bookpower Chapter 59 The Child who Could not Die
Chapter 59 The Child who Could not Die
Click.
The door swung open.
Ed barely had time to process the movement before Zareth barreled in—fast, urgent, and completely oblivious to the fact that Ed had just stepped out of the bath.
Ed, clad in nothing but a towel, blinked.
"Uh—?"
Then it happened.
A small puddle of water near the entrance. Zareth's foot hit it at full speed.
Slip.
Crash.
"Gah—!"
Zareth went down hard—straight into Ed.
Ed barely had time to curse before both of them hit the floor, limbs tangled, the breath knocked out of him.
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Oh! Sorry!"
A distinctly female voice.
The door slammed shut.
Ed froze.
No.
No, no, no—
Slowly, painfully, he turned his head.
"Zareth..." His voice was dangerously low.
Zareth, still sprawled across him, winced. "Uh..."
"Who. Was. That?"
Zareth hesitated. Then sighed. "...My sister."
Ed's stomach dropped.
"Your sister?"
"Yup."
A long pause.
"Zareth."
"Yeah?"
"Your only sister?"
"Yup." Zareth exhaled. "Vynesaa."
Of course, it was.
And now she had walked in on this absolute disaster.
Zareth opened his mouth, then closed it. Because, yeah.
That probably did look bad.
Ed covered his face with one hand.
Zareth sat up with a groan. "Eh, she probably doesn't care."
With a sigh, he shoved Zareth off and got to his feet.
"Alright, whatever. Why the hell did you come charging in like that anyway?" ed asked.
Zareth perked up, suddenly remembering why he was here in the first place.
"Oh! Right! I got permission from Father!" His grin returned. "You're allowed to train with us!"
That got Ed's attention.
He straightened. "Really?"
"Yup!"
A slow smile formed on Ed's face.
Finally.
His fur was white, blending into the snow around him, his breath weak and shallow.
He did not know how long he had been here.
Had he always been here?
No memories surfaced.
No warmth, no voices, no pack.
Only the howling wind and the vast stretch of white, endless and indifferent.
He was alone.
His small body trembled, but he did not whimper.
He did not yet know how.
The hunger came next.
A sharp, twisting ache in his belly, demanding something he did not have a name for.
He shifted, his paws unsteady beneath him. The snow clung to his fur, pressing against his skin like icy hands.
Instinct guided him forward.
The world was too big.
The trees stretched high into the sky, their dark silhouettes towering over.
The ground beneath the snow was uneven, hidden roots and stones threatening to trip him with every step.
He was weak. His legs wobbled. His breath came in short bursts.
Yet he moved.
Because he had to.
---
The first scent was blood.
A sharp, metallic tang that cut through the crisp air, awakening something deep inside him.
It made his mouth water, his paws move faster despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs.
Then he saw it.
A fox.
Sleek and red-furred, its body poised low to the ground. It held something in its jaws—a hare, limp and lifeless, the white fur stained with fresh crimson.
The fox's eyes, sharp and golden, flicked toward him.
The cub did not stop.
He did not yet understand danger.
Only hunger.
His small form stumbled forward, drawn by the scent, by the promise of something to fill the aching void in his belly.
The fox growled. A low, rumbling warning.
The cub did not understand.
He reached for the carcass, his teeth barely grazing the snow-stained fur—
A flash of movement.
A sharp snap.
Pain.
Blinding, searing pain erupted in his neck, a pressure that crushed down with terrifying strength.
He felt something warm spilling from his body, his limbs weakening, his vision fading—
And then—
Darkness.
Nothingness.
For the first time, he died.
---
And then he breathed.
His eyes opened.
He was lying in the snow, his body whole, untouched.
But the pain—the pain was still there.