Carl's hand still gripped the doorknob. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, lungs screaming as if he had sprinted a lifetime. His vision pulsed with the afterimages of nightmares—jaws snapping, shadows twisting, the cold silence of things not meant to be seen. But beyond the door lay no battlefield, no abyss, no beasts clawing at his throat—only the stone corridor of the palace.
And Kaela.
"Carl?" Her voice was soft—too soft—and it nearly undid him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Not a ghost, he thought. A thousand of them.
His knees threatened to give way. He stumbled forward, and Kaela caught him, her arms sliding under his, her strength steadier than the earth itself. She lowered him into a cushioned chair with practiced care. He tried to wave her off, to insist he was fine, but his hands trembled so violently he looked like a marionette with cut strings.
"Don't move," Kaela whispered. Her tone left no room for argument. She pulled a cloth from her satchel, dipped it into the nearby basin, and pressed it gently to his forehead.
Her touch was cool. Grounding. Human.
Carl's throat bobbed. His body still flinched with every brush, bracing for pain, but some desperate, starving part of him leaned into it. Her scent lingered—warm herbs and faint perfume—cutting through the reek of shadows that still clung to him like smoke.
"You look sick, Carl. What happened? You should've stayed in bed. I would have understood," she murmured, steadying his shaking hands in hers. Her thumb rubbed faint circles against his skin, as if she could coax the tremors away.
Carl's heart lurched. His mind screamed, Don't stare, don't look—but his eyes betrayed him, sliding to her lips as she leaned closer, tracing the faint line of her collarbone, drifting lower.
If I had full control of my body, I would've reached for her—consequences be damned. If she killed me for it, I'd die a happy man.
Heat rushed up his neck.
God, I need rehabilitation. And yet, lying here in her arms, breathing her scent, I feel safe. At peace. I appreciate you, Kaela. More than I can ever say.
But the words never left his lips.
And just as quickly, another thought cut through: If she knew what I've become, she'd run.
---
The silence shattered with a familiar chime.
> [Quest: Perform one act of romantic courtship.]
Carl froze. Heat surged to his face. "You've got to be kidding me."
Kaela blinked. "What?"
"N-Nothing." He waved his hands wildly, as if he could swat away the glowing text. "Absolutely nothing."
His shadow twitched along the floor, and Carl nearly jumped. It stretched toward Kaela's feet, curling like a curious animal.
He stomped his heel down on it. "Nope. Not today. We're not doing that."
Kaela tilted her head, a puzzled smile tugging at her lips. "You're acting stranger than usual."
Her hand brushed his cheek, cool against the fever burning beneath his skin. He wanted to recoil, to keep the last line of defense between them, but instead he leaned into her palm. Just for a moment. Just enough to breathe.
"See?" she whispered. "You're still here."
Carl's throat tightened. "Sorry we can't take that walk I promised," he said, guilt threading through his voice.
"It's fine. There's no way I'd let you walk in this condition anyway." Her tone softened, laced with worry. "What you need is food and rest."
He managed a shaky smile. "I'm sure you're hungry too. What would you like to eat?"
"Anything is fine." She hesitated, her usual confidence faltering. "I'm not picky."
She sounded different—softer, almost unlike herself.
"All right. Stay put. I'll be back with something."
She rose to leave. His heart melted at the sight of her—the grace in her steps, the divine generosity evident in every curve. She carried herself like someone unaware of her own beauty, and perhaps that was what undid him most.
"Hey, Kaela…" His voice cracked, breaking free before he could stop it. "You look amazing."
Kaela froze mid-step, her face flushing crimson.
He noticed.
"Th… tha… thanks, Carl. Just sit tight." She fled the room with uncharacteristic clumsiness, the sound of her boots echoing against the stone.
---
When she returned later with food, Carl almost laughed. She kept sneaking glances at him, as though afraid he'd vanish if she blinked. Her usual sharp demeanor was gone, replaced by something tentative, almost shy. He forced a crooked smile, cracking a joke about her cooking to ease the tension. Her soft laugh struck him like a spark in a cave.
She's the only thing that feels real anymore.
They ate together in a silence that wasn't empty but heavy with unspoken things. Kaela busied herself with fussing—adjusting the tray, pouring water, brushing crumbs off his sleeve. Each small gesture carried more weight than she likely realized.
Carl studied her in those quiet moments. The way her lashes lowered when she smiled. The faint dimple in her cheek. The determination in her posture, like she was daring the world to hurt him again and promising to stand in its way.
For a brief, fleeting heartbeat, he allowed himself to believe this—her presence, her warmth—might be enough to anchor him.
But then his gaze slid to the window. His reflection stared back at him. For a heartbeat, his shadow wasn't beside him at all. It loomed behind Kaela, leaning close, its mouth poised at her ear as if whispering secrets Carl could never bear to hear.
His stomach churned. He tore his eyes away, bile rising in his throat.
Kaela noticed. "Carl? What is it?" Her hand hovered near his arm, uncertain.
"Nothing," he lied. "Just… tired."
The System's timer ticked in the corner of his vision, heralding the next trial. Numbers descending, cold and merciless.
But Carl's last thought wasn't about survival.
It was about Kaela. About her warmth. About the hunger in his shadow.
If the darkness wants her too… how long until I give in?