softhearted one. The easiest to trick. Their favorite target.
They advanced.
"Noooo…" Leo flopped onto his back dramatically. "Unclr Kael, please! Just a tiny play outside!"
"A tiny one!" Milo echoed, rolling on top of him.
Kael blinked sleepily. "No. You both still need rest."
Leo sat up next, eyes watery and pleading. "But we feel better…"
Kael shook his head. "Not until Evan and Silas say so."
Silence.
Dangerous, coordinated silence.
Then—
They unleashed their ultimate weapon.
Leo sniffed softly. "Uncle Kael doesn't love us anymore."
Milo sniffed louder. "He doesn't care. He won't play with us at all."
Kael froze.
The words struck him in his softest place—an old wound no one knew existed, tender and unprotected.
No… not that. Don't say that. Not you two. You're the only warmth I've ever known…
His fingers tightened painfully against his thighs.
Leo peeked through his lashes, seeing the crack in Kael's composure.
"Uncle Kael… you don't like us?"
Milo delivered the killing blow: "We'll sleep alone from now on…"
Kael fell apart instantly.
"I—I do like you. More than anything." His voice trembled. "Please don't say that…"
The cubs exchanged smug, tiny grins of victory.
Kael sighed in defeat. "Fine. Only a little. And only if you ride. You don't walk."
Squeals erupted instantly.
Kael's chest ached with helpless affection—and fear.
"But only a few minutes," he warned. "Only."
---
Outside, the snow drifted down in soft sheets, layering the forest floor in fresh white. The air stung, cold and crisp, but Kael warmed his skin with a flicker of magic before shifting.
His bones reshaped with a ripple. Muscles flowed like water. Midnight fur spread over his skin.
A sleek black panther stood in place of the young orc.
The cubs scrambled onto his back with delighted shrieks.
"Okay," Kael rumbled in his deep panther voice. "Just a slow walk."
He padded carefully, every pawstep measured. Every breath cautious.
But the moment the gust of winter touched their faces—
The cubs leaped off his back and dove into the snow.
"No—hey—wait—!" Kael spun in panic.
But then…
He heard Milo screech-laugh as he rolled.
He saw Leo leaping from footprint to footprint, tail wagging.
Their joy echoed like tiny bells through the clearing.
And Kael…
Kael laughed.
A soft, breathy sound. The first real one in… years, maybe.
They're happy. They're safe. Just this once… it's okay.
He hovered, always within lunging distance. His tail twitched every few seconds in anxiety.
But he allowed himself—just a little—to enjoy their happiness.
---
Silas was halfway back to the cave when he heard it.
Laughter.
Children's laughter.
His heart froze.
No. They can't be outside. Not now. Not after—
He sprinted. Water sloshed from the bucket he was carrying. His pulse thundered in his ears.
When he burst into the clearing—
—his world tilted.
Leo and Milo were rolling in the snow, shrieking with joy.
Kael, in panther form, stood helplessly beside them, anxiety all over his stance.
Silas's heart leaped into his throat.
Fear swallowed his breath whole.
Fear, sharp as a knife, disguised instantly as fury.
"KAEL!"
Kael jerked upright as if struck. The cubs froze mid-giggle.
Silas stormed forward, eyes blazing, voice shaking.
"How—HOW can you be so careless!?"
His words cut through the frosty air like a whip.
Kael lowered his head immediately, tail curling inward.
Silas pointed at the cubs, voice cracking. "They JUST recovered! Evan and I left them with you for ONE moment—one moment—and you take them OUTSIDE!?"
Kael shifted back to his human form mid-step, stumbling as his feet touched the snow barefoot.
"I—I didn't mean— I only let them ride! I swear, they said—"
Silas stepped closer, voice trembling with fear masked in rage.
"You caused it once," he whispered, breath fogging. "Do you want it to happen again?"
Kael froze.
The snow fell silently between them.
His eyes dimmed, all light draining out.
His shoulders slowly collapsed inward, like a structure crumbling.
Silas's words weren't meant to stab—but they did. Deep. Too deep.
Kael's voice barely left his throat. "I… caused it…"
Silas inhaled sharply as regret flickered across his eyes—but he was too terrified to soften.
He scooped Leo and Milo into his arms.
"Inside. Now."
The cubs didn't argue.
Silas carried them away, never meeting Kael's eyes again.
Kael stood alone in the falling snow.
---
Snow gathered quietly at Kael's feet.
His breath shook.
His hands trembled.
His eyes burned.
I… caused it.
I made them sick. I put them in danger again.
I'm a burden. A problem. I don't deserve to stay. I should leave before I ruin more.
He pressed a hand to his mouth, shoulders curling inward.
The den behind him glowed with warmth and light.
But outside…
Kael felt nothing but cold.
Cold, and an ache so deep it hollowed his chest.
And in the silent snowfall, with Silas's words echoing in his bones—
Kael made up his mind.
If he stayed…
He'd only hurt them again.
He turned away from the den.
And stepped deeper into the snow-covered woods.
---