The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 13: The Lost Son

 

  The endless weeks at sea stretched into months, each one more agonizing than the last. Kyzzu's body continued to deteriorate, the pregnancy taking its toll on his weakened frame. His world shrank to the confines of Winston's room, where the air was thick with despair and the haunting creaks of the ship echoed his sorrow. Every moment was a struggle-each breath, a reminder of the life he had once known and lost.

  Winston's presence was a constant shadow, looming over Kyzzu with an air of cold control. He had stopped asking questions, content in the knowledge that he held the upper hand. But the silence between them was anything but peaceful. It was a suffocating tension, thick with the unspoken truth that Kyzzu's fate-and that of his unborn child-was entirely in Winston's hands.

   One evening, as the ship rocked gently on the waves, Winston entered the room with an air of calculated calm. He found Kyzzu sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, staring vacantly at the floorboards. The dim light cast long shadows across Kyzzu's gaunt face, highlighting the toll these weeks had taken on him.

   Winston's eyes flicked to Kyzzu's swollen abdomen, now unmistakable beneath his thin clothing. "You're looking worse every day," Winston remarked, his tone devoid of empathy. "Do you even have the strength to make it to wherever we're going?"

   Kyzzu didn't respond. His hands rested protectively over his belly, as if trying to shield his child from the harsh reality closing in around them. He could feel the life stirring within him, a small, fragile movement that only deepened his despair. How could he protect this innocent soul in a world so full of cruelty?

   Winston approached, crouching down beside Kyzzu, his dark hair and eyes reminded Kyzzu of the friend he had throughout the childhood of his past life, and this tore through his soul. "I've been thinking," he said, his voice low and contemplative. "You were someone important, weren't you? Back in that village. You weren't just some ordinary son of a chief, it's obvious just by looking you."

  Kyzzu finally looked up, his blue eyes meeting Winston's with a hollow gaze. "I was nothing," he whispered, the weight of his words crushing his spirit even further. "I was supposed to be someone, but I failed."

   Winston's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Failed, did you? I suppose that's why you're here now, isn't it? But there's still something about you... something more than what you're telling me."

   Kyzzu's heart ached with the knowledge of all he had lost-his family, his people, his future. He thought back to the stories he had read in another life, the ones that foretold this very fate. But those stories had been distant and detached, mere words on a page. Now, he was living them, trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

   "You don't know what it's like," Kyzzu murmured, his voice trembling with the weight of his grief. "To carry the knowledge of everything that's going to happen and be powerless to stop it. I saw it all... in the history I was supposed to prevent, for my people atleast. But I failed. I failed everyone."

   Winston's expression darkened, his curiosity piqued. "History, you say? You really are more interesting than I thought." He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied Kyzzu. "What exactly are you?"

  Kyzzu's breath hitched, and for a moment, he considered telling Winston everything-about the life he had lived before, about the spirits, about the curse of his knowledge. But as he looked into Winston's cold, calculating eyes, he realized that nothing he said would change his fate. Winston would use it against him, twist it to his advantage, and Kyzzu couldn't bear the thought of giving him that power.