4338.207 · July 26, 2018 AD
Miracles and Their Costs
Jamie wades into the lagoon carrying his son's body, and Paul watches from shore because he cannot bring himself to enter that water again. When the gasp comes — violent, impossible, unmistakably alive — tears transform Jamie's face whilst Paul's own secret throbs beneath his sleeve. The grey has been spreading since the river. Glenda notices. And whatever cure she has in mind involves holding Paul's arm underwater whilst he screams.
The lagoon gave Joel back his breath. Paul watched from the shore as Jamie lowered his son into the water, as Kain helped support the body that should have been beyond saving, as the impossible became undeniable in the form of a gasping, shuddering inhalation from lungs that had been still. A miracle. A father's tears transformed from grief to joy in a single, shattering moment.
But miracles have costs, and Paul has been hiding his beneath a sleeve he hopes no one examines too closely. The grey has spread since he washed it in the river — darker now, creeping outward from the three parallel lines where Joel's fingernails carved into his flesh. When Glenda finally sees it, her expression shifts from curiosity to something harder to read.
The river burns. Not the gentle tingle of healing but a savage, consuming fire that makes Paul fight against Glenda's grip, that tears screams from his throat whilst she holds him under and refuses to let go. The grey recedes. The pain fades. But the wounds remain — wrapped in wet bandages, temporary and improvised, a reminder that in Clivilius, survival is never free.
