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Pain.
A dull, throbbing feeling pressed against my back and shoulders, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.
My body felt heavy, sluggish, like I had been buried under layers of stone.
It took a mont to rember where I was—to piece together the mories flashing in my mind.
The fight. The Tier 1 spider. The piercing sensation of its spikes driving into my flesh.
My breath hitched, and instinct kicked in. My fingers twitched, curling into the dirt beneath as I forced my eyelids open.
The world swam before settling into focus. A rough wooden surface frad my vision, the twisted bark of a hollow tree surrounding in a crude shelter.
Light filtered through the cracks, casting shadows along the damp area. The scent of earth and dried blood filled my nostrils, and then—
A soft sound. A faint gulping noise.
I shifted my gaze, wincing as the movent pulled at my wounds.
Not far from , Noah sat hunched against the tree’s wall, his head tilted back as he chugged on a glass vial.
His face was covered in sweat and blood, a fresh bruise blooming along his cheekbone. The cuts on his arms were barely clotted, and the faint trembling in his fingers didn’t escape my notice.
Then my eyes landed on the empty vial in his grasp.
A healing potion.
My breath caught in my throat and realisation finally hit .
"Noah!" I half scread, my soft voice shrill enough to startle him.
The boy’s eyes widened as he lowered the vial, his body sitting upright.
"Grandma—"
"Please don’t tell you fought that thing alone."
Noah flinched, the vial slipping from his hands as my voice rang through the small space.
For a second, his wide eyes t mine—hazel eyes, once so soft and innocent, now shadowed by sothing colder.
Sothing harder.
That was all I needed to see to know his answer.
"What were you thinking?!" My voice cracked, filled with a mix of anger and relief.
I pushed myself to sit straighter, even as pain flared behind my ribs. "You could’ve died! Fighting that thing alone—are you our of your mind?!"
The boy’s body trembled but he held my gaze.
"I had to," he said quietly, as if those three words were supposed to explain everything.
"You had to?" My anger boiled over, fueled by the sight of his bloodied knuckles and the cuts running down his arms.
"Noah, you had to keep yourself safe! Not—" My voice faltered, trembling as I tried to contain the rising tide of fear inside . "Not nearly die trying to protect !"
For a long mont, he said nothing. The silence between us stretched heavy, filled only by the faint rustling of wind through the cracks in the tree bark.
I scanned his body with red eyes.
The boy was bruised.
Burned.
The faintest glint of blood still stained his fingers. The torn edges of his coat revealed bandages hastily wrapped around his side.
He was hurt—badly—and still…
"You drank the last potion," I whispered, my voice thick with disbelief.
He didn’t flinch this ti. He only sighed softly, tilting his head back against the wood. "I didn’t have a choice," he murmured.
A choice?
"You always have a choice!" My voice trembled as a tear slipped down my cheek. "You didn’t need to fight that thing alone! I’m the one who was supposed to protect you, Noah!"
His lips twisted slightly—not into a smile, not into a frown—just… sothing unreadable. "Not anymore," he said softly.
That broke .
Before I realized it, my fists curled, and I hit him—weakly—against his chest.
"You idiot," I choked out, tears running down my cheeks. "You stupid, reckless child!" My fists trembled as I struck him again. "You could’ve died!"
He didn’t stop .
He didn’t push away or argue.
He just sat there—letting pound against his chest, letting release every drop of the pent-up fear and helplessness I had bottled up since this nightmare began.
Tears blurred my vision as my anger lted into sothing far more fragile—fear. Pure, unrelenting fear.
"You’re all I have," I whispered softly, my hands falling limp against his chest. "If I lost you, I…"
And then—without warning—he pulled in.
His arms wrapped around , firm and steady, despite the exhaustion I knew he felt. For a mont, I froze, my breath held against his shoulder.
But then I let go.
The weight I had carried—the fear, the pain, the grief—ca pouring out as I sobbed into his chest.
My body trembled as the walls I had built around myself shattered completely.
His grip tightened as he gently rested his hand to the back of my head. "I’m not a kid anymore, Grandma," he said quietly.
"I’ve grown up."
A broken, watery laugh escaped as I clung to him tighter. "Stupid," I murmured between sobs, my fingers curling into the fabric of his torn coat. "You will always be a child for ."
The quiet stretched on, only broken by my shaking breaths and his calm heartbeat beneath my ear.
I should have been scolding him. I should have been reminding him how reckless it was to go out to fight that monstrosity alone—to risk himself for soone like .
But right now?
Right now, I couldn’t bring myself to let go.
I had nearly lost him.
And no matter how much he had grown, no matter how strong he thought he had beco—he was still my grandson.
My precious, foolish, stubborn child.
Eventually, my tears slowed, exhaustion replacing the torrent of emotion.
My hands relaxed against his chest, and for a mont, I allowed myself the comfort of his warmth.
He had grown—far more than I had realized.
But in my heart, he would always be my little boy.
And I would protect him.
No matter what it took.
***
A/N:
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