A red light engulfed Gerald's frail body.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then chaos broke loose.
Malachai gasped and rushed behind the counter. "My Lord! Did you heal him? Was something wrong?"
Gerald was gasping too, his hands clutched tightly over his chest.
"Does it still hurt?" Mortis asked urgently. "Does it hurt?"
The old man slowly shook his head, his voice barely more than a whisper. "No… no, it doesn't. It doesn't hurt…"
Mortis and Malachai helped him sit down. Malachai quickly brought him a glass of water, which he accepted with trembling hands.
He drank deeply, then pressed his hand against his chest again, as if trying to confirm what he was feeling.
"I can't believe it…" he murmured. "It's been hurting for so long."
Malachai hovered nearby, unsure how to help, but alert nonetheless.
Mortis gently rubbed circles on Gerald's back, the way his mother used to do for him.
"There, there… it's alright."
After a while, Gerald calmed down.
He looked up at Mortis, his voice still weak. "How… how did you do it?"
Then he shook his head. "No… don't tell me."
Mortis let out a small breath, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
"Do you feel alright?"
At last, Gerald nodded. "Yes… better than I have in years."
Mortis smiled and helped him stand. "That's good to hear."
Gerald took Mortis' hands in his own and looked at him intently.
"You have a great gift."
Mortis didn't respond. Gerald didn't seem to expect one.
"How did you know I was sick?" the old man asked.
Mortis hesitated. "I… I could see…"
Gerald simply patted him on the head.
"Then use your power for good."
Mortis smiled faintly, still a little dazed.
After a pause, Gerald spoke again.
"I suppose you don't have a place to stay tonight."
It wasn't a question.
Mortis nodded. "We're new in the city."
Gerald gave a firm nod. "Then I'll give you a place to sleep."
Gerald led them upstairs to a small room with wooden walls and floors.
He laid out simple mattresses on the ground, along with clean white blankets, and handed them fresh clothes. Then he pointed toward a door in the corner.
"That's the bathroom. Feel free to clean up."
Mortis and Malachai nodded gratefully. "Thank you."
The old man left them alone.
Mortis dropped onto the mattress with a sigh. "I can't believe we actually have a place to sleep tonight."
Malachai lay down beside him. "It's all thanks to your miracle, my Lord."
Mortis turned onto his side. "You go freshen up first."
Malachai nodded and headed into the bathroom.
Left alone, Mortis stared at the ceiling.
Maybe it was the exhaustion from days of travel… or everything that had happened.
Either way, his eyes grew heavy.
And slowly, he drifted off.
The dream was strange.
He was back home.
A small flat—two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen.
It wasn't much, but it had been enough for him and his mother.
Speaking of…
Where was she?
"Mom?" he called softly.
He moved through the house without thinking. He knew every corner of it by heart.
The blue bedcovers.The small television.The bouquet of roses on the table.
Everything was the same.
And yet—
A wave of homesickness crashed over him so suddenly that his legs gave out. He curled up on the floor.
Waiting.
Just like he used to as a child.
On nights when she worked late.
He would be hungry, alone… but she always came back. Always with food. Always apologizing. Always pulling him into a warm embrace.
He missed her.
He wanted that again.
Time passed—minutes, maybe hours.
And then—
The door opened.
Mortis jolted awake.
Malachai stood there, freshly bathed.
He looked concerned. "Did I frighten you, my Lord?"
Mortis shook his head. "No… it's fine." He rubbed his eyes. "You're done?"
Malachai nodded. Clean and dressed in white, he almost looked like a snow spirit again.
"The water is cold, my Lord," he added, flopping onto his mattress. "I discovered that the hard way."
Mortis let out a small smile. "I'll manage."
He stood and walked into the bathroom.
It was small and dim, with a mirror, a shower, and a simple lavatory.
Mortis paused in front of the mirror.
It had been a while since he'd really looked at himself.
A pale boy stared back. Dark hair. Familiar features.
But—
His eyes were red.
They had never been red before.
He had been born with dark brown eyes—ordinary, unremarkable.
So why—
And then it clicked.
…A Blood God.
Mortis exhaled slowly.
He undressed and stepped into the shower.
The water was, indeed, freezing.