After laying the boy gently on a cloth over the worn wooden veranda, the group exchanged grim glances. One by one, those who had helped began to drift away, murmuring quiet words:
"Let's pray he makes it through the night…""This is the best we can do without getting caught.""We'll return if the mayor's men leave."
Only the nun, the dove Whisp, and a few loyal companions remained. The boy's body was wrapped in layers of cotton and honey-soaked patches. His breath was faint but steady.
The nun turned toward the orphanage. Her eyes lingered on the boy for a moment longer.
"I'll deal with the guards. He may stir by morning. His body is healing faster than I expected," she said. "Quickly—try reaching Dr. Mu again."
One helper tapped their communicator. "Still ringing. She's not answering. I think—"
The nun raised a hand. Her voice was calm but resolute.
"It's fine. She's likely overwhelmed. Today's Awakening Day—hundreds of children forming Whisp contracts. Let her handle them first."
Then she turned and left, heading back toward the orphanage, her steps sharp with purpose.
-------------------------------------------------------
The old house was the last of its kind—centuries old, built from salt-worn wood and sun-bleached beams. It leaned slightly toward the nearby pond, which shimmered faintly under starlight. The townsfolk avoided the place, whispering about a ghost Whisp that lingered in the waters. Even the bold avoided it at night.
Next month, the town planned to demolish and rebuild it.
But for now, it was shelter. Silent. Secluded. Safe.
Hours passed.
The dove Whisp perched near the boy, eyes blinking slowly. She had pecked at his unwounded skin gently earlier—checking his warmth, trying to wake him.
But he didn't move.
Eventually, she curled up beside him, soft feathers puffed, drifting into a light slumber.
She awoke in middle of the night.
A sudden warmth tingled through the floorboards. The air shimmered softly. Energy—not wild, but calm and powerful—was radiating from the boy's chest. His breath was deeper now. Stronger. Wounds that hours ago seemed impossible to fix were now faint scars.
Then she saw it—light.
Not from him.
From the pond.
A thin white glow was rising from its surface, casting ripples of silver across the water. It wasn't menacing—it was… watching.
The dove let out a sharp trill and spread her wings. Her feathers pulsed softly as she reached out to her master through the Whisp bond.
He's changing. He's… awakening. And there's something at the pond. Come. Now.
Back at her home, the nun stirred as the message bloomed in her mind. She sat upright, startled—then smiled faintly, half in awe, half in urgency.
"He's waking up… already?" she whispered. "Abby—wake your goat uncle. We need to move."
She threw a cloth bundle over her shoulder—food, water, medicine, fresh supplies—and rushed toward the house beneath the paling sky.
The stars were fading.
The horizon turned from violet to silver. The first sliver of morning broke across the waves.
And in that quiet, ancient house—forgotten by the town, haunted by whispers—the boy's fingers finally twitched.
He was still blind. Still weak.
But he was alive.
And something in the pond had noticed.
# Sugaleaf : Sugaleaf is a small, round-bodied Whisp with a soft, velvety surface, like a puffball. Its head sprouts a crown of tiny bush-like leaves that resemble a little shrub— On either side, ear-like petals bloom outward, flower-shaped and slightly translucent, constantly twitching with tune. Sugaleaf's stumpy limbs end in plush little bushes that it uses for healing—brushing gently across wounds or pressing down with a calming warmth. When it hops, the soft leafy tufts swish with every bounce, leaving behind a faint trail of pollen or sparkles.
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