Chapter 107 ‒ Breath of Ash
Frank’s body convulsed violently atop the table, the divine flower’s power tearing through him like wildfire in dry grass. His back arched so far it seed his spine might snap, his jaw wrenched open in a silent, ragged scream.
Cracks spread across the bark-like plates clinging to his skin. One by one, they split and peeled away, revealing raw flesh beneath — steaming, trembling, alive. Black sap hissed and dribbled down, each drop bubbling as it struck the floor.
His veins glowed faintly, threading under his skin like molten wires. Vines shrivelled and snapped, curling back into shrivelled knots before disintegrating into ash. The stench of char and rot filled the lab, making Anne gag and Tyler reel backward, one hand instinctively gripping his weapon.
Frank’s eyelids fluttered, the faintest sign of awareness sparking behind glazed pupils. His fingertips twitched on the table’s edge, as if grasping for sothing he couldn’t yet see.
Frank clawed at the table’s edge, nails cracking, his voice no longer a human cry but a strangled, primal roar that rattled the glass vials lining the shelves. The sound tore at Anne’s heart, each second stretching into an eternity.
Finally, with one last explosive shudder, Frank’s head slamd back onto the table. His body slackened, steam rising from patches of his raw, trembling skin. Slowly — painfully slowly — his eyes fluttered open, no longer hollow and pale, but bright and human once more.
Frank’s body trembled violently even after the last shards of bark fell away. His chest heaved in uneven, ragged waves, each breath clawing up his throat like broken glass. He retched violently, thick black sap splashing onto the floor in wet, sickening splatters.
Anne staggered forward, hands hovering over him, her fingers shaking too hard to touch.
“Father… breathe… please…” she whispered, her voice cracking into fragnts.
Frank’s fingers twitched, clawing at the edge of the table as if searching for sothing to anchor him. His lips parted in gasping whimpers, small trails of steam rising from his skin as if he were still burning inside.
Anne finally pressed a damp cloth against his forehead, her knuckles white with tension. “You’re okay… you’re here… I’m here…”
Anne stood frozen, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Then she stumbled forward, falling against the table, her hands grasping his shoulders.
“Father… Father!” Her voice cracked, dissolving into choked sobs. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… for hitting you… for everything…”
Frank’s gaze trembled, pupils darting as if he struggled to piece together what he was seeing. Then, with a trembling hand, he reached up and gently patted her head.
“Anne…” His voice was brittle, every syllable a shard of glass, but it carried warmth that hadn’t been there in years.
Anne pressed her forehead against his chest, her shoulders shaking. Frank’s fingers tangled awkwardly into her hair, as if relearning the simple act of comfort.
“I… I should have been stronger,” Anne sobbed into his chest. “I should have found a way to save you sooner. I was so scared… so useless… I even hit you… I hated myself every second…”
Frank’s hand paused, then slid shakily down to her cheek. He tilted her face up with clumsy gentleness, his thumb smudging away her tears.
“You… saved , Anne,” he rasped, each word slow and fragile. “You were never useless… you were my strength… when I had none left.”
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Anne’s fingers curled into his coat, her body curling in as if to beco smaller, to disappear into him. A choked sound fell from her throat, neither sob nor scream — just pure, wordless grief and relief entwined.
Tyler turned away slightly, his eyes lowering to the floor. Family… warmth… A fleeting image of Milo’s grin flashed across his mind, piercing him sharper than any blade. Why does it always feel so far away?
He rembered the evenings when Milo would sprawl across his bed, complaining about the burnt fish Tyler tried to cook. The soft hush of shared laughter under broken stars. The warmth of soone leaning against his shoulder without fear.
Tyler’s knuckles tightened until they blanched.
I’ve rebuilt towns, liberated strongholds… and yet…
A sharp ache pulsed in his chest, deeper than any wound. No matter what I build, I still stand alone in the end. Watching. Yearning.
A hush spread over the room. The only sounds were Anne’s muffled sobs and Frank’s raspy breaths, the weight of survival settling like dust on old shelves.
Frank finally drew in a deep, rattling breath and looked up at Tyler.
“…Thank you,” he whispered. “You saved … but…”
He grimaced, shuddering at the mory still writhing through his nerves.
“It felt like… being incinerated from the inside. My bones, my veins… it all burned,” he rasped. His eyes flicked to Anne, haunted. “I wouldn’t wish that on even my worst enemy. We can’t use it directly like this… it would be torture.”
Anne lifted her head, tears smudged across her cheeks. “Then… what do we do? There has to be another way!”
Frank closed his eyes for a mont, mind turning. “If we crush the flower petals you had fed , and mix them with certain reagents… we might dilute the burning effect while preserving the curing properties. Create a stabilized liquid form — sothing drinkable or injectable.”
“But,” he continued, eyes sharpening, “it would be almost impossible to treat every infected one by one. We’d run out of ti — and supplies — before we even cleared a single street.”
“Even if we had endless supplies,” Frank continued, “approaching each infected one by one would be suicide. They would overwhelm us long before we could help them.”
Tyler shifted forward, his fingers drumming lightly on the table’s edge. “What if… instead of injecting, we used a gas? An airborne cure, dispersed over them all at once.”
Anne’s eyes widened, turning toward Tyler. “A… gas?”
Frank’s brows furrowed, his mind whirring even in his weakened state. “A vaporized dium… theoretically, it could work. The corrupted sap would absorb it through the vines and bark-like tissues. But… it would require stabilizing agents, cooling components to mitigate internal burning…”
Tyler nodded, his voice firm despite his fatigue. “I know where to find cloudberries — they grow on Windy Mountains. Their natural cooling effect might counteract the burn.”
Anne wiped her eyes quickly, pushing stray hair from her face. “And the divine flower petals… you know where to find them, right?”
Tyler t her gaze, nodding. “Yes. I’ve been there before.”
Frank’s breathing steadied a little, so colour returning to his cheeks. “And the lavender flowers… we have them nearby, in the outer patches. They act as a stabilizing dium.”
Anne’s fists clenched. “I’ll go get the lavender then!”
Frank shook his head imdiately, voice hoarse but resolute. “You can’t go alone. After what happened before—”
“Then you can’t go alone either!” Anne snapped back, eyes glimring fiercely. “I… I won’t let you leave my sight again. Never.”
Their standoff lasted only a mont before Frank finally released a shaky breath and gave a resigned nod.
“…Alright. We go together.”
Anne’s face softened slightly, though her hands still trembled. Tyler watched the exchange in silence, his gaze thoughtful, almost lancholy.
Together… that word feels so heavy. So distant from now…
He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, trying to force the ache out of his chest.
Frank turned to him with a fragile smile. “Thank you, [Player]. For saving … and for giving us another chance to fight back.”
Tyler shook his head, a wry half-smile breaking through. “Don’t thank yet. We still have to actually make it work.”
Frank gave a tired laugh, rough and warm all at once. Anne sniffed and gave Tyler a glare, but this ti it lacked her usual venom.
Tyler leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a mont. Cloudberries, divine flower petals… one final piece before I can leave. And yet… do I even deserve to? What about them? What about all the others left behind?
He opened his eyes to see Anne pressing her forehead lightly against Frank’s, the two of them holding each other like they might vanish any second.
Maybe… maybe so people still get a chance at warmth.
Outside, the night pressed in, moonlight spilling across the walls like a pale promise. The world waited — half-dead and half-alive — for the next move.
Tyler inhaled, feeling the cold rush into his lungs.
Tomorrow, he would set out again. But tonight… he let himself stand there, listening to the quiet sounds of a family slowly nding around each other.
Outside, a soft rustle of lavender leaves stirred in the night breeze, carrying a whisper of life beyond the walls.
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