The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 35: The Cold Thoughts

Earlier that morning...

Kyzzu had woken earlier than usual that morning. The cold dawn air whispered through the cracks in the cottage walls, chilling him to the bone, but it wasn't the cold that made him rise-it was the thoughts.

The ones that gnawed at him relentlessly, creeping into his mind when the world was still and quiet. Life, he mused bitterly. What kind of life is this?

His eyes traced the familiar, weathered lines of the ceiling above, but they held no comfort. He could still hear Kazi's voice, the words echoing in his mind.

"Why didn't he love him?" The memory stung more than Kyzzu wanted to admit. A part of him had wanted to turn away from the boy, to reject the bond that tied them-one born of a twisted love, a secret that should have never been allowed to grow.

But the truth was far crueler. He loved Kazi with every fiber of his being, with an intensity that both frightened and consumed him.

And yet, the child looked at him as if he were a stranger. A stranger. That tore Kyzzu apart. Every day, he was reminded that the boy didn't know him, didn't trust him, and in Kazi's eyes, perhaps Kyzzu wasn't even worth loving.

Who am I deceiving? Kyzzu thought. No one. Not him, not Winston, and certainly not myself.

His body ached as he sat up, the familiar weakness settling over him. His frame had grown leaner over time, his once-strong form softening after Kazi's birth.

The soft features that had accompanied his strange transformation were long gone now-his breasts had flattened, and the softness around his hips had faded, leaving him in a body that felt foreign, almost hollow.

He hated the weakness that clung to him like a second skin, a constant reminder of the life he had once known slipping further and further away.

Kyzzu stood, unsteady but determined, shaking off the fog of his thoughts. He couldn't afford to lose himself in memories or regrets, not now. Keep moving. Just keep moving.

He started with small tasks, tidying the little cottage that had become both his sanctuary and his prison. As he worked, he moved slowly, methodically, his mind drifting between the mundane and the weighty thoughts that refused to leave him.

Amani woke up a little later, her eyes widening in mild surprise when she saw Kyzzu already up and working.

She had grown accustomed to his lethargy, the way he seemed to drift through the days like a ghost. But today, she said nothing, simply joining him in silence, helping him with the chores.

The two worked in quiet companionship, hanging the washed linens on the clothesline outside and folding them neatly when they had dried in the afternoon sun. There was a peace in the routine, a fragile peace that Kyzzu clung to.

By midday, Amani had cooked a simple meal. They sat at the worn wooden table, eating together, but Kyzzu's mind was far from the food in front of him.

His thoughts had shifted to two days ago-to the kiss. Winston's kiss. The way Winston's lips had felt against his, rough yet tender, full of a longing that made Kyzzu's chest tighten even now.

Kyzzu hadn't expected it. The intensity, the heat. He had wanted to push Winston away, to deny the feelings that surged within him, but he couldn't. Not then. And now, sitting at the table with Amani, he found himself wondering if he ever truly could.

Winston was always there, lingering in his mind like a shadow he couldn't shake. What did that kiss mean? What did it change? Kyzzu's mind raced with questions, but there were no answers, only the echo of that moment and the sharp reality of the life he was living.