The raw storm of tears and shared confessions gradually faded away, leaving behind a gentle quiet that filled the small room like a soft blanket after a long storm, wrapping around them in a way that felt both comforting and heavy with unspoken promises.
The alley outside had grown even darker, the last faint glow of sunset slipping into the night, replaced by the dim flicker of scattered lanterns along the third-level streets, casting long shadows that danced like silent watchers on the walls.
A few nosy neighbors still lingered near their doors, stealing glances at the home where the fight had unfolded, their faces a mix of curiosity and caution, but they scattered quickly when Anna shot a sharp look their way, pulling the thin curtain over the window as she helped David settle more comfortably on his mat inside.
The familiar smell of old wood and lingering herbal salve hung in the air, a reminder that, despite the chaos of the day, this was their safe spot, their tiny corner in a world full of threats.
Anna propped David up with their one worn pillow, the fabric threadbare from years of use, and stepped to the small stove to boil water for tea—a simple ritual she turned to on hard days like this, something to keep her hands busy while her mind sorted through the tangle of feelings that threatened to spill over again.
The pills were doing their job; the sharp stabs of pain in his ribs had eased to a dull pulse, and he could sense the physique quietly speeding up the healing process—bones mending, bruises lightening, all without him needing to draw on death energy openly.
He flexed his fingers under the blanket, testing the limits without making it obvious, thinking to himself how this new power was like a hidden ally, working in the shadows to make him whole again, and how in just three days, maybe even sooner, he'd be back on his feet, ready to face the wilderness once more.
Anna busied herself with the tea, dropping dried leaves into two chipped cups—their last bit of calming herb, saved for moments when nerves were frayed and sleep seemed far away.
The steam rose slowly, carrying a faint, earthy scent that mixed with the room's musty air, creating a bubble of calm amid the base's distant noises.
She glanced at David now and then, her eyes still soft with that mix of worry and quiet pride, but beneath it all, a fragility she rarely let show—a crack in the armor she had worn for so many years, the weight of being the sole shield for her son finally pressing down hard after seeing him bleed for her sake.
As the water simmered down, the talk shifted from the deep emotions to the everyday matters of survival—the way it always did in their life, because dwelling too long on feelings could make you soft in a place where softness got you killed—but tonight, Anna's voice carried a tremor she couldn't quite hide.
David spoke first, his words coming out slow and thoughtful, breaking the quiet like a gentle ripple in a still pond.
"Three days from now," he murmured, his mind already picturing the path ahead, the feel of the dirt under his boots, the weight of a new blade in his hand, thinking how the time would pass quickly if he kept his focus on healing and planning.
"That's when I'll be truly ready to move. The pills are helping more than I thought they would, and this... this strength inside me, it's mending things quicker than usual. We can head out then, get away from here for a while, chase those cores we need."
Anna paused in pouring the water, her hand unsteady for a moment, spilling a drop on the stove where it hissed softly—a small sound that seemed loud in the quiet room.
She handed him the cup with care, her fingers lingering on his as if afraid to let go, her eyes searching his face with a vulnerability that made her look younger, more fragile, than the strong hunter she always presented to the world.
"Three days," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, sitting close beside his mat, closer than usual, as if needing the reassurance of his presence, her thoughts flooded with images of him crumpled on the ground earlier that day, blood on his lips, and the terror that had gripped her heart like icy fingers. "David... are you truly sure?
I watch you sit up straighter, move a little easier, but I still see the shadow of pain in your eyes when you think I'm not looking.
Those ribs—they were broken badly. And that shoulder... it should still hurt to lift your arm. You're healing so fast it frightens me.
It's like... like some old bloodline has woken in you, something powerful and hidden, but I can't help wondering if it's taking a toll I can't see.
Tell me honestly—does it ache deep inside? Are you pushing through hurt just to make me feel better? Because if you are... gods, I couldn't bear it if something happened to you out there because I let you go too soon.
Her words spilled out longer than she intended, her voice cracking on the last part, eyes glistening again as the vulnerability broke through—the strong woman who had faced beasts and bandits alone now laying bare her deepest fear: losing the only light in her hard life.
David took the cup, feeling the warmth, and met her gaze, seeing the raw openness there, the way her usual armor had slipped, revealing the scared mother beneath who had carried everything alone for so long.
"I'm not hiding the worst of it," he said gently, choosing his words with care, knowing he couldn't reveal the full truth yet but wanting to ease the fear he saw trembling in her. "There's still some ache when I breathe too deep, a pull in the shoulder if I reach wrong. But it's fading—truly fading faster than before.
Maybe it is a bloodline, something buried that needed the right push to wake. I feel it helping, like a quiet current inside, fixing what William broke. But I promise—if it ever hurts too much, or feels wrong, you'll be the first to know. I won't risk us. Not after today. Not after seeing how much it hurt you to watch me bleed."
Anna's hand tightened on his, her grip almost desperate, tears threatening again as the day's terror replayed in her mind—the moment she thought he might fall and never rise, the helplessness of watching her child take blows meant for her.
"I was so scared," she admitted, her voice breaking fully now, the vulnerability pouring out like water from a cracked vessel, words tumbling in a rush she couldn't stop.
"When you charged him... when I saw the blood, heard your breaths come short... it felt like the world stopped. All these years I've been the one bleeding, coming home half-dead from hunts just to keep food on our table, coins in our pouch.
I told myself it was worth it, that as long as you were safe, I could bear anything. But today... seeing you hurt for my sake... it broke something in me, David.
I felt useless, weak. What good is all my strength if I can't protect you anymore? If my presence brings danger to you?
This power in you—bloodline or whatever it is—it's a blessing, but it terrifies me too. What if it demands too much? What if it changes you in ways I can't follow? You're all I have left in this cruel place. If I lost you..."
She trailed off, a tear slipping down her cheek, her usual composure shattered, revealing the depth of her loneliness, her fear, her overwhelming love that had carried her through years of hardship.
David set his cup aside, reaching to pull her into a careful embrace, mindful of his ribs, feeling that strange warmth surge stronger—tender, protective, confusing—but letting it guide him as he held her close.
"You won't lose me," he whispered, his voice firm despite the emotion choking him, thinking how her vulnerability made his resolve burn brighter, how he would master this power not just for himself, but to shield her from ever feeling this fear again.
"This strength—bloodline, gift, whatever—it woke because of you.
Because I couldn't stand seeing you threatened. It's not taking from me; it's giving me what I need to stand beside you, not behind you. We'll hunt together. Rise together. Three days, Mom. And then we take the next step—away from William, toward something better."
Anna clung to him for a long moment, her tears dampening his shirt, the vulnerability lingering but easing under his words, her curiosity about his power mixing with grateful relief.
"Three days," she whispered finally, pulling back to wipe her eyes, a shaky smile breaking through. "West Side Gate. Longer road, but safer. Beast Core Valley. We'll bring back enough for that blade... and more."
David smiled, the plan solidifying between them.
"West Side," he agreed. "No looking back."
Anna leaned close once more, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead—longer this time, full of lingering fear and boundless love.
"Rest now," she murmured. "We'll be ready."
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