Bloodlines.

Chapter Twenty Nine: Daryl leaves the kingdom.

Back at the Kingdom, Daryl jolted awake, gasping for air. His body was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he sat up in bed. His hands trembled as he rubbed them over his face, trying to steady his breathing. The dream still clung to him, vivid and unrelenting. The little boy's voice echoed in his mind, soft but urgent: "Help Mommy."

Daryl swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, staring at the floor. He had no idea why this boy kept appearing in his dreams, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it meant something. It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed of the child with Alyssa's eyes and his unruly hair, but this time felt different. This time, it was like the boy was trying to tell him something.

Was this just his imagination? A figment of his mind playing tricks on him? Or was it something more?

The thought unsettled him. Would Alyssa and he really have a son someday? Would that little boy exist in the future? The possibility tugged at something deep inside him—something he didn't fully understand.

Their relationship was... complicated. It wasn't physical—not yet, at least. Alyssa had always been open about being gay, and Daryl... well, Daryl had his own demons when it came to intimacy. But despite it all, there was a connection between them, something unspoken but undeniable. Maybe, when this whole nightmare with Negan was over, they'd find their way to something more. Maybe then, that little boy could exist.

Daryl let out a shaky breath and stood up, pacing the small room. He didn't have answers—not about the boy, not about the dreams, not about the future. But one thing was clear: he couldn't get the boy's voice out of his head. Help Mommy. Whatever it meant, he couldn't ignore it.

Daryl stepped out of his room, the cool morning air offering little relief from the storm brewing inside him. As he walked into the Kingdom's gardens, his eyes immediately locked onto Ezekiel, Jerry, Morgan, Benjamin, and Richard climbing out of a truck. Something about their demeanor—tense and quiet—set him on edge. Then he saw it: blood trailing from Morgan's ear.

Without hesitation, Daryl stormed over, his steps heavy with anger. "Where did ya go in them trucks?" he demanded, his tone sharp and accusing.

Morgan looked at him but didn't respond, his calm silence only stoking Daryl's frustration.

"You went to see the Saviors, didn't ya?" Daryl pressed, his voice dropping, teeth clenched with barely contained rage.

"Yeah," Morgan replied flatly, his tone emotionless.

"Part of their deal, right? Collection," Daryl growled.

Morgan gave a small nod, his quiet agreement doing nothing to pacify Daryl.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Daryl snapped, his finger jabbing toward Morgan's ear. "You're bleeding. They did that to you. You know what they are. You know what they do."

"I do," Morgan said simply, his voice calm, almost resigned.

Daryl's anger bubbled over, his voice rising. "You know if Alyssa were here and she saw that," he said, pointing his finger at Morgan again, "she'd go right after them. Ready to hurt 'em all. She wouldn't let this slide."

Morgan nodded slowly, his expression unreadable but tinged with sadness. "She would," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of truth.

Daryl stared at him for a long moment, his frustration and helplessness simmering beneath the surface. He let out a sharp breath, shook his head, and turned on his heel, walking off without another word.

As Daryl walked off, his simmering frustration still evident in his tense stride, his attention was drawn to the sound of arrows whistling through the air. He looked over and saw Richard, standing a short distance away, shooting a bow and arrow in what was clearly a practice session.