The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 24: When the Past Burns

     A/N
Hey everyone! I'm feeling incredibly giddy today! We've hit over 800 views and 100+ votes🎉🎉🎉—almost double what we had before. The numbers are growing, and I couldn’t be more motivated. Thank you for every single read, every vote, and every comment you’ve given to this book. I’m beyond grateful for your support.

As a special thank you, I’m gifting you two special chapters to ease the cliffhanger (which, honestly, was killing me too!).

Thank you so much, dear readers, and enjoy!🤭

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The silence in the small cottage was suffocating. The flames from the hearth flickered dimly, casting long, wavering shadows across the room, but the heat failed to warm the chill that had settled into Kyzzu’s bones.

  He lay curled beneath layers of blankets, his silver hair damp with sweat despite the fire’s warmth. His breath was shallow, his body shivering uncontrollably.

  The emptiness gnawed at him from the inside, a hollow ache that refused to subside. His arms ached for the weight of his child, his mind haunted by memories of soft coos and laughter, of tiny fingers wrapping around his own. It felt like the most vital part of him had been ripped away, leaving only a hollow shell.

He wept silently, the tears tracing cold paths down his face only to dry and be replaced by fresh ones.

  The weight of the past few hours was unbearable—the feeling of his child’s absence, the memory of Maryanne walking out of the door, cradling the infant. His arms ached for the child he could no longer bear to think of as his own.

Amani watched him from the corner of the room, her hands clenched tightly together. She had tried, whispered words of comfort, soft reassurances.

   But Kyzzu was unreachable, lost somewhere deep within the vast, dark ocean of his grief. She had never seen him like this—broken, hollowed out, not even a shadow of the person she had known.

It was then that the sound of hooves broke through the quiet, and Amani stiffened, her gaze shifting toward the door. Winston was here. She said nothing as the door creaked open, the figure of Winston stepping into the room with a heavy presence that filled the air.

The usual calmness in Winston’s demeanor was gone, replaced with a strange tension. His sharp, unreadable gaze swept over the room before landing on Kyzzu’s small, trembling form on the bed.

   Something twisted in his chest, a sense of dread creeping in as he noticed Amani’s silence and the heavy air that filled the cottage.

“Kyzzu?” Winston’s voice, usually so steady, was slightly tentative, laced with unease.

There was no response. Kyzzu’s face remained buried in the blankets, his silver hair barely visible beneath the weight of his grief. Winston moved closer, kneeling beside the bed.

   His hand reached out, brushing back Kyzzu’s tangled hair. His fingers paused at the dampness on the boy’s face. His heart clenched. Kyzzu looked hollowed out, the brightness that usually shone in his blue eyes extinguished.

   He was wrapped so tightly in the blankets it was as if he were trying to hold himself together, but the trembling of his body betrayed him.

  Kyzzu’s face remained buried in the blankets. He didn't respond, didn't move. Winston’s eyes flickered with growing unease.